The Price of Flight – part sixteen.
The Arms Race.
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.
The Flying Sheep of Syrrit are discussed more fully in The Compleat Discworld Atlas (canonical) and have a cameo appearance in my tale Gap Year Adventures.
A couple of false starts and whole sequences of dialogue excised from the main section because they were too long and slowing the flow down. They'll be tacked on the end as bonuses.
And I've just realised. There's a scene somewhere where Bekki and Johanna are discussing what they know about how the Omnicon works. Bekki's gifted little sister Ruth is a disregarded third, who is listening into the conversation, making sketches and taking notes. (You would think they'd have been paying more attention, as it's not as if they haven't had prior experience of what Ruth's mind is capable of).
The Omnicom is the Discworld's analogue of a police or military radio. I've sketched out a few tentative notes as to how it works or might work, which I hope in the context of Discworld Magitek makes sense. The thing is, as Johanna and her daughter Rebecka are working it out between them, so is Ruth, who is diligently taking notes and, rather like Nicolai Tesla on a good day, sketching imaginative concepts.
Now I'm not having Ruth solve the signal-interception and compromised security problems all by herself. That's like introducing a nearly-ten year old Mary Sue. She might have a marginally useful idea or two to present to Daddy. (Her involvement here will be limited, maybe a cameo).
But it occurs to me, having re-read Chapter Forty-Two of Strandpiel, that Ruth, who while at a Crockett match speculated on the Discworld equivalent of broadcast sound radio and how to make it work… well, her particular interest in the use of Omnicoms might be different. This may be where she gets the clues she needs.
(I need a Discworld acronym for "BBC". Ah well, lots of broadcasting companies around the world with three-letter names!)
V0.5 Corrections, elimination of typos and improved bits which are always here. Damn: its HUMPEDING in the books. I'm too well educated. I keep thinking of the German classical composer "Humperdinck". also discovered the old thing where FF chops out random bits of text for no apparent reason is still here.
And "captured" for "captioned"? Damn predictive text.
The Special Research Labs (Restricted Access) at the Thaumatological Park, Unseen University Unreal Industrial Estate, Ankh-Morpork.
Professor Ponder Stibbons adjusted the set of the red-lensed security goggles. They were a poor fit over his regular glasses. He nodded to a group of Research Wizards and dogsbody undergraduates, there to do the dirty work and to be expendable if required.
"Places, everybody." He requested. "Doctor de Kokamainje, stand by to run experiment. This is take twenty-seven. HEX, stand by. On my count… three, two, one!"
There was a flash of octarine light. Then a whoomph of heat and an acrid smell of greasy soot as if something with a carbon content had been heated, instantaneously, to vapourisation point.
Ponder and the others raised their safety goggles. They looked at the red-hot shells of the two Omnicons, empty cases which had been loaded with simulation spells to represent the working originals.
Doctor Eddie de Kokamainje shook his head. Like Ponder, he had a personal reason to be here, pulling an all-nighter in support of the Air Watch.
"Well. We know now thet no part of the spell the Kletchiens used hed eny sort of fireball component." he remarked. "Or else it would hev inflicted third-degree burns."
Ponder nodded, gloomily, and motioned one of the impossibly young-looking junior Wizards to provide more coffee. Inside, he wondered where a young research wizard called Ponder Stibbons had vanished to, a Ponder Stibbons who could pull all-nighters with no detrimental effects.
He shook it off. This was important. He wondered how quickly the Librarian could get here with the source texts he'd requested on Klatchian magic. The Unreal Industrial Estate was some way distant from the main University campus. A safe distance had been insisted upon when it had been built. It would take time for the Librarian to ferry a lot of books and scrolls over.
He heard two of the younger wizards speculating on the possibility of pizza. Ponder grinned. Some things remained a constant between the young Ponder Stibbons, and the Ponder Stibbons who was now a couple of decades older and a father of three daughters.
"Why not? I'll put it on expenses. Order what you like, clacks it off, and we can have pizza while we work." he said.
Spa Lane, Nap Hill, Ankh-Morpork.
Rebecka Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons had finally eaten. Dorothea the family cook had uncomplainingly organised her a big dinner. She had talked to Mum and her sisters, somewhat indistinctly, as she ate. Famke had still been grumbly and annoying. Mum and Ruth, attentive.
"I don't think I've met Vasilisa yet." Mum said. The second evening editions of the Times and the Inquirer had arrived. The Times was heavy on the politics and serious long-winded analysis. while the Inquirer was heavy on the sensation and the perceived need to give the Klatchians so much shock-and-awe retribution that they'd never do a thing like this again. But both papers had latched on to the circulation-boosting gold of a story where a wonderfully photogenic blonde girl, with a face and a figure that screamed out an invitation to iconography, had resolutely saved the day for Ankh-Morpork, assisted in passing by a red haired and freckled sidekick. That wonderfully pithy quote was on both front pages in big letters. Bekki glanced at the front page of the Inquirer. Here, it had been truncated.
