Night Witches Part 14

*Just weeding,' says Petra calmly.

*Rain was doing something to Mossie. I saw.'

Mossie fastens up her jacket. *We're only messing around, Zoya, no big deal. Are you guys just going to watch while I do all the work?' She yanks out the nearest sapling and dares anyone to argue. Her cheeks are flushed with health again.

*There's nothing wrong with your heart,' I whisper when I can. *It feels fine. Amazing, in fact. Full of life.'

A shadow falls on us both. Reef is right there. How much has he seen? What has he heard? His face is as blank as only a Scrutiner's can be.

To the others he says, *Concentrate on the largest weeds only. A new consignment of Slick has just been delivered, ready to be sprayed a" sparingly a" where it's most needed. Aranoza, come with me.'

It's not a request.

I follow him off the airstrip and round the base of one of the huge factory towers. I'm surprised to see the browny-green runners of thorn-vines prising bioweave apart with their sharp tendrils and spreading leaves wide to catch whatever sun makes it through newly ma.s.sing clouds.

Reef stops abruptly once we're out of sight of the others. He ruffles his hair. Takes a deep breath. Blows it out again.

*Why did you lie to me, Rain?'

*Lie?'

*Right to my face, in the dorm last night.'

*What lie?' Which one?

*Oh come on, don't mess me around. You said you felt ill, but I checked your bio-updates. You're fine. Completely normal. Fantastically healthy, in fact. So why wouldn't you . . . didn't you want to . . . you know?'

Thorn-vines, please crack the ground open and let me fall into a deep chasm.

*Oh. That. Sorry, it's just, I don't know, I mean . . . things have been pretty strange since . . . since the Mora.s.s and meeting you.'

He closes his eyes briefly then laughs. *I know exactly what you mean!'

*You do?'

His eyes are so warm when he looks at me I feel like running into rivulets of snow-melt.

He says, *I'm supposed to be coordinating the Slick dispersal and connecting with teams of normalisers to figure out why these Mora.s.s plants are so dominant, but you're on my mind all the time, Rain Aranoza. I know it's wrong. I'm a Scrutiner and you're air crew. It's not supposed to happen . . . but there's just something about you that stops me thinking sensibly. It is strange, not having the proper rules for how to feel. I don't like it. I like you though. I just can't tell if you . . .'

Quickly, *I do. I like you too.'

He grins and it's all I can do to stop myself leaping right into his arms. But duty clamps down on him almost instantly.

*Good. That's sorted then. You'd best go back to the others. We need the runway clear for tonight's mission.'

Steen edges up to me when I start work on the weeds again. I edge away. Closer still he comes until we're almost shoulder to shoulder at the task. I can see Yeldon measuring his muscles, wondering whose are biggest and who'd win in a fist fight.

*See those,' Steen says suddenly, as rays of sunlight push through the clouds. *G.o.d's fingers, we call them. Aren't they beautiful?'

*How can you Crux even know what beauty is?'

*We know it when we see it,' he answers, looking right at me. His voice drops to a murmur. *Rain, I've been looking for you all my life. I could worship you, worship the very ground youa"'

*Shut up!' I glare at Steen, conscious that Roke has stopped chewing his cuticles and is now staring at us both. *Why are you even here?' I hiss. *Why are you still collaborating?'

Steen raises his hands as if to touch the sunrays. For once his grey eyes don't flash defiance and his voice doesn't cut as sharply as usual.

*I'm just staying alive as long as I can. Didn't it occur to you that I have family I want to see again? That there are people who love and miss me? We're not monsters, you know. We just wanted to be left alone to worship in our way.'

*So why invade? What could possibly be worth so much death and destruction?'

*Light,' he says simply. *If you shine enough light there'll be no more darkness.'

*We have our own light in Rodina,' I object.

*Artificial lamps. Pretend light. Real light comes from faith, that's where power is. That's the G.o.d I'm looking for.'

The intensity of his gaze disturbs me. Up above, clouds thicken. A flock of corvils fly over, quickly followed by fat stones of ice-cold hail that pound the ground wherever they land. I shield my face, then, along with the rest of the squadron, I run under a Storm's wings to escape the worst of the bombardment.

Steen licks his lips and shouts after us, even as the hail-stones pelt him.

*It'll get worse, you know. The saynts all predict this a" a season of extraordinary weather. The ground will burst, trees will sp.a.w.n like never before and in the depths of the Long Night a dark light will shine to blind all unbelievers!'

I sc.r.a.pe his words out of my ears but I can't erase one low, thrilling phrase a" I could worship you.

How many missions a night? How many nights?

I'm sure Aura keeps tally of them all, and Marina Furey too, brooding through the night hours with her lights on full. Me, I've lost count. Eight, nine, ten a night . . . or more. Some in rain, some in clouds, some in clear nights with only Umbra-glow to light our way. All are a duel between fear and excitement. A dance of life and death.

