The Price of Flight – part twelve
The Arms Race.
Version V0.3 - acknowedging typos discovered by diligent beta-reader a.t. m. schipperijn - many thanks! After my brush with that emissary of Pestilence called Covid-19, let's get back into it now my enthusiasm is back.
In which Olga realises an Arms Race is going on between the two Superpowers.
In this longer chapter: lots of background stuff on the exciting cutting-edge technomancy of the Air Police, diversions about Witchcraft as seen around the Disc, and maybe even the beginnings of a story. And damn, this will spill over several chapters too. I can feel it.
The first conception for this story was to write a "prologue" that tied up an undescribed loose end from the last chapter, the memorial service for the Fallen of the Air Watch. I just can't see how this fits with the theme of this story – which takes place approximately six months after the last couple of chapters of Strandpiel, Book One. I don't think this chapter fits as part of the opening of Strandpiel Book Two, so I'm putting it here as it largely deals with the Air Watch.
The original conceit is being tacked on as a bonus and an afterthought.
The Ankh-Morpork Times, Tuesday 4th Grune. Evening edition.
SYRRIT (1) CRISIS!
INSTABILITY GROWS IN THE KLATCHIAN CONTINENT.
GROWING RISK OF WAR!
Syrrit is a small unremarkable nation whose existence is largely unknown outside the continent of Klatch. Yet small unremarkable nations can so often be the crucible of great events.
Who could have guessed that this nation's unique travelling capital city, when it convenes at that point on the Great Rug Road called the Whistlestop, could precipitate such events? Yet events three days ago at the Whistlestop, where the nearest thing to a Parliament convenes, brought about escalating and worrying developments.
Possibly fuelled by arack, factions formed when debating the future direction of their land on an ever-changing Discworld. One faction advocated closer ties to Ankh-Morpork. A second party loudly advocated continuing neutrality and non-alignment with anybody. And a third called vehemently for union with our cultural cousins and co-religionists in the Klatchian Empire.
The inevitable fight broke out and two days later, after a brief civil war, the participants realised not even the renowned Klatchian Coffee could solve the fact that a sizeable Klatchian Army had crossed into their nation, citing the need to restore order, support the civil power, and to protect strategic exports from Syrrit and neighbouring Laotan which are of "great economic value" to Klatch.
The Klatchian Government stressed this is not annexation of these two states into the Empire. Syrrit remains a free country, albeit now one with a strong Klatchian military presence which is there to safeguard its traditional customs and freedoms. The Whistlestop Parliament is completely free to discuss and implement whatever domestic policies they see fit, and Klatch will not interfere in the decisions of a free state.
International reaction has not been supportive.
The foreign minister of Rimwards Howondaland, Mr Pieter van der Graaf, reminded Klatch of the Treaty of Ankh Morpork concluded over a century ago, after his nation's failed attempt to expand out of Smith-Rhodesia into the Central Plains. This boiled down, in its essentials, to "We will not expand to our Hubwards. You undertake not to expand to your Rimwards. It is desirable that a buffer zone of unaligned and independent states exists between our two nations." Mr van der Graaf pointed out that his nation has scrupulously adhered to this treaty, while an unsympathetic observer might suspect Klatch has just violated it. Diplomatic notes are to be sent, and the fact Rimwards Howondaland has placed its armed forces on a higher level of alert and "selected reservists" with "specialist skills" are being recalled to active duty is "completely coincidental" and no cause for alarm.
It is also believed that, deputising for her father, the Queen-Regent-Elect of the Zulu Empire, nominally an ally of Klatch, has called the Klatchian Ambassador to an audience at the Royal Kraal for a "little word". A source close to Queen-Regent-Elect Ruth has indicated the Queen said "I want him to explain what they're bloody well playing at. Wrap that up in diplomacy for me? Thanks."
Here in Ankh-Morpork, no official reaction has been expressed by Lord Vetinari, who is "monitoring the situation" and is "preparing an appropriate response commensurate with the gravity of the situation."
It is to be hoped wise sober heads prevail and both the Klatchian continent, and the wider world, are spared a destructive and debilitating war.
ON OTHER PAGES:
Page five: The Apocralypse Clock, maintained at the University, has been reset to half past eleven, "to allow time for Late Dinner, you follow, before the world ends. Better to meet your maker on a full stomach."
Wednesday, 5th Grune. The Air Station, Pseudopolis Yard, Ankh-Morpork. Approximately eight in the morning.
"Before we all go downstairs for Morning Prayers with everybody else." Captain Olga Romanoff said, pleasantly, to her assembled flyers. Eighteen Air Police and Pegasus Service pilots were standing in front of her in the loose relaxed semi-circle which, most of the time, was an acceptable standard of foot drill for the Air Watch. A knot of Feegle, pilots and navigators in their own right, were also present.
"Our own duty roster for today is up on the board in the ready room. I'll go over it quickly now. Oh, and Firebird, Snegurochka. Good to have you both with us today."
She nodded pleasantly at the two part-time Air Watch pilots who had mustered for duty, then read the day's assignments.
"I'm on the Howondaland run, leaving in an hour. Lancre Punch will accompany me. No doubt with the bloody nonsense going on in Syrrit, Sunray will be giving us a longer briefing than usual, so we'll be stuck at the Palace listening to a lot of drone and govno. If it directly affects us, I'll let you know, but till then it's somebody else's problem. For the record, the Klatchians have closed the Syrritan and Laotanian borders to anyone other than themselves, which I'm guessing also applies to the air, but we're not due to send a comms flight there for a few weeks, so not our problem. Yet."
Olga paused to let the hint sink in, then went on:
"It should have settled down by then. The politicians are not completely a waste of space." She paused. "Lieutenant Politek is off-duty today, so while I'm gone, Senior Sergeant von Strafenburg is in charge. You therefore take your instructions from Valkyrie Control."
Olga nodded to Hanna von Strafenburg. Hanna, a woman described as "nearly six feet of Überwaldean efficiency", could be relied on for this.
"Pegasus reserve pilot for today is Officer Budonova. So you get a quiet morning, Snegurochka. General reserves for all duties will be Officers Myers and Smith-Rhodes. Hope you bought a good book to read, Firebird. That's all, now let us go to hear the general briefing from Commander Vimes. Make your way downstairs, parade dismissed."
Later in the morning, Rebecka Smith-Rhodes sat in a comfortable chair in the crew ready room, flying helmet to hand, just appreciating the feeling of having nothing very much to do. For a working witch who for most of the week ran a growing Steading, this was a luxury. She also appreciated the Air Watch subscribed to the daily newspapers and a selection of the glossy magazines as crew comforts, even if Wotcher!, Tepidity and Modern Young Woman were, well, the literary equivalent of the froth on the top of a coffee.