NO PROBLEM!
Bekki sighed. Mum had kindly said this was only to be expected. It was a relief, in a way, that Vasilisa had been the centre of attention, especially for iconographs. It took attention off Bekki.
"You get on together?" Mum had asked. She had smiled a quiet reflective smile. "Take it from me, meisie. You only really get to know somebody when you fight alongside her in a tough place, and you cover each other's backs. Builds trust. You become friends. Ask if she wants to come to dinner here sometime. Where does she stay, when she's in Ankh-Morpork?"
Bekki caught the unspoken offer.
Plenty of room here. She can stay over, here.
"Mother Hen lets her sleep on her couch, mum. That is, Sergeant Popova."
Johanna nodded.
"I get that she's everybody's Mother Hen?"
"Oldest pilot in the Service, mum. I suspect she even mothers Olga and Irena when they need it."
"Good. Everyone needs a little mothering every so often."
Bekki settled down for a long talk to her mother, and until they were sent off to bed, her sisters.
Eventually sleep began to overwhelm her.
The night of Weds 5th into Thursday 6th Grune. The Air Station Control Room, Pseudopolis Yard:
"This is Ynci Control to Fledermaus. Report position and bearing. Over."
There was a long pause with no return transmission. Nottie frowned and drew breath to repeat the call.
-Fleder~~~~ma~~~us~~~~~~~~~~~~to~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Ync~~~~i~~~~~~~~Con~~~~~~tr~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ol….
"Ynci Control to Fledermaus. Report garbled transmission. Possible Omnicon malfunction. Over."
There was another ominously long pause.
-Fleder~~~~maus~to~~Ynci~Control.~~~~~~You~~~~~~~~~~~ sound ~stretched~~out~~ Slowed~down.
Nottie sighed. She wondered if it was Sally. Or her patrol partner for tonight. All other Omnicon users were normally and fully human. Then she reflected that Sally's Omnicon had worked faultlessly for her up until tonight.
-Fledermaus to Ynci Control. I don't know what the Hells that was but everything seems okay now. Over.
Nottie was quickly scribbling the incident into the log book Olga had instituted for Control operators, emphasising that all odd things or malfunctions in the Omnicon system should be logged, timed and dated.
"Ynci Control to Fledermaus. What is your current location and bearing? Over." Nottie said. Her pencil poised to add the information.
-Fledermaus to Ynci Control. Proceeding due Rimwards, constant bearing one-eighty. Pay attention, kid, you need to know this stuff. Am currently over The Soake with Hide Park on my left, at half-angel high. Over."
"Ynci Control to Fledermaus. Acknowledged, Fledermaus. You are clear to make RV with Ostrich unit at Konobblers Way and Killing Ground in ten. Patching in Ostrich now. Stand by."
-Ynci Control. This is White Hound with Ostrich unit. We are in place to make the bust. Awaiting friends from Flying Pigs. Over.
-Hey, Angua. Am going in with fishing rod to drop bait. Over."
-White Hound to Fledermaus. Acknowledged. Put your Fledgling on, would you? Over."
-Read you, White Hound. Kid? Fly a bit closer, would you? No, closer. I don't bite. And I'm hoping you don't, either. Now…okay, eye contact, good. But my breasts are down here, and that's where you need to be looking. Left boob. Breast pocket. See the bulge? No, the smaller bulge. Now I want you to talk into my left boob. Introduce yourself.
-Err…. The voice was young, childish, uncertain.
"This is Ynci Control, Fledgling." Nottie said, kindly. "Sergeant Garlick. You met me earlier. Omnicon discipline says you open a transmission with your callsign in the form "Callsign to Ynci Control", you say what you have to say in the least words, then you end transmission with "Over." As in "transmission over". Got that, Fledgling? Good. Over."
-You say "acknowledged", kid.
-Acknowledged, Inky Control. Err. Sergeant von Humpeding. What's my callsign? Over.
-Just pick one, kid. There's more than one Fledgling in the air tonight, so make it short and unique. A handle to pick you up by, so we know it's you. Of course there's no guarantee it'll stick, the rest of the Flying Pigs might decide another one fits you better. Like the way hardly anyone knows what a Kakapo is, but everybody knows what a Parrot is. Just pick one.
Nottie sighed. Sometimes chatter on the air was necessary and inevitable. She made a note to mention to Olga and Irena that when the Air Watch was launching Fledglings on their first active flights, it might work better to decide these things on the ground before an active mission….
-BhànSidh to Inky Control. This is BhànSidh. Over."
The voice was very young, uncertain, and Hergenian-accented. Nottie grinned and made a note for the updated crew list.
Watch Cadet Fledgling Bridget O'Hellion – chosen callsign BhànSidh
"Ynci Control to BhànSidh. Nice choice, cadet. I'm patching you in to operational commander on the ground – for future reference this is known as Ostrich - and the next voice you hear will be hers. Go ahead, White Hound. Over."
