Politician's Child

Kaihi

The lift groans beneath my boots as it carries me - and a small entourage of sailors and mechanics - up to the flight deck. Behind me, the Sanan stands tall, regal in the harsh light. My hands are shaking.

I feel like I’m dreaming.

It’s all a blur. I can’t even remember how I got here. I’m exhilarated, but a cold dread gnaws at the back of my mind. The kind of dread that tells you something’s coming.

The lift jolts, then clanks to a halt.

The tug rolls forward, still latched to the Sanan’s nose gear - but stops halfway off the platform. A loud siren blares, echoing across the ship.

Then the tannoy crackles to life.

“All hands on deck! Cargo inbound. Prepare for arrival!”

The calm before the storm ends in an instant. Sailors erupt onto the deck. Some check landing wires and inspect the surface. Others rush out carrying instruments - drums, trumpets. A band?

More troops and deckhands flood the area, taking positions around the perimeter.

Something big is about to happen.

I stay where I am, frozen, unsure of what I’m supposed to be doing. My eyes scan the sky, and then I hear it - a faint, rising wail.

Pressure engine.

It grows louder by the second, until finally, I spot it: a small, jet-black transport aircraft gliding in low. Sleek and elegant. No military markings. Luxury trim.

Definitely private. And definitely important.

The aircraft comes in at a crawl - barely above stall speed - and touches down lightly. Smooth. Controlled. It rolls gently down the deck without needing to catch a wire, then comes to a stop.

The engines pulse once, then power down with a descending whine.

Crewmen swarm toward it.

Suddenly, I notice the Captain standing beside me. I don’t know how long he’s been there.

He nods toward the jet, eyes fixed on the sealed hatch.

“Well,” he says, voice low. “Here’s your cargo. How about we go say hello?”

The band strikes up a military march. Sharp and ceremonial. We walk toward the aircraft, sailors parting to let us through. I push past the lightheadedness building behind my eyes, willing myself to stay focused.

We stop just short of the aircraft, inside the ring of uniformed onlookers. The door hisses open and lowers, unfolding into a stairway that touches down on the deck with a soft clang.

A tall man steps out first.

Everything about him - his tailored suit, his polished shoes, his pristine hat, his expression - screams money. Old money. Effortless power. He takes up position at the base of the steps, expression cool and unreadable.

A second man follows. A servant, clearly - stooped posture, eyes lowered, dressed for utility. He moves to the other side of the stairs.

Then the rich man reaches up.

A hand extends from inside the aircraft - delicate, pale - and he takes it gently. Helps the owner step down.

They emerge slowly. Gracefully.

And my heart skips a beat.

It’s a girl. Young - around my age. Deep red hair, tangled but soft, falls freely around her shoulders. Her face is… beautiful. Angelic. But there’s something else. Something off in the way she walks. Not obvious. Subtle. But wrong. Like she’s struggling to balance, or hiding pain.

The Captain leans toward me with a knowing grin.

“Kaihi,” he says. “Meet your cargo.”

She reaches the bottom step. Then lifts her gaze - right at me.

And it hits me like turbulence.

Her eyes search mine. Lost, confused… but calm. Measured. For a moment, I forget the cold wind, the crowd, the drums. Everything.

Just her. Just me.

And my heart leaps again.

The rich man leads her over, the servant trailing close behind.

Up close, she looks different. Her beauty is still there, quiet and effortless. But there’s a heaviness behind it. Her expression is drawn, like she’s been carrying something for hours. Worry. Maybe fear. Her green eyes flick across the deck like they’re searching for exits.

The Captain breaks the silence.

“Hodan. Good to have you aboard. Welcome to the Avatak.”

Hodan nods stiffly, then looks me over.

“This the pilot?”

The Captain gives a curt nod.

“Yes. Kaihi Lahav. Callsign Arkar. Allied forces. He’s one of the best they’ve got. Doesn’t say much, but he’ll give everything he has.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I give a clean salute.

Hodan returns the gesture with a brief nod. The girl says nothing - just watches. Her gaze is cautious, but not cold. There’s something soft about it. A kind of patience. Like she’s measuring me. Or waiting for me to speak.