She watched Vasilisa Budonova(2) and Robyn-Barbara Myers(3), who were playing a game of darts on the unique Air Watch dartboard. (4) People who were not playing stayed well away from the playing area. Fortunately the ready room was a large space, and the samovars and the coffee-urn were at the other end.
"Strife! Snowbird, you bloody bladger, how did you manage that?" Robyn demanded.
Vasilisa shrugged.
"Is knack. One day you get good at it, Parrot."
The dartboard obediently came to a stop at a convenient height as she retrieved all three darts, including one that had narrowly missed the bullseye.
"Outer ring. Triple twenty. And a five. One hundred fifteen points to me."
She chalked up the new score in the blackboard. Under Снегу́рочка, she chalked up "245" in the very careful, slightly ornate, way Rodinian-speakers wrote numbers, with careful serifs and terminals. (5) . Under Kakapo, the number was far smaller, and the wall had a few new holes in it.
Relieved she hadn't yet been asked to play – Vasilisa was almost the undisputed champion in the Air Watch – Bekki watched the game unfold. She had once thrown a dart that bounced off the wire and had rebounded across the room, very nearly giving Olga Romanoff herself an unexpected ear piercing. The girls had never let her forget that. Olga had generously said this was the nearest she had ever come to getting shot down, so well done, Firebird. Good shooting, even if you weren't intending it.
Bekki grinned, and went back to reading the papers. There was a ponderous and portentous analysis of the Syrrit situation in the Times which she interpreted ultimately as a call for restraint, and trust in the good sense of politicians not to let a relatively minor local situation in Klatch escalate into a full-blown war. It was hard to tell with William de Worde's editorials. Meanwhile the Ankh-Morpork Inquirer was using lots of rather shorter words to demand Ankh-Morpork do something decisive to remedy the intolerable provocation from the Klatchians and to put them in their place once and for all. There was even a helpful graphic, using lots of clear symbols, showing the numbers of warships both nations could deploy, the number of troops in each country's standing Army, and – Bekki blinked – for the first time, a comparison chart of the air forces both sides could deploy. In all three categories, Ankh-Morpork was very visibly lagging behind, and in the opinion of the Inquirer's editor, massive rearmament and a robust attitude to Klatchian provocation was the only way forward to safeguard our nation and to Make Ankh-Morpork Great Again.
Bekki looked critically at the graphic. Under Aerial Forces, there was a repeated icon of a witch on a broomstick, repeated – she counted them – fifty-one times. This was displayed next to a rather larger repeating icon of around four hundred flying carpets, each with a villainous-looking beturbaned Klatchian sitting on top waving a scimitar.
"That's wrong." she thought. "That picture puts us all on the same standard broomstick. Nothing said about the battle-brooms we've got like the ME262 or the MIG-21. There's a prototype MIG-25 now. Bigger, faster and more firepower. It doesn't mention the Feegle and their birds. No Pegasi. And they've missed the new heavy squadron."
"You know that is complete govno?" Vasilisa said from behind her. She was leaning on the back of the chair. "Is der'mo, Firebird. Newspapers not tell truth. Never. You know what they say back in Blondograd? Two newspapers there. People say. There is no news in Pravda. And no truth in Izvestiya."(6)
Bekki disentangled it. She felt oddly pleased she had not needed a Morporkian-Rodinian dictionary.
"Izvestiya. Pravda. News. Truth. Got it." she said.
"Assume I haven't?" Robyn asked. There was a hiatus while the joke was explained to a bemused Foggy Islander.
"That's got to be a way of keeping our morale up." Robyn said, studying the graphic. "Demonstrating with nice big pictures exactly how outnumbered we are."
Vasilisa snorted derisively. She ripped out the page with the graphic on and wrote underneath "Plenty for everybody! Ten Klatchians each!" This was then pinned to the big noticeboard where everyone could see it.
A little later, the three young witches made a brew and discussed Witchcraft and Steadings. Bekki described her thriving practice in Rimwards Howondaland. She'd been living there for seven months now, building her Steading with the support of the aunt who had invited her over, and devoting a couple of days each week to the Air Watch. Being a Pegasus pilot and having a dedicated Feegle navigator made commuting easier.
"So. Black people. Ailments of poverty. White people. Ailments of affluence." Robyn said.
"That's a lot of it, yes." Bekki replied. "But not completely so. Uncle Horst's mother ran a big plaas single-handed and worked too hard for eighteen hours a day in all weathers. She's in her fifties, but her body could be twenty years older, with all her joints failing. I manage her pain, get her mobile and moving, and do what I can."
"Da. I see this in kulaks and mouzhiks. Extreme weather. Cold winters. Field work. Too much hard labour, not good for people." Vasilisa agreed. "Then there is Countess Ekatarinya. Who incidentally is Olga's mother. Expected to be a lady of leisure in the estate house with other people doing everything for her. So she exercises little, eats rich foods, and drinks rich wine. Result, gout. I know Olga Anastacia is concerned. I do what I can."
They both looked at Robyn Myers. She winced.
"Sheep. Bloody sheep. Everywhere, sheep. I grew up on a sheep-station way out in the wop-wops outside Rangiwangi.(7) Age twelve, it all rarks up when I start getting magic. Things happened that they got worried about, so the oldies start talking to people, they talk to other people, they talk to people in Dunmehedin, and stone me, these women on white horses with wings turn up. You don't see that every day in Rangiwangi. One's got a passenger, this old lady called Miss Tick, sharp old bag. She talks to me and says "show me the magic", so I do, and then they're talking to the oldies, and they agree to something.
"Would I like to go somewhere else to learn how to use the magic properly? No biggie, the oldies were going to send me to a boarding school anyway, and this sounded shitloads more interesting. The oldies were all for it, 'cos they could save on the school fees. So I'm thinking, hey, a tikki out of the wopwops, I'm going to go to Dunmehedin, sweet! So they load my bags on the flying white horse, I say goodbye, this woman called Irena who's flying it says I'll be looked after, next thing I know I'm in bloody Lancre at the other bloody end of the Disc. And when they realise I'm from the Foggy Islands – well, no bloody chance. I get sent to the bloody Chalk, 'cos they think I've got a talent."
Robyn shuddered theatrically. Vasilisa and Bekki made sympathetic noises.
"I suspect sheep were involved?" Vasilisa said. Robyn nodded.
"Two bloody years in the bloody Chalk. Bloody sheep. Like I'm fated or something. Struth, just because I grew up with the bloody things doesn't mean I have to bloody well like it, does it? Good point – I got to work with Tiffany Aching. Bad point – sheep. But I got to fly. Then one day, Olga and Irena turned up to do the recruiting sergeant thing for girls who fly. I was out of the Chalk like shit off a shovel. Ended up here. Full time Air Watch. Love it!"