-White Hound to BhànSidh. I need to ask you this for the record. You are not fully sworn in City Watch. You are thirteen years old and an Air Watch cadet. You volunteered for this mission, there is an element of danger, and I want to be sure you are aware of the implications. Nobody will blame you if you choose to back out. Are you willing to go ahead? Over.
- BhànSidh to White Hound and to Inky Control. I want to do this. If it stops horrible things happening to other girls. Over.
-White Hound to Fledermaus and BhànSidh. Thank you. I'll stand you a pigeon later. Places, everybody. Operation on. Over.
Nottie Garlick breathed out and looked down to an empty cup on the ops desk. She raised an eyebrow to one of the night-duty plotters, who hurried over.
"Right away, Sergeant." he said, collecting her cup. Nottie smiled. And resumed duty on the comms.
She wondered for a moment about yet another bout of failing and broken transmissions. She had been briefed by Olga just before relieving Mother Hen as Control. There was evidence to suggest the Omnicon system over the City was being compromised. That somehow people out there had devised technomantic equipment allowing them to listen in and given the current international situation, the most likely culprits were the Klatchians. Therefore be careful of what was said on the live network, do not refer to any possible evidence of interference directly, carry on behaving as normal and let anyone listening carry on believing we haven't cottoned on yet. Log all unusual instances as they happen and do not speculate on air as to the causes. Pilots have been briefed, if they discover any evidence of active interference, not to respond but to create a reason to return to base to report their findings directly.
She frowned. It didn't help that tonight, several Fledglings, senior Air Watch cadets with a year or so's experience of the theory, were each getting a ride-along with an experienced officer to guide and steer, just to give them a taster of Air Police work. Most of them were flying broomsticks and none of them had been issued Omnicoms. Or Omnicons. Or whatever. Nottie put the uneasy thought out of her head that the Fledglings were in the firing line too,, if it got nasty, and went back to work.
The Killing Ground, Dimwell, Ankh-Morpork
Dimwell is the urban area close to the docks which comprises the traditional service areas of a port city and the district where dockworkers live. Closer to the river, there are chandlers, sailmakers, shipbuilding and maintenance yards, pubs, Houses of Repute serving the needs of sailors, Sailor's Missions operated by recognised religions and charities, and the public open space known as The Killing Grounds. The reasons for this name are lost in City history. But today it is a pleasant city park with a well-loved childrens' playground and well-tended green spaces where people have walked, entered into romances, strolled with families, and enjoyed precious spare time in the open air. In the daytime, this is one of the safest places in the City. Dimwell dockers may be some of the hardest men out and are not averse to a fight. But the unspoken code is that the Killing Grounds are a safe place. For everyone, at least by day.
At night, the Watch frequently visit to make life more hazardous for other users, ones who come out at night for other recreational reasons. Purveyors of recreational alchemy are frequently detained here as are the others who come in their wake. Konnobler's Way is a street leading off the Park and proceeding down to the docks. Some of the lesser streets leading off Konnobler's are narrow, twisty-turny, ill-lit and mirror the Shades, on the other side of the river. Nobody goes here after dark for wholly legitimate reasons.
Tonight, a bewildered-looking red-haired child of about twelve or thirteen is running down the street, looking scared and lost and panicked. Shadows are moving around her at street level. If some of the shadows bothered to look up, at a moving shadow on the rooftops who is paying attention to what is going on at street level, they might see one of the scariest things ever to move on the Discworld. But they aren't looking up. They're moving in on the girl.
"Well. What have we here?"
"Please, sir." the girl said, in a Hergenian accent, her voice one break away from hysteria. "Me family just arrived here from Hergen today. I came out to explore and look around and I'm lost and I can't find my way home and please help me!"
The two men looked at each other. Perfect. New immigrant. Hardly anybody to make a fuss and the Watch won't believe the parents. Pretty little thing. She'll do. She'll do just fine.
"Come with us, my little love." one of them said. "We'll certainly take care of you, and all your troubles will be over."
He reached into his jacket to bring out the working tools. Oh, this one will be fun to play with…
As one man reached out to grab the girl and the other was bringing out the toys he would be sharing with the child, the world exploded in new and unwelcome ways.
There was a growling behind him that had harmonics of a thrilling opportunity that would shortly be opening up for the right applicant, involving being ripped limb from limb. Running feet were following the growling thing and getting nearer. He also sensed something in the air above him. Something that spoke to deep-down hard-wired neural circuits in the lower hindbrain, and which said Be very frightened in great big illuminated letters.
And where a terrified slightly built child had been was a Thing. It had fountained up out of nowhere, the child seemingly evaporating. It had huge leathery wings. And talons. Big sharp rending claws. As the wings spread out, he was aware of the sort of huge rending beak that made an eagle look like a tomtit. And it screeched, in primal rage and fury.
"Good evening." A pleasant female voice said from behind him. "What have we got here, then? That looks like a garroting rope, sir. And the sort of shorter lengths of rope you'd use to tie somebody's hands and feet. And what's this? A barber's razor?"
