Balsa

Kaihi

The sun hangs high - probably noon, maybe later. I forgot to synchronize the Sanan’s internal clock before we left, so there’s no way to know for sure. Judging by the shadows and the heat shimmer across the canopy, we’ve been airborne for about two hours.

Nothing’s happened since the enemy fighter spiraled into the trees.
No radio chatter. No radar contacts.
Zyla hasn’t said a word.

I fill the silence by talking with Fiya - part distraction, part reconnaissance.

“But it looked like there were multiple variants,” I say, referring to the missiles. “You think they’re all for different targets? Or… something else?”

She processes for a moment.

“Possibly. Could also be terrain-specific. Or proximity to strategic assets.”

That fits. It makes sense - but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

“What do you think the differences are between them?”

Another pause as she combs her databanks.

“Well, from the photos, there are definitely fast and slow types - each with clear pros and cons. But a few? They’re nearly identical. The only reliable distinction is in the smoke trails. The thickness and colour.”

She hesitates.

“I guess we’ll find out if we meet them.”

I sigh through my teeth. That if is generous.

More like when.

I lower my voice. “What’s Zyla doing? Is she… alright?”

Fiya takes a second to respond, scanning the Sanan’s rear cockpit.

“She’s just staring out the canopy. Watching the ground roll past.”

I nod, more to myself than to her. My stomach turns with quiet guilt.
Did I scar her? Did I shatter something that was never meant to be touched?

I wonder what kind of life she had before this - what kind of person she might’ve been if not for this mission. I hope the plan didn’t rely on her staying innocent. Because if it did, we’re already behind schedule.

I glance back again. Say something, maybe.
Ask if she’s cold. Hungry. Angry. Broken.
But nothing makes it past my lips.

I shake my head. Getting too attached.
The mission didn’t say “bond with her.”
It said “get her to Aymar.”
So that’s what I’ll do.

The Sanan banks smoothly to the right, curving around a knife-edged ridge. The nav rings shift to match, curling along the terrain like a coiled ribbon. The aircraft responds with perfect grace, nose steady, wings level.

She’s everything the Karikogans promised. Maybe more.

Then, suddenly, the hills drop away.

In a breath, the world opens up - an endless stretch of flat, ochre-colored plains spreading out in all directions. No trees. No cover. Just grass and dirt and heat haze.

I visualize the map.

This puts us roughly two hours from the Balsa. We’re ahead of schedule - half a day early, at least. If nothing changes, we’ll arrive before sunset.

I smile faintly and pat the control stick.
Good girl.

Then everything explodes in my headset.

“Missile lock! Missile lock!”

Fiya’s voice, shrill and mechanical, cuts through the calm like a blade.

Every nerve in my body fires at once.
I don’t breathe. I don’t blink.
I just move.

I slam the throttle forward, eyes darting across the sky.

“Heading?”

“Oh-four-nine! Seven seconds!”

There it is - thick white smoke curling behind a dark speck, closing fast.

Don’t panic.
Breathe.
In.
Out.

Radar screams.
Zyla shouts something I don’t catch.

But right now it’s just me, the Sanan, and the missile.
Four seconds.
Three.
Two-

I yank the stick back hard.
The G meter spikes. 7G. 8.
My chest flattens under the force, blood dragging toward my toes.

Then, with a tearing roar, the missile rips beneath us.
A flash of heat. A whiplash of turbulence.
Gone.

I drop the nose quickly and level out, heart thudding. No pursuit. The missile sails harmlessly into the distance.

But there's no time to relax.

“Fiya! Where’d that come from?”

Her reply crackles in my ear, sharp and quick.

“There’s a launcher battery in the center of the plains!”

I spot them immediately - tiny black specks clustered ahead and a little to the right, with a tall rotating radar dish sweeping the sky.

A plume of smoke erupts from one of the tubes - another launch.

Too late.

I snap-roll left and haul the Sanan into a steep bank toward the nearest ridgeline.
Inverted, I cut across the spine of the hills, hugging the terrain, slipping just below the radar's line of sight.