"No sheep." Bekki said.
"No bloody sheep." Robyn agreed, emphatically.
The three young witches sipped their tea.
"Hey, 'Lisa. Your steading. You got the place Olga and Irena grew up in, didn't you? After the old lady carked it? That's gotta be odd?"
Vasilisa considered this.
"Nyet." she said. "Olga asked me a long time before. I was too forn for Lancre and I wished to try Steading. Natalia Svetlanavichnya would not go on for ever, she was over a hundred, Olga and Irena were keen to confirm successor in their home Oblast. I have Pegasus. And this way, like Firebird, I get best of both worlds. Krapovits Oblast, it has its interest. I have big isba in the woods. I deal with peasants, Cossacks and nobility. Variety. When I am tired of view of fir trees from my window, I get to come to Ankh-Morpork for a day or two. Otherwise, what is word, cabin-fever. I am still wondering how to awaken duck's feet underneath isba, but Olga Anastacia counsels me to leave well alone. And also that her father can be bullying idiot, and he needs to hear word "nyet" more often. Privilege for witch is that she can say "nyet" to a Grand Duke!"
Olga put her there because she knew her father needed a strong local Witch who wouldn't put up with him throwing his weight around, Bekki realised. The right girl in the right place.
Vasilisa Budonova was a year or so older than Bekki. Bekki was girl enough to see she was outclassed in the looks department and could, if she let herself, feel a little bit irked by this. At first glance, Vasilisa gave the impression of being a classic blonde who took all the associations of blonde-ness way past eleven. Long blonde hair, a look of doll-like innocence and naivety, the figure of an angel…. and a Witch. Look past the blondeness, and old eyes looked out of a teenage face, shrewdly judging, weighing up and observing. Bekki could see how Grand Duke Nicholas Romanoff might initially have thought the new young witch in town was going to be easily browbeaten, manipulated and no threat to his rule. She wondered how and when the penny, or perhaps the kopek, had dropped for him. Especially when it occurred to him that his daughter Olga had chosen the new girl, with great care and forethought. (8)
A little later in the day, which according to relaxed-looking Watchmen about Pseudopolis Yard was "quiet so far" and with no call on their time to get airborne, Robyn offered to remain on call if any emergency Shout went up.
"Control can put a comms shout out for you if you're needed. You two grab a bite."
They left Robyn practicing her darts and following the moving board around the wall, trying to get the knack of anticipating its shifts in speed and direction. Foggy Islands invective at missed shots faded as they left.
To Vasilisa's interest, the Dish of the Day turned out to be Escrovian Goulash. Bekki wondered if it was yesterday's leftovers stewed up to a uniform brown, with the odd bit of red for light relief.
Mrs Swindells, the Watch cook, beamed at them as she served. She could be very motherly and protective towards "those young girls you're recruiting these days, Mr Vimes!" and liked the Air Watch.
"You got to be careful with that, love. The recipe called for it to be spicy."
"Oh, da. Spicy." Vasilisa said. She took a taste and considered. "Would you perhaps have any paprika? Red pepper powder? For me, please. I am not Ankh-Morporkian, and perhaps my idea of "spicy" is different… "
"Ooh, do be careful with that, love!"
Vasilisa had nonchalantly added three teaspoonfuls of paprika from the jar that was tentatively offered, as if it were toxic alchemical waste, and was stirring it into her goulash. She took another taste.
"Horoscho. Now is spicy. Spassibo!"
She considered, and added a spoonful to Bekki's bowl.
"Make that two?" Bekki asked. "Back home we have Caarp Curries. Redeye chilis and peri-peri. I'm used to this too."
"Ah, da. You sound Ankh-Morporkian but you are also from other place. Sometimes I forget."
The two Air Witches found a table and ate. The cook watched them suspiciously, as if she suspected they were about to either explode or start breathing fire.
"Ankh-Morporkians." Vasilisa said. "Afraid of flavour."
"Have you ever tried the sort of curry Sergeant Colon likes?"(9) Bekki remarked. "It explains a lot."
"Da. And here, there is one Vasilisa Budonova. One Rebecka Smith-Rhodes. And several hundred of Fred Colon. This, Fred Colon goulash, where if you close eyes and think nice thoughts, there is very slight almost- taste of paprika."
"And pieces of soggy swede.(10) And big fat watery sultanas."
Bekki looked around the canteen. It was indeed a quiet day: more than the usual number of Watchmen of various divisions were in here, eating or drinking tea. The atmosphere, when she paused to pick up the cues, was one of relaxed watchfulness, a sensation of things are suspiciously quiet out there. As if something big's on the way. Enjoy it while it lasts.
It paid to use your Witch-senses to read atmospheres. And the Watch had a sort of hive-subconsciousness that projected outwards and could be read like a book. One with very big pictures and few words. Bekki wondered if you got really good at this, could this be like, you know, reading the mood of the whole City, through people who intimately interacted with it every day? Commander Vimes does this all the time, her Second Thoughts said. Then the inner picture of her mother surfaced, the one that embodied her Third Thoughts, and said Ja, so does Vetinari. And he's better at it.
Bekki was also aware that the Watchmen, or at least the human male ones, were covertly looking at them. She shrugged. It didn't need her Third Thoughts surfacing to remember that not only her mother, but Aunt Mariella, had said things along the lines of take it from me, meisie. If you are in the company of a conventionally attractive friend, especially when she's blonde, it isn't you the men are looking at. Red hair and freckles makes you the gooseberry. Always.
Vasilisa attracted this sort of attention. She carried it nonchalantly, remarking that Ankh-Morporkian tea, in other countries such as her own where tea is drunk, serves as same sort of awful warning as its curries and its goulash. Nichevo, there are samovars in ready room, we can have proper cup of tea later?
At this moment the omniscope communicator in Vasilisa's top pocket crackled into life. The whole room stopped its muted conversations and listened. The omnicoms were a fairly new thing, rare and expensive. Only the Air Police and key people in other divisions had them. They were held to be indispensable for fast deployment of air personnel and allowed the Witches to stay in contact with Control, and each other, at all times. It took a lot to impress a Watchman, but something about the Air Watch being able to instantly scramble up a flight and get it into the air within a minute was fascinating and attractive. ''Kind of, err, sexy." one Watchman had admitted. (11)
-Valkyrie Control to Snow Maiden. Respond, Snow Maiden. Over.
"Responding, Valkyrie Control. Here Snow Maiden. Over."
This close to Control, Hanna von Strafenburg's voice was as loud and clear as if she was in the room. All conversation stopped. All eyes turned to the Air Witches.
-Sunray has requested unscheduled urgent Pegasus flight, departure immediate. Report to Control for briefing immediately. Acknowledge, SnowMaiden. Over.
"Acknowledged, Valkyrie Control. Snegurochka responding. Over."