He felt a hand grab his shoulder.
"Sergeant Salicia von Humpeding. Ankh-Morpork City Watch. Currently on attachment to the Air Watch to fly a night patrol. And while I'd really, really, love it if you put up a fight, I should point out that given I am a Vampire and you are looking at my patrol partner Watch Cadet O'Hellion, who is a Banshee, resistance is really not advisable right now. Thank you, gentlemen. Oh, and this is Captain von Überwald, who is here to remind me that I wear the black ribbon, so easy to forget. And in this state, Watch Cadet O'Hellion might mistake you for pigeons. As at the moment you are flapping around in bird-brained panic and being incontinent, that would be an easy mistake to make."
Angua supervised her foot patrol in searching and handcuffing the two men. She added another werewolf growl for emphasis, and activated her Omnicon.
"White Hound to Ynci Control. Arrest concluded of the perps believed to be the Killing Ground Murderers, request send hurry-up wagon and scene of crime officers. No casualties among arresting officers. Over."
-Acknowledged, White Hound and Fledermaus. Back-up on the way. Well done. Especially to BhànSidh. First arrest, kid. Feels good, doesn't it? After that you'll need a pigeon or two. Clean ones. We breed them for Downspout and the other gargoyle officers, so they won't miss a few. RZ at the Air Station asap. Ynci Control out."
Bridget O'Hellion, who had returned to her everyday human form, felt grateful to Angua and Sally, who had ordered male officers to look the other way and shielded her with their cloaks as she retrieved her clothes.
"Welcome to the world of Watch werecreatures, kid." Sally said. "Important lesson. You always come back naked, and that's when you need an understanding friend who can gather up your clothes, and put up a modesty screen."
"You'll be doing this for either of us some day." Angua said. She considered the nature of the Hergenian banshee. Some were permanently in bird form, like Mr Ixolite, who was harmless except to pigeons. Others… well, like Bridget, they were a specialised form of werecreature. Olga and Irena had been understanding. Bridget had no magic as such and didn't class as a Witch. But when she'd arrived in the City and had come to the Yard in the company of her guardians to register as a Were, and to shyly ask if she could become a Watch Cadet, Irena Politek had seen the massive advantage of an Air Policewoman who could fly without needing a broomstick, and had signed her up immediately. Mr Vimes had taken some persuading, but had eventually approved her as a Cadet.
"What happens to the bad men now?" Bridget asked. Angua considered this.
"Well. We've arrested them. We create a case that stands up in court. There have been three previous murders of young girls of about your age in this area. Sergeant Littlebottom and Igor take a look, and prove the weapons we caught them with are consistent with the injuries to the other girls. We interrogate them and cross-reference dates and times. Lord Vetinari considers the evidence. You'll have to write a statement and read it in court, by the way. Short stay in the Tanty, Mr Trooper or one of his assistants takes over. Then no more young girls of your age get killed in ways we will not speak of in detail."
Until the next time, Angua thought. She did not speak this thought.
Bridget basked in the congratulations due to a Watchman who has been key to closing a case. A little voice in her head was saying I really, really, want to be a Watchwoman…
Sally squeezed her shoulder. There was the toothy grin.
"Let's get airborne, kid." she said. "We've got to do the boring thing now. See these two get booked in and then write reports. Hope you can spell long words."
The Special Research Labs (Restricted Access) at the Thaumatological Park, Unseen University Unreal Industrial Estate, Ankh-Morpork.
Ponder Stibbons was working through a stack of books and documents trucked over from the Library. Bookmarks which smelt slightly of bananas had been inserted to mark what the Librarian thought were key pages. Ponder appreciated this.
He also felt dog-tired and ached for his bed.
In the background, Eddie was consulting, chalking ideas on boards, and occasionally running experiments to test theories as to how the Klatchians were intercepting comms and how they'd managed to kill Omnicoms. It was important to Eddie too, to get concrete results. He was married to an Air Witch. They had two children. He was running the show, being insistent, as only a Rimwards Howondalandian can be insistent. Ponder was happy for him to get on with it. He opened a volume to the inserted bookmark, and read.
The Magic Mirror of Sultan al-Miraj….
Ponder sat up straighter. He realised how little he knew about Klatchian magic and mystical traditions. It had not been an undergraduate course module he had taken.
Do we have a Klatchian Studies Department? If there is, and we have everything else, there must be Wizards who have specialist knowledge.
Ponder kicked himself for not having gone here first. He made a note to ask Ridcully or one of the older Faculty members, asap.
They have got Omniscopes of their own. How did we not know this? Why did nobody realise?
Ponder Stibbons read on. He took notes.
And then Victor Tugelbend came to find him. Ponder realised that other people pulled all-nighters too. They included the Cable Street Particulars.
Tried to find you at the University first. They said you were here." Victor said.
He rested his hand on Ponder's coffee mug.
"Getting cold. We both need a hot fresh one." Victor offered. He went to get two fresh coffees. Ponder Stibbons grinned. This was feeling like old times.