The second missile vanishes from scope.
We’re safe.
For now.

I ease back the throttle and try to slow my breathing.
The adrenaline buzzes through my fingertips.
My shoulders ache.
But we’re still flying.

I open the intercom.

“You alright?”

Heavy, shallow breaths hiss through the mic.

“I… I think so.”

I exhale in relief. So she can handle eight Gs.

“Fiya, did you get the statistics on that missile?”

“Yep! Same type that downed us the other day. Not as advanced as some of the other variants in the photos, but still beyond anything the Allies have.”

“Okay. That’s good to know. Can you plot a new course? Avoid open terrain like this if possible.”

“Absolutely! Working on that now.”

The nav rings vanish from the HUD. I let her work.

Then Zyla’s voice breaks the quiet.

“Umm… who are you talking to?”

I groan.
Left the intercom open again.

“That’s Fiya. She’s my AI. Fiya, say hello.”

There’s no sound in my headset, but a small gasp over the intercom tells me Fiya must’ve connected to Zyla’s instead.

A burst of static, and she’s back.

“Done! Updating HUD now.”

The nav rings flicker back into view, adjusted for the new route.

“Thank you. What’s the new ETA?”

“Five hours.”

Five. That’s no small number - but it’s better than getting shot down again.

I tighten my grip on the stick, roll my shoulders back, and ease the Sanan back into rhythm.

We’re not out of the woods.
But we’re still in the air.
And that’s what counts.

An hour passes in silence.
Then another.
And another.

Music plays quietly through my headset, broken only by the occasional update from Fiya.
This is how I usually fly - her connection to the aircraft keeping me alert and informed, letting me focus purely on flying.

But it’s still exhausting.

The Sanan doesn’t have a complex autopilot - not one I trust with this kind of terrain - so I fly her manually. Constant adjustments. Left, right. Back, forward. Bank. Level. Climb. Repeat.

My arms ache. My shoulders are tight. My neck burns.

We thunder through valleys, skim across low ridgelines, cut between jagged slopes and sprawling green basins.
The forest stretches on and on - dense, endless, unbroken. I haven’t seen a single sign of civilization.

Which, all things considered, is probably for the best.
A building out here might mean a radar station.
Or worse.

Every so often, I ask Fiya for updates on Zyla.

“She’s still watching the scenery.”
“She’s watching the clouds above.”
“She’s asleep now.”

Good.
She’ll need the rest - tomorrow’s flight is meant to be even longer than today’s.

Outside, the sun lowers towards the western peaks.

And still we fly on.

Two hours later, the nav rings begin to rise.

Fiya perks up in my headset.

“We’re almost at the carrier! Three minutes to touchdown!”

My heart kicks.

I’ve never landed on a carrier before.

They say there’s a time for everything - but if you’d told me three days ago that time would be now, I would’ve laughed.

As the Sanan climbs, the sun lowers toward the horizon - not quite evening, but getting close. I run through the landing procedure in my head. Again. And again. And again.

I can’t afford mistakes - not after all this.

The commander was right.

This whole mission has been brutal - on my body, on my mind.

And this is only the first leg.

Zyla’s voice crackles into my headset, probably stirred by the shift in altitude.

She must’ve figured out the intercom.

“Why are we climbing? Are we nearly there?”

“Yup. Almost. Just one last hurdle.”

No reply.

I follow the nav rings over a sharp mountain ridge, its peaks dusted with snow.

And then - I see it.

The Balsa.

Smaller than the Amatak, maybe, but still colossal. Her landing lights are lit, and her deck is crowded with sailors - parting now to clear a space for the incoming aircraft.

A voice crackles through the radio.

“Callsign Arkar. You are cleared for landing on the flight deck. Welcome to the Balsa.”

I line up with the deck, coming in slow. Fiya speaks steadily, guiding me in.

“Throttle down a tad. Left a little. Bit more… stop. Gear down.”