Vasilisa stood up, and regarded an almost-eaten goulash wistfully.
"Cup of tea, no loss. Goulash, I got to eat most of it. See you later, Firebird."
She left. Bekki contemplated the goulash. With the extra paprika, it wasn't that bad, and she was hungry…
-Valkyrie Control to Parrot and Firebird. Stand by for flight. Amber state. Acknowledge. Over.
Bekki sighed. Amber State meant having your broomstick close and your flying helmet and if necessary your parachute on. And you couldn't do that from the canteen, even if you'd only half-finished your lunch. Move from ready room to Dispersal, and be in the air in seconds, when called for.
"Firebird responding, Valkyrie Control. Moving to Dispersal. Over."
Eyes watched her as she left. She heard a Watchman say "If the Golem's getting all her reserves in the air, it's started, then. Air Watch get to know first."
What's starting, Bekki wondered, as she doubled to the Air Station.
Sergeant Hanna von Strafenburg was seated at the Control Desk. There wasn't a formal name for this office yet, a large airy upper room that had in older days been a salon or a reception room, when the Ramkin family had used Pseudopolis Yard as a town house. Where the interior had not yet been remodelled, the wall was still a riot of rococo decoration, elaborate architraves, fleur-de-lys, floral mouldings, and cherubs.(12) One large wall had been rebuilt to Air Watch specifications: very large-scale maps firstly of the City, then of the immediate Sto Plains as far as Quirm, Chirm and Lancre, and then of the whole Disc, occupied the space. The new category of Air Watch members called plotters were moving abstract counters around on them, representing the current estimated locations of Air Watch and Pegasus Service assets as the pilots reported in.
Vasilisa nodded and smiled at one, as he used the long plotting stick to adjust a rectangular counter with RADUGA DESH/SYREN inscribed on it. She gathered that Olga Romanoff was somewhere over Rimwards Howondaland right now, on her scheduled Pegasus run.
The master omniscope control panel on Hanna's desk crackled into life. Hanna motioned to Vasilisa to be silent.
-Zemphis Al to Valkyrie Control. Bearing two-twenty out of Ankh-Morpork, angels two, eight miles out. Visual contact on air object on bearing one-seventy from me at angels one. Confirmed as flying carpet, standard rug, pilot and two passengers. Definitely Klatchian. Over.
Hanna nodded to the plotters, who rummaged in a box, then attached a black-coloured magnetised counter to the map on the Circle Sea approach to the City. It was not far from the smaller differently coloured rectangle (13) inscribed ZEMPHIS AL.
"Acknowledged, Zemphis Al. Approach close, look for any CD plate and then escort into the City. Make it clear you're there. Acknowledge. Over."
-Acknowledged, Valkyrie Control. Out.
Hanna gave Vasilisa a brief smile.
"We should have those plotting maps on large flat tables." she remarked. "On this scale, Agatea is eleven feet up the wall and approaching the ceiling. They need stepladders to plot anything on the other side of Cori Celesti. Inefficient. I will raise this with Captain Romanoff."
Then she got to the point, occasionally interrupted by Air Watch sitreps.
"Lord Vetinari says there is no requirement for a Palace briefing. You are to perform a diplomatic favour for the Zlobenian Embassy. What is required is that you pick up and transport a Zlobenian diplomat and fly him to his new posting where he is to relieve a man whose term has expired, and is keen to return home. There will be sundry mail to deliver to our and to other Consulates at your destination. You are to collect outgoing mail and diplomatic responses, and bring them back. A standard milk run, Snegurochka. Nothing to it. The mail to be delivered was brought here from the Palace."
Hanna handed over a satchel and a clip-board. Vasilisa signed for the mail.
"And my destination, Sergeant?"
Hanna von Strafenburg smiled slightly.
"Smyrrit. The Whistlestop."
Hanna nodded to the plotters. One held up the plotting counter dual-marked STRAVINSKI/SNEGUROCHKA and СТРАВИНСКИ/ СНЕГОРУШКА , then placed it on the world map, immediately above Ankh-Morpork. He had to stretch a little.
"Everything is ready for you. Gather and check your equipment. I expect you in the air in ten minutes."
"Yes, sergeant. My flight-navigator?"
"Down here, Mistress!"
Vasilisa looked down. She recognised the Feegle, who was quivering with excitement and eager-to-please.
"Your Flight-Navigator will be Wee Archie Aff The Midden." Hanna said. Then she frowned.
"Officer Budonova. You are going to Smyrrit. Which at this moment is problematical. I do not anticipate even the Klatchians would be stupid enough to interfere with a Pegasus. However, it may be as well if you go visibly armed. Draw weapons from the Armoury, and at all times remember the Rules of Engagement. I will allow you an extra five minutes for this. Dismissed, and safe journey. Auf Wiedersehen! "
A little later, equipment and flight checks complete, a pistol crossbow holstered on each hip and the very large over-and-under horsebow prominently displayed in the holster just in front of the saddle, Vasilisa was cleared for take-off. Stravinsky cleared the edge of the flight-deck and ascended over the City, and they made the first leg of the journey to the Zlobenian Embassy, where they were expected.
Lights flashed below her. Looking down into the street below, she counted the iconographers. She sighed. Aviation nuts and broom-spotters. But likely also iconographers from the newspapers staking us out to see what moves. She waved down at the picture-takers and orientated herself. The Zlobenian Embassy was over towards Paragore Ward, the spit of land that separated Mort Lake from the River Ankh. So, a short flight due Hubwards.
"Snow Maiden in flight, Valkyrie Control. Over."
Vasilisa noted magic carpets in the sky. One appeared to have in iconographer and a tripod on it. That vampire Otto Chriek. Probably reasoning that if the activities of the Air Watch were currently newsworthy, he wasn't going to do it from the ground. The other one looked like a taxi carrying a fare. Which was going the same way she was. Which could be a coincidence, lots of Klatchians in the city ran magic carpets as a taxi service. But right now…
"Snow Maiden to Valkyrie Control. Got company in the air. Two rugs keeping station with me."
She described them.
-Nothing to worry about, Snow Maiden. Otto is Otto. Mainly harmless. Just smile for the iconograph. I'll have a patrol check out the other rug and let it be known we're taking an interest. To drop a hint we can escort him to street level, and spend two hours checking out his licences and paperwork. Two hours without fares. Over.
Vasilisa shrugged. She could now see the Embassy Row on Paragore Ward. Anyone stalking her was welcome to that knowledge. Identifying the correct destination, she began the descent. Stravinsky obediently angled himself downwards.
The Patrician's Palace, Ankh-Morpork.
Lord Havelock Vetinari raised his head from the briefing papers. He smiled slightly and nodded acknowledgement as his secretary Rufus Drumknott set a mug of tea on the table. Drumknott also provided a small plate of the plain austere biscuits known as digestibles.