They drank their coffee, two Wizards who had been students together and then grown older, revisiting four-o'clock-in-the-morning all- nighters fuelled by coffee and takeaway food.
Ponder saw the expression on his old friend's face. Victor looked tired and worried.
"I've been going through University records. Recent records." he said.
"It's not looking good, Ponder. I suspect there's been a security breach."
Above Ankh, later in the night:
Sally von Humpeding wondered if they should pack it in for the night. There was a faint glow of dawn on the horizon, impending day making a statement of intent. This was never a good thing for an airborne vampire to become aware of. And her patrol partner was beginning to tire. Sally realised the girl was only thirteen. There were limits. The girl had performed magnificently. She was keen, she was brave, she was potentially a very good Watchman. Sally had taken care to put this in her reports, including the one that would land on Olga Romanoff's desk.
"Got to get you home soon." Sally called to Bridget, who was keeping station in the air. "Mother Hen's already going to be bloody furious with me for staking you out as bait. And she'll have a dig at me for keeping you up way past your bedtime."
"One last circuit?" Bridget called back. Flying over the City at night had its attractions. There was a sort of joy to being here in the middle of the night looking down from above. You know. Protecting the City. It made her feel grown-up and responsible.
"Okay." Sally said. They flew on together. Sally grinned. In a borrowed black cloak, Bridget could be mistaken for another vampire, a young protegée on an escorted flight with her Master. Or Mistress. Or whatever.
And apart from other Air Police flights, there was almost nobody else in the sky. Flying Vampires were generally avoided, by other air users, anyway.
"Fledermaus to Ynci Control. Visual sighting of magic carpet, bearing one-thirty, about a mile. Over."
-Ynci Control to Fledermaus. Vector over and check it out. Over.
The Air Police patrol changed course. The carpet got closer. Sally made a mid-air shrug.
"Fledermaus to Ynci Control. Looks like a commercial flight, large rug, pilot and co-pilot and possibly twelve passengers, various nationalities judging by mode of dress, towed cargo nets. Over."
-Ynci Control to Fledermaus. Just checked flight schedules. You're looking at the scheduled incoming flight on the red-eye, Klatchian Carpetlines Flight 430 out of Al-Khali, bringing overnight mail and passengers. Scheduled to land at Klatchian Embassy on Park Lane at oh-four-twenty-five. Nothing to be concerned by. Over.
"Fledermaus to Ynci Control. Acknowledged. Over."
Sally turned to Bridget.
"We'll escort them in." she called. "Just so they know we're watching. Then we can grab breakfast somewhere and I'll see you back to the Air Station."
The Air Watch was instructed by Standing Order not to overfly foreign embassies except by invitation. Sally could see the logic of sticking to this in current circumstances. Don't give them cause for complaint. Therefore she kept station with the commercial carpet just so they wereaware they were being escorted and flew near, but very carefully not over, the Embassy, watching the beacon light for guidance of the incoming carpet switch on, at the top of the Embassy minaret.
Almost as a reflex, her vampire senses switched on and she started counting heartbeats at the Embassy, discounting those who would be asleep at this time, but getting a head-count of Embassy staff which, you never knew, might be useful to somebody somewhere, maybe to Vetinari's Dark Clerks.
She circled the Embassy, watching the carpet come into land in the marked circle in the grounds, and duty ground crew doing what they had to. She noted the Ankh-Morpork Post Office wagon which had been allowed in to a designated parking spot so as to collect incoming mail, and discounted the two post office employees who had been allowed admission. She paid attention to those Embassy people who were, judging by their heartbeats, clearly up and awake. Nobody on the ground was paying obvious attention to two women in the sky. Or maybe they hadn't even noticed: they were primed to spot Air Watch on broomsticks. The idea that some Air Watch people didn't need broomsticks to fly probably hadn't occured to them yet. Sally also realised she and Bridget were both dark-cloaked against a dark sky and were quite a way up. A difficult thing to spot. They might even be taken at this height for some sort of bird.
Well, some sort of bird. And one sort of vampire.
Sally counted, and discounted, servants going about early morning duties; her vampire senses heightened, she picked up cooking smells. There would be a night duty staff in various parts of the building. She enumerated them, with approximate locations. Vampires were good at counting.
But why were three of them high up in the attic? And it only takes one person going up the minaret to light the guidance beacon for a night-landing…
Sally paid attention. She sensed tiredness, and intent, in the Klatchians who were high up in the building. They were alert, watching and waiting for something. Listening. What to?
She focused again. Vampires are not intrinsically magical in the way wizards and witches are. But a species which is hard-wired for the presence of holy icons – she had registered where the Offlerian mosque was in the building, and had shuddered out of reflex- gets to know about higher-than normal octarine in an area. Octarine is also associated with Gods and things which are sometimes holy, as it is to magic.
Sally von Humpeding was reading a strong octarine discharge. And not from the mosque, where she'd expect. The top of the minaret was also associated with religion. She reflex-shuddered again.