Out here in the Biopolis, between the city and the war, we've forgotten how to do anything but fly. Each night is a blur of sensations a" the creak of the plane's wooden frame, the stutter of an engine stalling, the flap of fabric torn by bullets, the thunk of our parachute packs when we finally get to unclick and drop them at dawn.

We're getting good. Accuracy is improving with every bomb drop. Roads, railways, towns, traptions, we blow them all to pieces then curve up and away with the Crux shouting curses. *Night Witches,' they call us. The name sticks. Trouble is, no matter how good we are, the Crux keep coming. All the Victory reports in the world can't hide the fact that the enemy are now in control of the forest's northern borders and edging closer to Sea-Ways every day, for all we make them crawl into hidey-holes and graves by night.

The Biopolis is a strange haven between missions. New recruits crowd into neighbouring dorms, staring at us like we're grizzled veterans . . . and I guess we are. New planes are delivered from factories far from the front line. New engineers arrive to maintain them. Fenlon bullies those that Furey hasn't time to shout at. She's unstoppable, and so is her smoking habit. I see her lighting up another choke while she argues with clerks who can't get her supplies and with officers who won't stop sending her untrained recruits, and while she pleads with her daughter Tilly to go to bed when she's told.

Tilly hasn't spoken since the bridge bombing, though she seems healthy apart from that. I watch her sometimes, just keeping a little eye on her. She watches me too, not smiling, not waving, just looking. Whenever someone suggests Furey should send her away to a safe house in Sea-Ways, Marina just hugs her daughter close and says, *Nowhere's safe except with me.'

I like that. My mother would be the same. As spring slumps into a heavy, humid summer, Mama messages more and more.

are you sure you're all right, rain?

mama, i'm fine. aura would let you know if anything ever happened the war, the victory, it's taking so long and i saw pictures of those traption things and i worry about you, i don't know where you are or what you're doing mama, i can't tell you anything about war work that's exactly what i said to your uncle mentira when he asked if you'd been in touch. as long as you're all right and you're sleeping and eating properly?

Sleeping? Eating? Hardly.

They give us uppers to keep us awake through all the long nights, and downers to help us rest in daylight hours. Both sets of pills churn our stomachs up. I try not to take them too often. I feel messed up enough with other things a" like when I catch a glimpse of Reef somewhere across the airfield, or I get a message and I think it's from him, or someone says his name, or something that sounds like his name.

Is he thinking of me? He once said he thinks of me all the time. Now he's actually come out and said he likes me it's as if that's got to be enough. He's pulled away. Afraid to admit he doesn't like me any more? Afraid he might like me too much?

As food stocks run out a" thanks to Crux capturing foodlands a" Haze cooks vats of something called kasha, a thick Lim porridge so filling even Zoya can only manage two bowls at a sitting. Since new rations only allow one serving per person I let her eat mine.

*Don't you like it with salt?' she asks, seeing my expression when she stirs some in. *Or is it just Haze's cooking you've got a thing about?'

*I've never liked salt on my food.'

I swear I see Haze smirking every time I push the bowl away.

not much food in the shops here, Mama messages, and these awful weeds growing in the parks and streets, aura says we're on a waiting list for something called slick, you spray it and the plants die but what about the animals, they're everywhere, it's horrible, all these birds and rablets and rachnids. there was a rachnid in the shower this morning, all hairy legs and eyes it made me jump and papi called in the new pest control people . . .

mama, i'm sorry but i've got to go zoya says hi by the way love you, sweeting, take care and be a good girl I know all about the rachnids. Ang's developed a phobia about them, which is the joy of Zoya's life. She loves hearing how Ang's been scared by one that's twice as big as anything anyone else spots lurking in a corner.

I've discovered wormlings a" little pink wiggly things that live in real soil. I have to go out grubbing for them when no one's looking because it turns out my pet Eye Bright can't get enough of them. I tried making it a nest in a quiet spot but the bird's only happy when tucked up in my pocket.

Haze spots it one day as she's snooping around.

*Is that a corvil?' she hisses at me. *I hope it pecks your eyes out!'

I wait till she's gone before I start feeding it again. *You wouldn't peck my eyes out . . . would you?'

Eye Bright gulps down the last wormling then jabs its beak into my palm, wanting more . . . wanting meat.

It's a stab-tail summer. These horrible insects love the long, hot days every bit as much as we hate them a" because there are fewer hours for us to go night-bombing. Stab-tails make hives in neglected nooks of bioweave, but fly wherever they like in search of blood. We learn to check our boots to make sure none have crept inside. When she sees her first stab-tail Zoya cries, *Aren't they pretty?' That's before she gets bitten (though Ang gets twice as many bites) and Haze has to show everyone how to make fly-swats from woven witch-weed stalks.

*Make a pattern of knots and swirls,' she instructs, as she twists the stems with calloused fingers. *Witches get tangled in them.'