Vetinari picked one off the plate and considered it thoughtfully.
"Some people prefer these with a coating of chocolate." he remarked, apropos of nothing. "I find that to be somewhat extravagant, and an exemplar of the phrase gilding the lily."
"Indeed, sir." Drumknott replied. He stood back.
"Sir, invited guests are present in the waiting room. The Klatchian Ambassador, for one. Also Field-Marshal Mountjoy-Standish and General Wrangle of the Army, and Admiral Harrap for the navy."
"Allow them to wait for a while longer in each other's company, Drumknott. Did the Ambassador bring his military attaché? Capital. It will be instructive for all concerned. And Captain Romanoff of the Air Force is currently on her way home from Howondaland, and the instruction will go out to her to attend here, directly, with all speed. Sergeant von Strafenburg will of course naturally take care to pass the request on."
"Indeed, sir. Captain Romanoff will also need to know of the unscheduled Pegasus flight you arranged into the disputed area. Operation Gone Fishing, you said, in a whimsical moment?"
Vetinari looked at his secretary, his face unreadable.
"Indeed, Drumknott. I have other operatives here and there, who are seeking to find out more. Most pertinently. Why the Klatchians have invaded two small and inoffensive neighbouring states, who largely consist of barren mountains and semi-arid deserts, which are no conceivable threat or interest to anyone anywhere. I have a suspicion, but at present it is only a suspicion. Hence my going fishing and dangling bait."
"To see what sort of fish bites, sir?"
"Precisely, Drumknott. My ground operatives will investigate and report thoroughly. But it will take days for those reports to come back. A Pegasus pilot will be back here on the same day with her observations. Also, a clear message will go out to the Klatchians that they will not close the airspace to my pilots. That Pegasus is also on a valid diplomatic flight on behalf of a third uninvolved state, and is inviolable."
"So if the Klatchians seek to block or impede the flight, or take any course of action that risks injuring the passenger, they will risk a diplomatic incident not just with Ankh-Morpork, but also the Principality of Zlobenia…"
"Just so, Drumknott. I intend to make this abundantly clear to the Ambassador. And the Times will have something reassuring to print tonight."
"The Inquirer may also be appeased at what they will perceive as a show of strength and defiance."
Vetinari shook his head.
"Drumknott, the Inquirer would not be appeased even if I amassed a thousand Wizards to throw fireballs at Klatch until the whole country is melted into thaumologically lethal fused glass and smouldering slag. Even then they would denounce me for being too soft on them."
"Do we have a thousand such Wizards, sir?" Drumknott asked. Vetinari smiled slightly.
"No, Drumknott. I have taken very great care over the years to ensure this outcome cannot happen again. I was advised afterwards as to what happened last time. (14) Once is enough."
Euphrasy Street, Dolly Sisters, Ankh-Morpork.
Lieutenant Irena Politek, the deputy commander of the Air Watch, was enjoying a day off work. She was taking full advantage of it so as to catch up with the sort of domestic tasks that could otherwise be neglected. Thus far, she had cleaned the kitchen and bathroom, had run a sack of clothing and bedding down to the laundry, had attended to minor repairs with needle and thread, and was now settling down to the ironing. She had her mail to read and answer later.
Throughout all this, she had left her issue Omnicon switched on with the volume up, and was listening in to comms on the usual channels. As a Lieutenant, her communicator had more permissions and functions built into it. A rank-and-file pilot could normally only talk to Control and to other pilots; she could not eavesdrop on other peoples' comms unless she was specifically included. Irena and Olga could set their Omnicons to listen to everything.
Even off-duty, Irena liked to tune into the air traffic. It kept her in touch. It kept her sane while ironing clothes, for one thing.
The Omnicon was currently propped up on the kitchen table while she composed a mental picture of whereabouts in the sky everybody was.
-Zemphis Al to Valkyrie Control. Bearing two-twenty out of Ankh-Morpork, angels two, eight miles out. Visual contact on air object on bearing one-seventy from me at angels one. Confirmed as flying carpet, standard rug, pilot and two passengers. Definitely Klatchian. Over.
-Acknowledged, Zemphis Al. Approach close, look for any CD plate and then escort into the City. Make it clear you're there. Acknowledge. Over.
-Acknowledged, Valkyrie Control. Out.
-Greygoose to Valkyrie Control. Visual on stolen coach being driven erratically on Kings Way. Notify all stations Ostrich to set up intercept at Longwall and Ridings, over.
-Acknowledged, Greygoose. This is Valkyrie calling all stations Ostrich, roadblock advised at Longwall and Ridings, stolen coach, erratically driven, presence of trolls or golems recommended. Over.
- Thanks, Valkyrie. This is Whitehound, am with foot patrol on Eachway, should be able to reach Longwall, requesting backup. Over.
Irena grinned. At the moment only key officers in the regular Watch had Omnicoms. Anything the Air Watch spotted from above that the Foot Watch needed to know was commed down for them to deal with, either directly or via Control. Captain Angua von Überwald had firmly vetoed "Schlampe" as her callsign(15) but was happy with "White hound". Sally von Humpeding, a honorary Air Watch member, was "Fledermaus". Mr Vimes ("Stoneface") was periodically given an updated list, but it inevitably got lost in the filing, and he complained that he couldn't keep up.
-Snow Maiden to Valkyrie Control. Got company in the air. Two rugs keeping station with me.
Irena listened to this part of the traffic and put down her iron, leaving a blouse half-done. She made the association between the unexpected Klatchian carpet that had been reported by Amelia Cronkhart, (Zemphis Al), and cross referenced times, direction and description. It came into the city and then stalked a Pegasus. Man on the back seen fiddling with some sort of technology. Iconograph?
She was tempted to break into the comms to advise Hanna, but refrained. One of the things that she had to come down hard on was un-necessary chatter on the Omnicon. It was drummed into the girls to keep it short, keep it relevant, use the accepted formats, and do not clutter the airwaves with govno. And she knew, as Red Star Control, the job required focus, concentration, and no distractions. No, she wasn't going to burden Hanna with speculation. And besides, this is my day off. Irena took up her iron again and finished the blouse, listening to the familiar reassuring air traffic.
-Wildcat to Valkyrie Control. Visual on two Pegasi, just appeared over City airspace on bearing forty-five and angels two. Over.
-Acknowledged, Wildcat. Over.
-Well spotted, Wildcat. Valkyrie Control, this is Syren. Will RV at the Air Station in five. Lancre Punch is with me. Over.
-Syren, this is Valkyrie Control. Update: you are to go direct to Sunray at the Palace. Sunray says "no great rush". Lancre Punch, you are clear to RV at the Air Station. Over."