But why is it coming from the Embassy attic?
She watched the landed carpet deactivating, as it switched off its magic. The ambient octarine diminished. But it was still strong and still radiating from the attic, a diffuse cloud, focused on one point.
Sally frowned, and thumb-activated her Omnicon.
"Fle~~~~~~~~~~~maus to ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"
She resisted a temptation to thump the box. Not with vampire strength. She also didn't want a big disfiguring bruise over her left boob.
-Say again~~~~~~~~ maus~~~~~~~~~~~~~comm~~~~~ing up. Over."
Sally signalled to Bridget and indicated the direction of the Air Station. Bridget thumbed-up. They changed course.
When she judged the moment was right, she activated comms again.
"Fledermaus to Ynci Control. Can you hear me now? Current location, half-angel over Park Lane and Speedwell, bearing zero-forty, looking for a decent cup of coffee. Over."
-Ynci Control to Fledermaus and BhànSidh. Receiving loud and clear now. Over.
"Fledermaus to Ynci Control. Am bringing Fledgling back to the nest after successful first flight. Confirm escort of Klatchian Carpetlines Flight 430, and observed it land from necessary distance. Routine arrival, everything okay. No concerns. Over."
Sally decided her priorities were coffee, pen and paper to write her flight report and put down her suspicions about changes at the Klatchian Embassy, and then to brief Nottie Garlick. She yawned. Then to talk to Olga at shift changeover. Oh, and to get her Fledgling to her bed after a night shift.
And then, my lovely comfy coffin and to pull the lid tight closed.
Spa Lane, Nap Hill, Ankh-Morpork.
Bekki was awoken by a knock on the door. It took a while for her to remember she was in her childhood bed in her own room at her family home in Ankh-Morpork. Pegasus flying and craw-stepping could really disorientate you.
"Are you in an appropriate state for me to enter, Miss Rebecka?"
Bekki smiled. Other people might have asked "Are you decent?" But this was Claude the family butler. Who'd known her since forever.
"Come in , Claude." she called, and struggled to sit up in bed. Claude walked unhurriedly in, and set down the tray he was carrying on the bedside table. Bekki checked the clock. Five-forty-five am. She recalled she needed to be at the Air Station for a quarter to eight for pre-shift.
Claude was pouring a cup of tea for her. Bekki noted the morning papers on the tray.
"Breakfast will be informal at six-thirty onwards. Her Ladyship wishes you to have had sufficient time to perform your necessary ablutions and to don your uniform."
Eve the maid knocked and entered. She was carrying an impeccably cleaned and pressed Air Watch uniform. Bekki vaguely recalled flinging it off and onto a chair the previous evening whilst half-asleep. She blinked. The 588 medal ribbon had been stitched on, in exactly the correct place under the left breast pocket. She had completely forgotten about that.
"Eve found the medal ribbons folded into your top pocket when she retrieved your uniform for attention." Claude said, smoothly. "She asked Her Ladyship what to do about this. Her Ladyship offered guidance, and the distinction is now attached to all your uniform tunics, as Captain Romanoff clearly intended."
Bekki remembered that her mother was a very reluctant Ladyship, something she preferred to ignore. Mum's butler, however, had other intentions.
Bekki also noted the gleaming air boots, polished to a degree of shine she had never been able to achieve. Claude smiled slightly.
"Normally, Her Ladyship insists members of the household, and I quote, polish their own damn boots." he said. "But on this one occasion she made an exception."
"Thank you, Claude. Thank you, Eve." Bekki said. She sipped the tea.
"And may I offer congratulations on the award of a medal distinction which I am given to understand is conferred for bravery?" Claude asked.
"errr…" Bekki said.
"Her Ladyship also wishes you to become acquainted with the content of the morning newspapers." Claude added. "They are on the salver. Will that be all for now, Miss Rebecka?"
Bekki speechlessly nodded dismissal. Then she read, or rather skimmed through, the papers, taking in the copious illustrations. She recalled the Zlobenian diplomats had been taking iconographs. From their vantage point behind Vasilisa, an obvious subject to iconograph had been Bekki.
One picture was of her, Rebecka Smith-Rhodes, falling forward, bottom in the air, with a Klatchian flying sheep's hooves only a few inches above her, the pilot's booted foot poised to kick. Apart from the indignity of the position she had been captured in, the captions read something like "Villanous Klatchian launches murderous attack on Air Policewoman Rebecka Smith-Rhodes."
Bekki felt ice cold. She hadn't realised the attack had come THAT close.
A later photo, more prominently placed and captioned, was gleefully described with
"The very moment where Air Policewoman Rebecka Smith-Rhodes took a telling and wholly justified revenge, and told Klatch that the Ankh-Morpork Air Watch is a force you cross at your peril! "
Bekki, red hair streaming, charging head-on at a Klatchian and launching a counter kick. The picture was perfect; the Klatchian beginning to loft out of his stirrups and with his face contorting in pained surprise as her blow landed.
