along as she glided through the air, buoyed up with huge tanks of aerium gas. Decals on her flanks displayed her name, printed across a fan of cards. She was a heavy, no-nonsense craft, without frills, solid. Nothing about her gave away the value of the cargo within.
Buzzing alongside, dwarfed in size, were four Swordwings. Frey recognised them by their distinctive conical, down-slanting muzzles and aerodynamic shape. They were fast fighter craft. Nothing exceptional in their design, but in the hands of a good pilot they could be deadly.
‘It’s not exactly minimum escort,’ Crake murmured.
Frey made a distracted noise of agreement. He didn’t like the look of those Swordwings. He’d expected two, not four.
‘Just give me the word,’ Jez said, fingertip hovering over the press-pad of the electroheliograph switch.
Frey stared up at the freighter. It wasn’t too late to listen to the voice that told him to back out of this. The voice that told him to lay his cards down when he knew his hand was beat. The voice of caution.
You could just keep going on as you are, he thought. It’s not a bad life, is it? You’ve got your own craft. You don’t answer to anyone. The whole world’s there for you. Now what’s wrong with that?
What was wrong with it was that he didn’t have fifty thousand ducats. He hadn’t really minded before, but suddenly the lack had become intolerable.
‘Cap’n?’ Jez prompted. ‘Time’s a factor.’
Frey had picked a spot just below the mist layer and in the shadow of a peak, to give them a good view of the pass above. But if he could see the Ace of Skulls, she might see him, and without the element of surprise they’d have no chance.
You know this is too good to be true, Frey. Stuff like this just doesn’t happen to guys like you. Ambition gets people killed.
‘Cap’n?’
‘Do it,’ he said.
Pinn wiped his running nose with the back of his hand and stared at the grey bulk of the Ketty Jay.
‘Come on! What’s taking so long?’ he cried. The need to get up there and shoot something was like a physical pull. His boots tapped against the complicated array of pedals; his gloved fingers flexed on the flight stick. These were the moments he lived for. This was where the action was. And Pinn, as he never tired of telling everyone, was all about action.
The Second Aerium War fizzled out mere days before he had the chance to sign up. Those miserable Sammies called it off just as he was about to get in there and bloody his guns. It was as if they’d intended to spite him personally. As if they were afraid of what would happen when Pinn got into the thick of things.
Well, if the Sammies were too chickenshit to face him in the air, then he’d just take it out on the rest of the world, every chance he got. Having been cheated once, he reasoned it was only his due. A man deserved the opportunity to prove himself.
He snatched up the small, framed ferrotype of his sweetheart Lisinda, that hung on a chain from his dash. The black and white portrait didn’t do her justice. Her long hair was fairer, her innocent, docile eyes more beautiful in his memory.
It had been taken just before he left. He wondered what she was doing now. Perhaps sitting by a window, reading, patiently awaiting his return. Did she sense his thoughts on her? Did she turn her pretty face up to the sky, hoping to see the cloud break and the sun shine through, the glimmer of his wings as he swooped triumphantly in to land? He pictured himself stepping down from the Skylance, Lisinda rushing joyously towards him. He’d sweep her up in his arms and kiss her hard, and tears would run uncontrollably down her face, because her hero had returned after four long years.
