Flight Project

A.N.: A project I've been working on since 2009, and the one that seems the most promising and will most likely finish because my family is hounding me about it.

There was a new smell in the wind. The avian creature curiously shifted her wings a little, gliding along the current as the floating forested islands passed below her. There was a tug from her beak: she must be going the wrong direction. That would upset her rider, and she didn’t like to see him upset. She felt strange when he was sad: her beak would get itchy to peck something and her feathers bristled. In all, she looked very 

unflattering.

The creature tipped her wings back into the familiar current, pleased to feel the wind breathe through her feathers. The leather strap around her beak relaxed and she coasted onward toward the next island, watching her shadow dance across the clouds ahead.

Travis wrapped the leather strips around his gloved palms again, leaving some slack for his peri’s beak as his brows furrowed in concern. It wasn’t like her to suddenly change direction on him like that, especially when flying through a circuit with questionable security for couriers. He leaned over and scanned the length of her body, checking for any injuries or something he’d possibly missed before taking off back in Hanover.

Her snow-white plumage blended beautifully with the cloud cover. She was constantly preening so, to his trained eye, any dirt or blood stain would stand out. Her tail feathers were symmetrically fanned out, her thin legs and claws tucked comfortably beneath her. Her wings were thick and strong, and he silently counted the number of times she flapped in the next two minutes; nope, no gaps in routine that he could notice. Her wings were fine. He leaned forward and gently patted her head. She crooned in response to his touch, and his shoulders slumped in relaxation. He wondered briefly what she could’ve been sensing. He pushed the thought away and settled back into the saddle as the reddened towers of a Montague city came into view behind a thick bank of clouds.

“Where’ve you been?” yelled Rami as the peri landed on the wooden platform.  

Travis frowned and started casting off his straps, “I’m sorry; Hava changed course on me back on the border to the Chester circuit. It was really odd,” he said, as he unhooked the saddle from her back.

She was already clawing at the wood, anxious to have the burden off so she could shake her plumage. Working deftly, Travis unclipped several hooks and ropes of leather that made up the harness and, once it was loose enough, gravity took over and the weight slid off her back. Hava stretched her wings and shook them violently, her flurried feathers falling back into place. Then she stretched her neck back and cleaned her back feathers, her sharp beak pecking harmlessly into her plumage. Travis watched her with one ear listening to Rami’s ramblings and the other keenly observing for any abnormalities in her routine.

Rami knew Travis well enough to tell when he was only half-listening, “You know you aren’t the first one whose peri got turned around at the Chester checkpoint.”

Travis finally looked at him, “Really? What are the stories?”

Rami tucked his clipboard under his arm and buttoned up his collar against the chill. Only his nose poked out above the lining, his voice muffled, “You know Andy over at the Pinole circuit? Well, his peri, Desya, nearly bucked him off after they crossed over one of them jungle islands in the Chester circuit. He thinks some creature must’ve spooked her.”

Travis unbuttoned the top to his fur-lined flying coat, despite the biting cold from atop the East tower.  He was sweating beneath his encasing cap and goggles, but didn’t feel like removing them.

“What else?” he asked Rami as he watched Hava trot over to a trough and start gulping down the slop left over from another peri’s meal. Travis sighed and mentally made a note to buy her something quality to eat later; it looked like Montague was cutting funds towards their feeding again.

“Not much,” answered Rami, “I heard from a guy from Sanger that a really skittish peri actually up and died while in flight over the Chester border.”

Travis swung around, “Are you serious?”

Rami shrugged, “I don’t know. It was only a story, so I didn’t think twice about it. But now, with you having problems with Hava…” he trailed off and pulled out his clipboard.

Travis slapped his hand on the board, “Don’t you dare make a note of it. You know I need the money.”

Rami chuckled, “I was only joking. C’mon, I wouldn’t write you up for it if you’re still walking,” he said as he started toward the double-doors that led to the tower’s interior.

Travis felt something hard brush his neck, and he was startled to find Hava rubbing her head against his back. She propelled him forward and he quickly led her inside and out of the cold. Inside, Rami led them to an open stall on his level and Travis coaxed her inside. She picked among the hay and shed feathers until she found a satisfactory spot to nestle down for the night. Travis reached up and smoothed her ruffled head plumage, and she nipped his hand affectionately. Once her eyes slid closed in sleep, he locked the gate and followed Rami down the winding staircase to the briefing room.

Excerpt from 'Clean-Up Duty'

The alarm blared at an ungodly hour of the night. At least it was night aboard the Pisces III, or as Captain Cameron had dubbed his beloved vessel, “his third princess”. She was circling Saturn on a lazy trajectory, like a tin can floating on the Mississippi: a tin can with the echoing power of a gun going off.

            Bruce sat straight up his cot, clonked his head on the upper bunk and fell back against his pillow with a groan.

            Porter, the upper level occupant, tipped his head over the side with a curious look.

            Bruce swung his legs over the side, “Good morning, P.O.” he said cheerfully to the ten-year-old boy above him. Porter smiled back and signed Good morning.

            “RISE AND SHINE, BOYS!” Cameron yelled over the loudspeaker, “And Marley.”

            “Thank you!” said a girl’s voice in the room next to Bruce.

            “TIME TO WAKE UP WE’VE GOT AN ORDER.”

            “God, would ya shut up?” yelled Leon from across the hall.

“Son of a bitch, what time is it?” said his twin, Noel.

            In the course of ten minutes, the meager crew of Pisces III was sequestered in the briefing room, squeezed in tight.

            Captain Cameron smiled at his yawning crew, “Sleep well, boys?”

            If looks could kill.

            None of them were older than twenty, already rugged with history, and fit from a life on the streets before stepping foot on his Third Princess. But in this economy, a boy took whatever he could find.

            He sucked on his teeth, “No doubt you’ve heard it on the news, about the Reagan Colony. Damn shame, but the mourning period is over and we hit the jackpot. Clean-up. The whole colony.”

            Mercutio, one of the eldest, choked on his water, “The whole colony?”

            Porter signed frantically How big is it?

            Leon pointed, “That’s ISG’s job, why the hell are we doing it?”

            “ISG is currently busy with the farmer’s rebellion on Mars. So we got the deal of a lifetime.”

            Bruce slipped in next to Porter, “How much are we getting?”

            Cameron grinned, “Triple.”

            His boys leaned forward. Noel asked, “Triple what?”

            Marley, their communications officer, stepped over and she leaned against the table with a wicked grin, “Triple what they pay their own for clean-up,” she rubbed her hands together, as though she could feel the crinkling bills in her hands already, “Boys, we do this, we’re set for the next couple of years. Food, maintenance, whatever, it’s covered.”

            “Holy shit…” Bruce chuckled.

            Porter tapped him on the shoulder and motioned, I want to come.

            Bruce shook his head and ruffled the boy’s hair, “Not this time, buddy. You’ll stay here and run the com systems with Marley.”

            “We’ll send you a postcard,” Noel winked. Porter stuck out his bottom lip and moved his fingers, No fair.

            “What are we cleaning? Plague? Alien invasion?” asked Mercutio.

            “Havn’t you been listening to the news?” Cameron swatted him with a rolled-up paper, “Reagan succumbed to an infestation months ago. They got all the survivors out, and they say whatever the thing was, it’s long been dead by now without a food source.”

            “So, virus or alien?”

            “Alien.”

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Could you tell that I'm still reeling from a weekend of Dead Space 2. It was quite an experience...