-Acknowledged, Valkyrie Control. Keep the samovar hot for me. Syren out.
Irena checked the time. Hanna would be coming off a Control shift soon. You could do eight hours straight, but it was normally six. She tried to remember who was taking over. If Olga was being delayed at the Palace for an indefinite period – probably to do with a response to this Smyrrit govno – it would be one of two other people…
-Valkyrie Control to all stations Flying Pig. To advise you all: in twenty minutes I will be handing over Control. Will notify as to who takes over. Valkyrie out."
Followed shortly by:
-Valkyrie Control calling Matkuritsa. Please give current location and status. Asking if you can recall to the Air Station and take over as Control. Over."
Irena smiled slightly. "Mother hen" was Sergeant Nadezhda Popova, one of the older pilots in the Service. Steady and competent in the control seat, who could hold the desk till Olga got back.
She listened to the progress of Vasilisa's unscheduled flight with interest and amusement and of the delay caused by the need for extra resources to be allocated to the flight, heard it take off, heard Vasilisa confirm her departure from Ankh-Morporkian airspace.
They'll be alright. It's a diplomatic mission. Nobody interferes with those. Unless they're really stupid. And there's only been one recorded instance of a Pegasus ever being attacked, and that was in an outright war zone. I should know, I was flying her.
Then, fair, faint and full of crackle and static from several thousand miles away, at the very outer limit of the Omnicom's range. Pegasus pilots were encouraged to at least try to make contact at long reaches, so an accurate picture could be built up as to how far the Omnicon could reliably reach. Irena suspected weather conditions could affect the signal, as maximum range varied from day to day.(16) She made a note to check if Ponder Stibbons was factoring this into the R&D.
-Cont~~~~~~~~ is SnowMaiden. Co-pilot reports ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ between four and eight, ~~~~~~distant~~~~~~~~~~~~~ angels two, and bearing ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~# speed… will keep you informed, over.
And a little later, in a more urgent and insistent voice:
-Code eighty-seven, repeat, code eighty-seven! Control, hostiles in airspace, Klatchians…
The transmission cut off in a massive eruption of static and white noise. Irena fought back the shock, and ran to put her working boots on, grabbing wildly at her Omnicon, her weapons belt, her flying helmet and her Watch badge, in that order. She grabbed her broomstick on the way out and kicked the door closed, tugging her right boot into place as she hopped, her broom in the other hand. This was an emergency.
Hell, this is going to Chapter Two. Next chapter... fireballs may be involved.
(1) information about Syrrit, which I am hideously aware I have elsewhere mis-spelt as Smyrrit, comes direct from the Compleat Discworld Atlas. As described in Gap Year Adventures, this is a largely unremarkable nation in central Klatch. Except for one or two noteworthy things.
(2) Call-sign Sneguroshka, the Snow-Maiden.
(3) Call-sign Kakapo, a sort of semi-flightless parrot from New Zealand on our world but the Foggy Islands on Discworld.
(4) The Air Watch got the customary dartboard from Vetinari after distinguishing itself in the Lancre war. In an organisation dedicated to technological and technomantic innovation, the concept of darts had been adapted to the special needs of an Air Force training for combat. Once activated, it did not stay in one place on the large flat wall and it would zoom around at random and take unpredictable directions and changes of course and speed. The challenge for the Air Witches was hitting it at all, and the wall was pock-marked with ample evidence of missed shots. Air Watch darts could get interesting.
(5) Look at the way Russians painted the reg numbers on the side of tank turrets. Also a slight retcon: "Rus" for the Discworld's Russians evolved because I was stuck for a Discworldy-name that evoked Russian-ness. It lacked an imaginative touch, somehow. Then I considered "Rodinia", the almost mystical concept of the Russian homeland and native soil, and realised. Another word for a Russian-like people on Discworld might be Rodinian.
(6) An old Soviet Union-era joke about Russia's two newspapers. It may be still true today. Pravda – The Truth. Izvestiya – The News. Come to think of it, isn't there a Terry Pratchett novel about a newspaper called The Truth…
(7) Terry Pratchett observed, in A Slip Of The Keyboard, that when you're on the eighth day of a signing tour in New Zealand and all the places start to blur into each other, then everywhere is called Rangiwangi. As Foggy Islanders enter the ongoing tale, this is Homage. I am consulting a New Zealand slang directory for useful bits to slip into Robyn's speech. If NZ readers could advise as to whether this rings true or not, I'd be pleased! Thank you.
(8) Described in the very first chapter, which was only ever intended to be a standalone…
(9) Ankh-Morpork curries are famed the Disc over. For all the wrong reasons. See Nanny Ogg's Cookbook for the recipe. This is fusion cooking with the signature dish of the Escrow(9a) region.
(9a) A bit tenuous, but Escrow is a region of Überwald, albeit close-ish to Lancre. The deMagpyr clan were local overlords. Magpyr is a bit like Magyar. Only a slightly circumstantial link but do we have a marker here for the Discworld's Hungary?
10 (10) It's used this way in canon, so "swede" is officially right for the vegetable, but there's nowhere on the Discworld for it to be named after. "Hubsvensska", in these fics, but a mouthful for everyday use. Do the North American editions of Pratchett skirt this by using "rutabaga"?
(11) all conversation had stopped. Irena Politek had glared at him. "I believe you meant to say "dramatic", perhaps?" she had suggested, meaningfully.
(12) Who now worked for the Air Watch as ground personnel.
(13) Yellow, for a standard broom; larger and white for a Pegasus; larger still for one of the Heavy Squadron.
(14) See Sourcery by Terry Pratchett.
(15) In German, it does mean "bitch", yes, but not the four-legged sort. The word was selected by somebody with a rudimentary grasp of Überwaldean and a naïve lack of understanding that the word "bitch" has lots of different meanings.
(16) In Jingo, the wizards can only get a standard omniscope to transmit events in Leshp with great difficulty, and the picture is grainy and full of static. Syrrit is at least twice as far away. It is reasonable to assume Ponder Stibbons and the tekniks have improved it since, but I anticipate there will still be an outer limit for direct transmission, even on a flat world. In this case, the Pegasus will be over any intervening mountains and the line of transmission is direct, but a lot will depend on whether or not there are any intervening electrical storms or massive isobaric differences in air pressure.
Bonus Story: Of the Valkyries. The unwritten bit of the memorial service for the dead, last chapter.
Sophie Rawlinson and Rebecka Smith-Rhodes slipped away from the post-service reception, hoping they were doing so discreetly. With the best part of two hundred people milling around the Air Station, Rebecka considered this was fairly easy to do. They duly slipped down the stairs to the lower levels of Pseudopolis Yard, and followed their ears and noses to the main stables where the Watch housed its conventional horses. And today, home for the Air Watch overspill consisting of the rest of the Pegasi – and the two other interesting equines that had appeared. The stable was guarded, but the Watchmen on duty nodded amiably to the two obvious Pegasus Service pilots, and stood aside to allow them to enter.