And the day's cartoon in the Times showed a broomsticked Air Policewoman, who Bekki thought looked more like her mother than it did her, landing the same kick on a Klatchian and kicking him clean out of his saddle. His eyes were crossing in pained surprise and his turban was flying off, and Bekki saw the artistic licence the cartoonist had taken with exactly where her boot had impacted.
That's not right, I was aiming for his chest!
The caption underneath simply said
GOTCHA! (1)
in big letters.
Underneath, the long sub-title was
A Klatchian discovers you attack our Air Watch at your peril. Miss Rebecka Smith-Rhodes continues the family tradition of decisive and telling retribution.
Other articles noted she had deservedly received an Air Watch gallantry medal for bravery, aggressive flying in the best traditions of the Service, and for giving the Klatchians something to think about.
Bekki wanted to pull the covers over her head and never come out, ever again.
Three quarters of an hour later after forcing herself to wash and dress, she joined the family for breakfast.
"How is the inheritor of the Great Family Tradition this morning?" her mother inquired.
"I'm still mad at you." Famke said. "Especially after seeing the papers this morning. How do you get all the luck like that?"
Ruth ran to her and hugged, wordlessly. Bekki realised her little sister was scared and worried, and soothed her. Then she saw her father, hunched over the table and looking dog-tired.
"All-nighters aren't good for you, Dad." she said, concerned.
"He goes to bed after breakfast." Mum said, firmly. "And no slipping off back to the University, Ponder. You need sleep."
A few minutes into breakfast, Claude announced Captain Olga Romanoff of the Air Watch. Olga looked as if at least she had managed a good night's sleep.
"Need to talk to you" Mum said, after they'd a long friendly hug.
"Da. You can tell me what the Dark Council are thinking?" Olga said. Mum nodded.
"Among other things."
"Horoscho." Olga said. She smiled at Bekki.
"I wished to see you are alright and fit for duty today." she said. "Vasilisa has a headache. I told her it will pass, to drink coffee, and to be present at the muster on time. Then I came to see you. Ignore the newspapers, they will lose interest after a day or two. As your mother and aunt will tell you."
Dad's head picked up and he took interest.
"Need to tell you we made progress last night…" he mumbled.
Olga smiled in a concerned way.
"There is no need. Eddie has already spoken to me. When he returned home, and I ordered him to bed to get some sleep. But I thank you, Ponder."
Ponder nodded.
"One other thing, Olga. Victor Tugelbend was doing some investigating at the University. He thinks he's uncovered a security breach. He said he'd see you at the Yard first thing…"
Ponder swayed in his chair.
"I will wait to speak to Victor," she said. "you must sleep. This can wait."
"Fancy breakfast, Olga?" Johanna asked.
"I thank you, but I have already eaten. Perhaps one slice of toast, jam, and a cup of tea to fill time while I wait for Rebecka. No hurry, Firebird. We can fly to the Air Station together, when you are ready. And I warn you, there are journalists outside. Many of them."
To be continued.
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.
Wondered why I was getting nowhere with this. Then I realised I was going into too much detail in what should just be a brief bit designed to establish Bekki spent the night at home after the busy day and had a winding-down conversation with her mother.
It just got written in too much detail.
So, bonus bit:
Bekki turned a page and winced. Her iconograph had made it to Page Three of the Inquirer. Admittedly with her clothes on, and in the context of a set of interlocked articles that stretched well into Page five. But, still…
Mum patted her hand.
"Your Aunt Mariella got to be on Page Three, too. Ag, it must be a family tradition."
They talked about the Omnicon system for a while. Mum was serious and attentive.
"I know this is hindsight, but never assume a communication system is completely secure." she remarked. "Damn, haven't really spoken to Olga or Irena in weeks. Or I might have picked up on this. Everybody gets over-confident."
"What do you know about them, Mum?" Bekki asked. "did Dad tell you anything useful? All I know is the briefing we got. The Omnicon is optimised for sound but you can flick a button and point the seeing eye, and it transmits pictures. IC setting means you can talk only to your wingmate or the rest of the immediate team. The "B" setting means if you're in a larger flight, you can talk to your flight-commander and she can talk to you. The "A" setting is for talking to Control. Apart from knowing there's an omniscope chip in there, and a basic model Imp who does the switching, I don't have the foggiest."
Bekki glanced over to her sister Ruth who was engrossed in sketching and note-taking, and didn't look as if she was paying attention.
"Not that much more than you." Johanna said. "Your father gets excited about them, I get the general idea, but sometimes it's hard to follow him."
She glanced over at Ruth, who was still sketching and writing, occasionally breaking off into a frown of concentration.
"Nearly your bedtime, sweetheart." she said.
Johanna looked sternly at Famke.
"Yours, too. You get to stay here tonight, you are on time at School in the morning. That's the deal on Sports Wednesday. You are permitted an overnight leave with your family, you make it back to the school on time on Thursday morning. So, bed. Go"
Famke grumped her way to bed, remembering to kiss her mother and sisters.