A clunk sounds beneath me. The lights in the cockpit go green - locked.

“Nose down. Stop. Flaps full. Hook down. Keep going.”

The deck rushes up toward us. The Balsa fills the canopy.

“Tiny bit right. Stop. Aaaaaaand… flare now.”

I pull back on the stick. The Sanan bumps down hard, wheels thudding into the deck.

For a second I think I’ve missed the wires. But then-

A violent jerk. The plane lurches. My harness bites across my chest as we decelerate in a heartbeat.

Then… stillness.

I exhale. So does Zyla. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath.

Fiya speaks, her voice warm and bright.

“Congratulations, Arkar. You’ve successfully completed your first carrier landing… and have been granted ace status.”

My heart skips.

Right. Of course. The twenty-fifth kill - the fighter we downed earlier.

I let myself fall back against the seat, trembling with relief as the engines spool down and the canopy lifts.

Outside, the roar of cheering sailors fills the air, as if we’re heroes - returning from some war-winning mission.

A ladder clangs up against the side of the cockpit. Sailors rush past me, ignoring my slumped form as they help Zyla out of her seat.

I close my eyes. I could fall asleep right here. Right now.

But then a rough hand clasps my shoulder.

I jolt upright, blinking.

A tall, broad-shouldered man leans in. His beard is grey, and his uniform is immaculate - decorated with ribbons, pins, and a glint of pride in every thread.

The Captain of the Balsa.

He grins, extending a hand.

“Kaihi! Come on. Let’s go. We’re having a celebration feast.”

The sun is just brushing the horizon by the time I manage to slip away from the celebration.

I didn’t like it much. There wasn’t really a feast - just booze. A lot of booze.

I was tempted. But in the end, I passed.

I haven’t touched a drink since I turned eighteen, and I’m not about to risk a hangover with tomorrow’s flight ahead. So I waited - until everyone was well and truly out of their minds - then slipped out quietly.

Now I stand on a balcony, overlooking the countryside below. The Balsa floats silently above it all, like some deity watching over the earth. My hands rest on the railing. My eyes linger on the sinking sun.

Then-

A presence behind me.

I turn lazily.

To my surprise - it’s Zyla.

I haven’t seen her since she was helped out of the Sanan’s cockpit. She looks hesitant, unsure.

I offer a smile.

“Hey. You alright?”

She nods, but doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

I turn back to the sunset.

“Something playing on your mind?”

I don’t look, but I hear her steps, soft and uncertain, as she joins me at the railing.

Her voice comes a moment later - quiet. Barely a breath.

“Yes.”

“…Is it about the fighter I downed?”

She nods again.

Poor girl.

I shake my head gently.

“He sleeps peacefully now. Believe me - I wish it had gone differently too. But there wasn’t a choice. That’s… war.”

She doesn’t respond. But the tension in her shoulders softens slightly.

Together, we stare at the horizon as the sky fades from blue to violet.

Then, unexpectedly, she asks,

“Why did you take this mission, Kaihi?”

It catches me off guard.

I hesitate.

“I-I’m not actually sure,” I admit, my voice low. “I guess… I wanted to get home. The rewards helped. But…”

I glance sideways.

She’s watching me.

“…Now that I’m here, I think saving you probably matters more than any of that.”

Her cheeks flush pink. She turns away.

So do I.

Silence settles again. Until-

“How old are you?” she blurts.

I blink.

“Me? I’m nineteen. Why?”

She gives me a sidelong glance.

“Really? That’s the same age as me.”

Her gaze drifts back to the horizon. Her voice goes soft again.

“I thought you looked really young for an ace pilot.”

I take it as a compliment.

My thoughts drift-

-to the Sanan, probably being maintained somewhere deep in the belly of this airborne giant.

As the last sliver of sun disappears, three things swirl in my head:

What should I name my Feiwen Mark Nine?

What will tomorrow bring?

And most of all-

Who exactly is Zyla?