Becki made a point of finding her own Pegasus to check on his welfare. She found Boetjie placidly eating hay and looking happy enough, and spent a few minutes with him, petting him and asking if he wouldn't mind if she looked at other horses. She sensed something like this was only good manners, after all.
Waiting for Sophie to finish her few minutes with Rosie, she looked around the lower stables, a space subdivided into many stalls and looking a lot smaller than it actually was, to see if she could locate the unique horses they'd come down here to find. As practically every stall was filled with the sort of horses the Watch used both for Mounted Police and Flying Squad duties, this necessarily took time. But once Sophie joined her, they were aware of an odd quality to the air which involved both a detectable quantity of octarine and a slight tingling tinny taste in the mouth. The sort of thing that people who were not magic users might miss.
And there was also…
Sophie nudged Becki.
"Over there." she said.
They followed the pink-red glow in the air. There were grooms and duty Watchmen from the mounted arms, doing what needed to be done for the horses, but they seemed unaffected by the fact two horses, at rest, were radiating a glow that looked like sunlight filtering through rose quartz.
The horses themselves were large, and their tack consisted of the sort of archaic-looking saddle with a high stall fore and aft, and a second, less ornate, passenger saddle immediately behind. The tack also looked old, with the sort of ornately decorated fringed reins that belonged quite a few centuries before the present. A cluster of long spears sat in a rest on the right side of the saddle, and a very large sword was holstered to the left.
"If you look closely." Sophie said, in a near-whisper, "Binky has the same sort of aura, but in silvery-white."
Becki said nothing. She was studying the horses. Which apart from the pink-red glow, the hardware and the archaic tack were perfectly normal.
"You know. Death's horse." Sophie clarified.
"I've met Death. All three of them." Becki said. She reflected she hadn't yet seen Death's white horse. A thought struck her.
"So these have a red aura. It's probably muted, as they're off duty. I wonder what colour aura Famine and Pestilence's horses have?"
They went to take a closer look, taking care to assess the nature of the horses they were approaching, gently making them aware of a nearby human presence. Finally Sophie was able to reach out and pat a flank and then a neck. The horse tolerated her touch and whickered a little.
"They're real. They're living horses. But there's something else here." Sophie said, thoughtfully.
"Well, you're not wrong there." a voice said from behind them. Becki and Sophie took care to turn slowly. The voice had the same overtones as Olga and Irena, the same sort of accent suggesting Morporkian was not the first language of the speaker. Somebody else laughed.
They saw the two women who'd arrived, in the archaic-looking chainmail, the helmets with wings on, and the saucepan-lid bras. Each weas holding a long spear.
"You'd never have flown them." said the woman with the longer, blonder, hair. Bekki noted there was a wound scarf around her neck with long trailing ends. There was a fashion for these in the Air Police: the long stylish silk scarf seemed somehow to mark its wearer as a pilot. No colour was mandated and each pilot was free to choose her own: Irena Politek, for instance, favoured a blood-red scarf, tied just so. Olga Romanoff, for some reason, would look at it and frown. 17(17)
"You'd just sit there. Forever." said the one with the darker blonde hair, the colour people called "dirty-blonde". "It's like the thing with a Pegasus. You can get other people to feed and water and groom them, but only one person can fly them."
She grinned. It was a big confident swaggering sort of grin. Bekki focused again. There was something very slightly insubstantial about these two women. Something not quite right…
"You're Valkyries." Sophie Rawlinson said. "I saw you both upstairs. Sort of walking through people and not around them."
"She's bright." The dirty-blonde one said to the startling-blonde one. The taller Valkyrie whose hair looked like the pluperfect platonic blonde, the one all other blondes took their cue from, nodded in agreement.
"She's a Witch." she said, in a voice with a slightly Hublandish accent. "Hún er Norn. "
"Witches tend to be bright." The dirty-blonde said. "Especially here. Olga and Irena wouldn't employ them if they weren't."
She extended a hand.
"We were Air Police too." She said. "Before we died. Tatiana Grigorenko."
Bekki took the hand. It felt warm and solid and normal. She noticed the callouses on the sword fingers.
"Sigrid Helgasdottir." the other said. "Originally from a little Island you've probably never heard of."
"Capital city, or nearest thing to, being Wreckjavick." Bekki replied, politely. "Principal industries being herring-fishing, sheep-farming, making yogurt you could use for wallpaper paste, and knitting jerseys that double for chain mail. Oh, and shark meat buried in the earth for six months, although I suspect that's like the thing with Klatchians and sheeps' eyes."
Sigrid looked surprised.
"Look, I do the Hubland States run." Bekki said, politely. "In this case, diplomatic notes to and from the Wyrdthing. You find things out."
Something in Sigrid's eyes looked like judges holding up scorecards that said at least an eight. She smiled slightly and nodded acknowledgement to Bekki.
"You two are Pegasus Service." Tatiana said. "It was just broomsticks for us."
"Errr…" Sophie tried to say.
"When we were alive." Sigrid agreed.
"Errr…." Sophie said again.
"Had to die first before we got the upgrade." said Tatiana.
"Errr… your names are on the memorial upstairs…" Sophie managed to say.
"She pays attention." Sigrid remarked, acknowledging Sophie at last.
"In two alphabets, in your case." Sophie said, her lips suddenly out of step with the operation of her mind.
"That's Olga. Pays attention to small details. That's what makes her so good as a commanding officer, devyushka."
There was a long pause.
"So. You died." Sophie said. This was not something that came up a lot in normal conversations.
The Valkyries looked at her, amused.
"Everybody dies, devyushka."
Sophie tried not to notice the stable groom who, unheeding, walked through Tatiana's left arm and shoulder.
"We just got offered a job afterwards. The, what's the word, Jarlkoning. He took as liking to us and asked if we wanted to be Valkyries. Of course we said "yes". We got the flying horses, for one thing."
"The boss. Velikiy marshal na voyna." Tatiana said. "I got the job offer too."
Bekki focused. "A Jarl is like an Earl or a Duke, isn't it? It means something like "leader in war"…..and, err, velikiy… greatest… biggest…. Leader in the War… oh. Now I've got it…."
Tatiana slapped her on the shoulder. For a dead woman, it was a big bear-like clap. And for a dead woman a groom had just walked through, the shoulder-clap was extremely solid, from a warm hand. She rocked slightly.
"I like this devyushka." Tatiana announced.
Bekki nodded at her. She carefully assembled the words, knowing they'd be garbled.
"Я иду в степи и равнины вихря." she said. Tatiana paused, then grinned.