Haze is the worst of all the summer's infestations. One day she stamps a jar of stab-tails on the canteen table. *I've got a present for Rain,' she says.

Zoya pushes her chair back quickly. *Don't put them near my food, Pip.'

*I caught them,' boasts Haze. *Now they are in prison. They don't like it. I wonder what will happen if I turn, if I open, if all the stab-tails fly out?'

I shove hands in pockets to stop fists finding her face.

*Take them away, Haze.'

*They're so angry, angry all the time.' Slowly, Haze turns the jar-lid. The stab-tails go wild, flying, swerving, beating themselves against the wall of their prison.

A calm voice interrupts, *Have you ever been stung by a stab-tail, Haze? No? It's more painful than you can imagine.'

Haze whips away the jar and scurries back to the kitchen.

Petra smiles down at me. A friend.

Haze has got one thing right. I am buzzing inside like a tribe of trapped stab-tails.

you looked tired in the canteen before you set off, are you all right? Reef messages one time, just after we're back from a pretty dreary night of cranky planes and foggy skies. It's the sort of morning when the sun can barely be bothered to rise.

I think up about fifty draft replies before messaging back i'm fine, how are you?

thinking of you My fingers hover over the keypad, tingling. Oh, why not? I message maybe we could meet?

There's a heart-squeezing pause before his reply comes through i'd like that tonight? before missions?

sooner? can't wait that long now?

got a report to finish and then i'm all yours All mine! There's just time to shower before I see him. I'm shaking by the time I get to the bath-house. I strip my grubby kit off and stand in the shower with lukewarm water pooling round my feet because the bioweave of the plughole is all gunged up. At least the showers work now a" kind of. I look down. It's a funny view between the wide valley of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, past my belly, all the way to my toes. There he is, a vision of Reef in the water, spattered with new-falling drops. I stop breathing. Turn the shower off. The water settles and I see every detail of him as clearly as if he was really there. The gloss of his hair. The curve of his cheek. The warm spot behind his ear. He's leaning forward across a desk, staring at a screen. Then something catches his attention. He looks up. I freak and splash the vision away.

*Where you off to?' Zoya asks, coming into the bath-house as I'm just leaving.

*Nowhere. The Scrutiner's office. I'll tell you later!'

I run as far as the office block then slow to a walk. Mustn't look too keen. The door's open. I take a deep breath. There he is, in the office, leaning forward across a desk, staring at a screen, just the same as in my vision. I could touch his hair, his cheek, that warm spot behind his ear. Then I see whose face he's staring at so intently on the screen. Mine.

He looks at it as if he'd like to memorise every detail. Because he likes me . . . or for some more sinister reason?

I catch my breath. He hears the sound and looks up. I'm gone a" just the memory of a shadow in the doorway.

Later I message sorry I was so tired I fell asleep a" and I hate myself.

After that it's more awkward than ever before. Reef's distant; I'm embarra.s.sed. Just when I think he'll give me up altogether we'll meet by accident and he'll smile at me and my sun shines. Then Steen will appear, or Roke, or some other surplus person. The smile vanishes, the sun fades. My skin tightens to bursting point and I want to scream.

Flying helps. I can run to the Storm, leap inside and feel free for a while, up in the night air. When we're on a bomb run I don't care that Steen stares at me all the time; that Reef is mostly stuck with his Scrutiner face on; that Haze has got this crazy vendetta against me.

There's one really bad night that brings a mid-air collision between two Storms flown by newbies. I nearly crack then because I never even knew the names of the kids who died.

*One parachuted out,' says Petra sadly. She saw the whole thing happen. *He got shot while floating down.'

Our only consolation is that further Storms took their revenge afterwards, with the biggest bombardment in the squadron's short history.

*Folk in Corona City are sitting up and taking notice!' Marina Furey tells us.

*Wish they'd take more time to respond to all the request messages I'm sending,' grouches Fenlon. *The Glissom company are querying my orders again. If we're to keep up this level of mission intensity we still need more crews, more planes, more spare parts . . .'

*More bombs at this rate!' Furey grins. *I'm proud of you all, Storm squadron. You are making a difference to this war.'

* . . . even if it feels like you're just slogging your guts out before they get blown out,' Fenlon concludes.

Inside I might feel like a bomb-blast, with questions as sharp as shrapnel, but the main thing is to keep everything calm and normal . . . on the outside at least. If I can just stay within my stretched-tight skin, everything will be fine. Absolutely fine.

Until it's not.

*That was a truly awesome spree!'

Zoya signals the end of another night's bombing by pulling off her flying visor and helmet and giving her hair a quick going-over so she won't look like a battered bush back in the crew-room. *Did you see me spray that Catapult with bullets? It went down, right? You saw it go down? Everybody must've seen it go down.'

I rub my eyes, wishing sunlight wasn't so bright. Eleven raids, one after the other, stopping only to refuel and rearm.

*You hit the Catapult. It went down,' I say automatically.