The Captain leans toward me, voice low.

“Go prepare for take-off. We’ll be with you shortly.”

I nod and salute again before turning back toward the Sanan. She’s already on the flight deck now, lined up behind a catapult. Mechanics cluster around her, making final checks. The wind up here is stronger - biting, restless. I take a steadying breath and approach the ladder.

Climbing up, I swing one leg over the cockpit’s high edge and lower myself in. The seat welcomes me. Soft padding, well-shaped. I shift slightly, adjust the backrest until it feels right. Then I rest my hands on the controls.

The stick and throttle feel natural. Familiar. As if they were built for me.

Most of the buttons are standard. But a few are unfamiliar - an engine setting I don’t recognize, and a few blank ones without labels. I frown.

A mechanic climbs up the ladder beside me and pokes his head into the cockpit.

“Everything alright?”

I nod, then point at the odd controls.

“What are these?”

He chuckles.

“You know what, mate? I’m not totally sure. In fact, I only know one.”

He points to one on the left.

“This is the afterburner. Boosts your speed like mad - for a little while, anyway. It'll turn off by itself when it's done.”

I nod again. Interesting. A burst of speed could make the difference between life and death.

Especially with “cargo” onboard.

I wait.

Twenty minutes, maybe thirty.

Then the energy on the deck shifts. Movement. Voices. People heading my way.

The Captain and Hodan are approaching, deep in conversation about the future of the country. I only catch pieces. A few words - “instability,” “rebirth,” “the cost of peace.” Then a mechanic climbs up beside me, leaning down into the rear seat.

“Easy does it.”

Red hair rises into view. Her face follows, still drawn with that quiet sadness, before vanishing again as she’s helped into position. Hodan’s voice floats up from the deck, offering encouragement I can’t hear clearly.

The mechanic climbs down, replaced by the Captain, who pauses on the ladder beside me.

“Alright, Kaihi. This is where we part. You know your mission. I wish you luck.”

I nod. He offers a final, steady smile before climbing down. A moment later, he and Hodan step back to the sidelines as a group of sailors move in and remove the ladder.

With a jolt, the Sanan begins to roll forward - towed toward the catapult by a squat little tug. I glance up at the rearview mirror, tilted awkwardly with the canopy still open. The girl sits quietly behind me, her gaze turned outward.

Sailors cheer as we roll past.

“Good luck!”

“Come back safe!”

“I love you!”

I love you? Who even is she, to get a send-off like that? Sailors swooning like she’s a celebrity. And what is this illness she’s meant to have? She moves oddly, sure - but she’s not some fragile, bed-bound patient. She’s alert. Quiet. A watcher.

The aircraft lurches slightly as the tug detaches. I feel the faint mechanical clunk as the catapult system locks onto the main wheel. A voice shouts from below:

“Clear!”

I prime the engine.

A low whoosh builds behind me, swelling into a rising whine. Wind rushes past, climbing in pitch until it’s a full-throated wail. The cockpit vibrates gently with the power surging through the frame.

I check the instruments. Everything nominal. No warnings.

I flick the canopy control, and it rotates shut from left to right, sealing with a soft hiss. The roar outside fades instantly, replaced by a steady, insulated hum.

One last systems check.

Full batteries.

Full ammo.

Weapons ready.

All lights green.

I whisper to Fiya.

“Ready?”

Her voice comes back bright with anticipation.

“Yes!”

I switch radio channels to the intercom, hoping the girl has her headset on.

“Hey,” I say, as evenly as I can. “Everything is ready to go. Are you?”

A pause. Then her voice, soft.

“Yes.”

I breathe in.

Breathe out.

The green flag waves from the control bunker.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I ease the throttle forward.

The engine screams. The Sanan shudders - then lurches into motion as the catapult fires.

The world becomes a blur of motion. Sailors flash by on either side. Then the deck ends. Nothing ahead but sky.

I pull back on the stick, just slightly. The nose rises. And we are airborne.

Up here, there’s only us. Me. Her. Fiya. And a mission declared impossible by people who have already given up.

A mission to save a life.