"I think you meant to say "I also visit the Steppes and the Vortex Plains." she remarked. "But not a bad try, devyushka. You said "flat place of the whirlwinds", but I got the idea. "
"Valkyries?" Sophie prompted them.
"You want to join us? You've got the right build and you know your horses, but you've got to die in battle first."
"Wait a minute." Sigrid said, and then winked out of existence. Bekki and Sophie tried not to blink.
A minute or so later she rematerialized, holding a large platter of party food from the reception upstairs.
"We can eat while we talk." she said. And the two young Witches then heard all about Valkyries. It was interesting.
"Errr. You're dead. But you're eating." Sophie said. Tatiana and Sigrid grinned at her.
"Have you ever seen Death eating a curry?" she asked, pleasantly. She took a bite from a sandwich.
"Da. Same thing. Almost." Tatiana agreed.
"Fair point." Sophie said.
Bekki cleared her throat.
"No offence." she said. Thoughts of her long-dead ancestors, the ones who came to her as a sort of spirit guide, came to her mind. So far they represented the only sort of dead people she had interacted with. "But you're the most solid dead people I've ever met."
Tatiana considered this.
"It comes with the job, devyushka. Now how do I explain this? We're Valkyries. We were offered the job after we died."
"Headhunted, sort of.." said Sigrid.
"Da. A job to die for. Death gave us references, in fact. Now, devuschki, being a Valkyrie means we have to come back into this world frequently to do the job. In Valhalla, it doesn't matter so much as in that place we all have bodies, of a sort. In that place you feel real, you have weight, you have mass. House Rules for the Dead, you see. It enables them to fight all day and be completely restored of any wounds you get, in time for an evening of feasting and carousing."
"Like the waterfront bars on Wreckjavick harbour." Sigrid said.
"Da, or Blondograd after the Cossacks hit town."
"Blondograd during the siege. Except without starvation."
"But. You have to cross over into the physical, living, world. Often." said Sophie. The horses are completely real. Some sort of magic applies so they can fly and cross between the worlds. But to ride those horses in this world means…"
Both Valkyries nodded.
"There's an Arrangement. Don't ask me how it works. But we get conditional bodies to come back into the world. For as long we need them. You feel it as a whole-body wince as you cross."
"Definite change." Sigrid agreed. "But conditional. People who don't have magic and who aren't magic users don't even notice. As you have observed, you have seen people walking right through us."
"Conditional bodies." Tatiana agreed. "Also, we died un-natural and violent deaths. I myself was hit by lightning during a battle. My body was somewhat messed up."
"Flame grilled." Sigrid said. "For myself, I fell nearly two thousand feet and impacted in the treetops of Lancre."
"Ouch." Bekki said.
"Oh, it was painless. An Elf had cut my throat in close combat first and thrown me off my broomstick. That part stung a bit."
"Anyway. Had we been forced to go back to our bodies in the condition we left them in, it would have posed problems on the grounds of impaired mobility and unattractive appearance. This body is totally free of the charred appearance caused by the lightning." Tatiana remarked.
Bekki and Sophie were now watching, with an appalled fascination, as Sigrid unwound the scarf from her neck. Bekki had assumed it was there to conceal the damage, and wondered what a throat gashed from ear to ear looked like….
She opened her eyes and saw an attractive long neck and a completely smooth, unblemished, throat.
"A little lesson. When you're dead you can improve things." she explained. "you don't have to wear the wounds that killed you. New body, for one thing."
Tatiana was eating another sandwich.
"We get to come here because the Jarlkoning, Tyr, is fair-minded. He agrees we should get a couple of hours off to come to our own memorial service."
"Let's wrap this up quickly. The drinks are upstairs." Tatiana prompted her.
"Okay." sigrid said. "The other sort of Valkyries are the normally living ones. It's the other way round for them. It's a sort of nine-till-five, they live over on this side, they commute in. They can get married, have kids, even retire. Runs in families. When we're all together, no distinction. Where there's a war and they've got the right sort of tradition about warrior-women collecting, we arrive, we wait for Death to do his stuff, then collect."
It's a good job. Gets you out in the open air, we get to fly, we get to meet people." Tatiana said. "Horoscho."
A message was relayed down to them by a duty Watchman. It was
Firebird. Lancre Punch. I know you have slipped away downstairs to see the Valkyrie horses. May I remind you the rest of the unit is up here. Kindly rejoin us. Olga.
"Better go, then," Bekki said.
"See you both up there." Tatiana replied. Then the Valkyries vanished. Bekki and Sophie had to use the stairs.
(17) A blood-red scarf, in USSR days, was the mark of the Komsomelets, the Young Communists. Irena had belonged to a similar organisation on the Disc, and Olga suspected Irena only really wore it these days to wind her up. But it still made her teeth grate. Olga herself favoured Gold and Black, the Imperial colours of the House of Romanoff. Irena knew this was a counter wind-up (from a woman to whom her nobility was a pain in the arse) and accepted it. Elsewhere, Rebecka Smith-Rhodes had been given, by her mother, a silk scarf in orange, white and blue. "Just to go with the name of your Pegasus." Mum had said. "Vetinari will see it straight away". (17a)
(17a) Again the Roundworld parallel – see my tale "Strandpiel". Bekki named her Pegasus for the horse belonging to a great general who won his battles. The kicker is he won them fighting against Ankh-Morpork. The nation that defeated Ankh-Morpork, and won its Independence, then adopted a blue, white and orange national flag… (on our world, the Boer War. On the Discworld, the Boers won).
Notes Dump: think of it as a sort of dispersal area for recovered ideas which can be cannibalised for spare parts so as to get new ideas up into the air again.
Thinking about how the Omnicon network might work - I know about British military radios of old, and these had three settings; summarised thus. This could be adapted: from wikipedia.
Designed for use in tanks and armoured vehicles, the radio provided three communication channels:
The A set provided longer range communications within the squadron or regiment.
The B set or "troop set" provided short range communication between tanks in a troop.
The IC channel provided internal communication between crewmembers inside the tank.
A rear-link tank in the HQ unit would join its A-set to a wider network, and relay relevant messages to the commander on the B set. This would extend a squadron net to the regiment, or a regimental net to the wider brigade/division.
The pilot's Omnicon would therefore have three settings, with an option (officers only) on a fourth. Maybe the switch/change lever operates by flicking the imp round the head, or something like that. Still haven't worked out where HEX fits into all this. Also... reversing the WW2 trope of rugged-jawed manly fighter pilots, getting up there and doing the fighting, while feminine dolly little girls in uniform are doing the map-plotting on a table, with long sticks for moving symbolic aircraft around.
Rule Of Funny has the Witch pilots up there doing the ocassional fighting, being supported by male ground crew doing the map plotting... and yes, some of these will be Wizards. Read on.