Sanan

Kaihi

I’m jolted awake by a loud banging on my door.

I groan, sit up, and rub my eyes. Morning. Sunlight spills through the cabin’s small window, cutting lines across the bed. Another round of knocks - harder this time.

“I’m up, I’m up. Give me a second.”

Still blinking sleep from my eyes, I drag myself upright and stumble to the door. I barely register the uniformed figure outside before the soldier barks:

“Arkar! Your presence is required in the briefing room!”

My voice comes out sluggish and dry.

“Alright. I’ll be there in a minute.”

The soldier salutes, pivots smartly, and marches off down the hallway without another word.

I stand there scratching my head.

What time is it?

It takes me a good ten minutes to find the briefing room. Only three people are inside - the Captain, a soldier I don’t recognize, and an officer in glasses who’s already tapping at a projector screen.

The Captain looks up as I enter.

“Ah, Kaihi. Just in time. Take a seat, good sir.”

I sit without a word. The officer beside the screen clears his throat.

“Kaihi Lahav, callsign Arkar. Your mission is to transport cargo from the Avatak to the country of Aymar. To do so, you will be assigned the latest and most advanced experimental fighter we possess - of which only one exists. You are prohibited from flying above ten thousand feet, but are recommended to stay under one thousand. You will land at the carrier Balsa and spend the night there. Any questions?”

I shake my head. I have plenty, but I’m guessing this man’s not authorized to answer them. Maybe not even the Captain is. The officer adjusts his glasses and continues.

“Then that will be all. Captain?”

The Captain nods and pushes himself up from his chair, turning to me with a grin.

“Alright. Let’s go check out your mount.”

I rise and follow him, heart pounding. What kind of monster are they handing me? What does a top-secret, one-of-a-kind, experimental fighter even look like? How does it fly? And what exactly do they mean by experimental?

We weave through the maze of narrow halls inside the carrier, sailors nodding or saluting as we pass. Finally, the Captain pushes open a wide door, and we step into a cavernous space echoing with mechanical noise.

The hangar.

It’s massive - easily four or six football fields long and one wide. And, to my delight, it’s packed with aircraft - fighters, bombers, transports, you name it. Mechanics swarm over them, performing repairs, inspections, replacements. The whole hangar feels alive, a giant machine in motion where every person is a moving part, every tool a heartbeat.

We keep walking. Past the transports. Past the bombers. Past the rows of fighters. We pass the lifts that rise up to the flight deck, and as we slip beneath their looming shadows, I spot something at the far end of the hangar.

A shape. Sleek, but bulky. Solitary.

It’s set apart from the others, cordoned off by fencing. Mechanics crowd around it, wiping down the canopy, checking panels, replacing batteries. Even from here, I can tell - it’s different. Important.

As we approach, the details sharpen.

She’s beautiful.

Her nose rises in a clean curve into a long, bubble canopy, which tapers back toward a smooth fuselage and a tall, proud tail. Her vertical stabilizer soars high above the body, with the horizontal stabiliser sprouting from the top. Instead of a nose intake like my old fighter, she has intakes built into the wing roots. The wings themselves are swept back sharply, like a bird caught mid-turn.

She’s painted in grey and black splotched camouflage, like storm clouds hiding knives. She looks dangerous. Fast. Precise. Alive.

The Captain stops beside her and turns to me, grinning wide.

“Kaihi, may I present to you the Feiwen Mark Nine ‘Sanan’ - one of the most advanced aircraft in our fleet.”

My joy must be obvious, because the Captain’s grin stretches even wider.

“Go on,” he says. “Take a look at her. She’s yours.”

I don’t hesitate. I stride forward, duck under the fence, and walk up to the nose. A pitot tube juts forward like a spear. I reach out and give her a light pat, then whisper to Fiya.

“What do you think?”

Her voice comes back, clear and eager.

“She’s unbelievable! Give me a minute - I’m running through her systems.”

I continue along her left side, trailing my hand beneath the cockpit - suspended well above the ground. She’s big. Much larger than the nimble fighter I flew before. I pause at the air intake on her left wing root, watching as it twists into the fuselage and vanishes out of sight.

I move along the wing, fingers gliding along the sharp leading edge. I notice movable surfaces built into it - leading-edge slats. Axis tech. Designed to boost turn performance at the cost of increased drag.

Smart.

I follow the sleek sweep of the wing to its tip, then double back along the fuselage. Her tail soars above me - tall and proud. I walk beneath the vertical stabilizer and peer up. Even if I stood on my own shoulders, I wouldn’t reach anywhere near the top.

I lean in and glance into the exhaust pipe. It smells clean - fresh. I wonder how many times she’s actually been flown.

Looping around the other side, I climb the ladder positioned beneath the cockpit. Two seats - one behind the other - beneath a single long canopy. Smooth curves. Excellent all-round vision. The forward seat is clearly the pilot’s, loaded with weapon and engine controls. The rear has simpler systems - navigator’s gear, mostly stowed away.

Fiya’s voice softens, almost reverent.

“She’s a beauty. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I couldn’t agree more. But before I can answer, the Captain calls out from across the hangar.

“Kaihi! Just got word - you’re due on the flight deck. Wheels up in T-minus sixty minutes. Got it?”

I nod quickly and climb down. These people move fast.

As if to prove it, a tug rolls into place. Personnel rush to dismantle the fence around the Sanan. In one swift motion, the aircraft’s front wheel is latched onto the tug, and with a metallic groan, she begins to move - slow and stately - toward the lifts.

I follow her, heart pounding.