"I'm still really mad at you." she said, hugging Bekki warmly. "And I want you to stay alive so I can carry on being really mad at you. So you know how mad at you I am, and you won't know how mad I am at you if you're dead."
Famke stomped off to bed. Ruth raised a pleading eye.
"Okay. Just a little longer."
She turned back to Bekki.
"Listen to me." Johanna Smith-Rhodes said, with more urgency. "Your father is a Technomancer. A Wizard who gets excited with how magic can be made to work. How it can be used practically and reliably to benefit people and make life better. Wizards never used to think like that. Your father does. He is brilliant at it. A genius."
They looked over at Ruth again. She was still sketching, playing with ideas.
"But your father is unworldly. He doesn't stop to look at the wider picture. How the consequences of the devices he builds might play out in the wider world. All that matters to him, when he or the Wizards in his charge, have an idea, is to make it work. He is an innocent."
Johanna grinned. "He'll never change. Fortunately for your father – and for you – I have been an Assassin for over twenty years. We are taught to consider the wider picture, to think politically, to assess events and to think strategically." she became more urgent again.
"When I first arrived in this city. There was no such thing as an Air Force. The undisputed world leaders in air power were the Klatchians. There was nothing here to match them, Bekki. Nothing. If their invasion plan had not been stopped elsewhere, they would have ruled the sky over this city. Transport carpets would have ferried whole regiments of fighting soldiers into this city. Fighting carpets would have made ground attacks on anything moving that was not Klatchian. They would have been unstoppable."
"Then, Olga and Irena turned up…" Bekki said.
"Ja. They came here to work for Sam Vimes, attracted by the promise of flight. Vetinari saw an angle. He saw two talented people who could lead and organise and build. Also, there are other reasons for Vetinari to want Olga here, working for him. Rather than elsewhere, working for other people. Or worse, working for herself. And of course, Irena is somebody he wishes to see using her energies in the service of Ankh-Morpork, where he can see her and monitor what she's doing, I won't spell the reasons out. Olga has been backed, with all the money and resources she wants, to do something she loves which is all-consuming and fulfilling. And which benefits this city."
"The Air Watch." Bekki said, trying to focus on the important. Her mother nodded.
"Which grew with the years. More pilot witches of great skill were recruited. Technomantic Dwarfs with big ideas were given backing to develop their ideas and designs. Dwarfs with visions, who needed financial backing. Some of the ideas they have are crazy and dangerous, but the ones that worked, that advanced broomstick technomancy, are the ones you fly today. Your broomsticks. The way this idea has evolved. What do you see over the mantlepiece?"
Bekki looked over. Immediately over the fireplace, incongruous among Mum's weapons collection, mounted to the wall, were her father's wizarding staff and his broomstick. She assessed it critically. It looked too small, too flimsy, too weak, too old.
"Dad's old broomstick. It's a Yak."
"Is that what you call them? He retrieved it from the University's museum. They kept a selection of traditional witches' broomsticks there as museum pieces. He got this one into flying condition, as a hobby. We went flying on it together."
Her mother looked wistful for a while.
"As a child you kept wanting to take it down and go flying on it. So we padlocked it up there. Just in case. But anyway. The point is that if it hadn't been for all that research and development, if it hadn't been for all the talent that crystallised around Olga and Irena, you'd still be flying those. The things you call Yaks."
Johanna let this sink in.
"Listen to me. You got massive advances in broomstick thaumomancy. The Pegasi arrived. You hit on the idea of Feegle to craw-step you. The Service grew. You trained. The Air Watch fought in a war. It got combat experience. The women who fought in an air war taught their skills to the next Witches who joined up. Including you. You have these Heavies just about to go operational from the new airbase, the one that's meant to be a secret.
"And now your father gifts you all a massive, massive, advantage. The capability to communicate in the air and to the ground."
Johanna looked at her daughter.
"The Klatchian air force has not innovated. It has stood still. Up until now it has had no need to improve. But in perhaps twenty years or less, Ankh-Morpork has outstripped it. In quality of leadership, in quality of pilots, in quality of aircraft, in flexibility, in firepower, and speed of operations. What we have succeeded in doing is to make them frightened. They are paranoid."
Johanna took her daughter's hands. She was deadly serious now.
"The only advantage they have is weight of numbers. And what scares me is that in any war they will wear you down. Overwhelm you. They can afford to lose ten to your one. You cannot afford to lose even one. And I do not want to see that war. Not with my daughter in the front line."
Bekki realised her mother was being intense.
"When I see Olga next I'll talk to her." Mum decided. "I know her. She can think ahead too. Quite a long way ahead."
(1) Because there have to be footnotes. "GOTCHA!" was the Sun's headline celebrating Britain's first counter-strike against Argentina in the 1982 Falklands War. The Sun is a British tabloids newspaper of the sort TP parodied when creating the Ankh-Morpork Inquirer as a tabloid rival of the Times.