Issues

Kaihi

“Clear!”

At the call, I prime the engine. The onboard starter canisters fire, dumping hundreds of litres of compressed air into the secondary engine chambers. The electric motors kick in, forcing the pressure even higher. Air starts whistling into the intakes in the wing roots.

I watch the pressure dial as it climbs.

Once it hits the correct PSI, I flip a switch.

With a deep whump, the system dumps all the air into the central compression chamber. There, it’s compacted again, forced through a narrowing duct - then blasted out the rear. A high-pitched whine builds as the exhaust flow spins up a fan in the intake system, feeding even more air into the cycle. The electric motors hum louder. Pressure keeps rising. The whine sharpens into a wail.

The roar is deafening.

I cut the primer and glance over the controls. Everything looks fine. I close the canopy, and the sound cuts out like someone flipped a switch.

Silence.

Just me and the hum of systems.

I test the controls. Left, right. Up, down. All smooth.

With a jolt, the Sanan begins to move - being towed forward toward the launch catapult. I glance at the battery indicator. Full.

Good.

Today’s flight is supposed to take eight hours, if all goes well. That’s why we’re launching at dawn - the sun’s just peeking above the horizon. The sky is still dark and pale, and the land below is just a black puddle.

Whatever happens, I don’t want to be landing this thing on a carrier in the dark.

We’ve had good weather so far, but if it’s stormy, if there’s wind, if it’s night - there’s no room for error. That deck is small, and these stakes are high.

As the main wheel connects with the catapult track, I flip open the intercom.

“How’re you feeling, Zyla?”

Her voice comes back warm - but there’s something underneath it. Worry.

“I’m all good. Um… Kaihi?”

“Mhm?”

“Can we… can we leave the intercom open? Please?”

I blink. Didn’t expect that.

“Uh… sure. But you’ll have to listen to all my one-sided conversations with Fiya if you do.”

She gives a small laugh. Soft. Relieved.

“That’s alright. Thank you.”

She goes quiet.

Strange request. But then again, everything about this girl is strange. But I’m probably the same to her.

The green flag waves.

I take a breath.

In. Out.

In.

Out.

I ease the throttle forward. The electric compressors growl. Air surges through the engine, and the Sanan tenses like a coiled spring.

“Okay. Here we go.”

The catapult fires.

The world blurs.

We blast down the flight deck, and lift into the air.

The second leg of our journey has begun.

I’ve discovered two things I dislike about the Sanan.

First: the manoeuvrability.

Sure, she’s fast - but she’s clumsy. She drags herself through turns like a racehorse in a swimming pool.

Second: the size.

She’s a beast. An elephant among lions. A whale among sharks. Massive, powerful… but not exactly nimble. That bulk makes her hard to handle, especially in tight airspace. And her nose? Not the best shape. It adds drag where I don’t want it.

But the engine redeems her.

For her size, she outputs a staggering amount of power. She climbs like nothing I’ve flown before - probably does even better at altitude, where there’s less air resistance. That’s her territory. Thin skies. Long intercept runs. She's built for chasing, not for dogfighting.

She’s an interceptor, not an air superiority fighter.

And definitely not made for the kind of low-altitude flying this mission demands.

I should’ve asked more questions before I signed up.

But it’s far too late now.

Below me, the landscape blurs past. Greens and browns merge together like some rushed child’s painting, all thick strokes and no detail. We’ve been in the air for just over an hour.

The radar pinged something a while ago - just a flicker - but it disappeared almost as soon as it appeared. Either it didn’t see us… or it wasn’t interested. Whatever it was, it’s long gone now, out of range.

I stick close to the hovering nav rings on my HUD, trusting them with more faith than I probably should.

At least I’ve got Fiya.

Whatever else happens, having her up here with me makes all the difference.

Suddenly, Zyla crackles over the intercom.

“Kaihi?”

I pull myself out of my thoughts and back to the present.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry - I'm sure you’ve got your hands full - but… I’d like to know more about you.”

What?

Where did that come from?

“More about me?”

“Yeah.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, like… where you come from. How you got here. Who you know and love. Things like that.”

Huh.

Things about me.

Alright.

“Well, you already know where I come from.”

I can almost hear her shake her head.

“No. I want more than that. Where were you born? Where does your family live?”

My heart skips a beat.

My blood goes cold.

My face numbs.

“My… I don’t have any family.”

Her voice softens, laced with sympathy.

“No family? I’m so sorry. What happened?”

I grit my teeth. Force the tears back down.

“They… they died in the first year of the war. My grandparents and parents lived in the same home. I came back from school one day and found it gone. Obliterated. There was an air raid. It took a direct hit.”

I hear her stifle a gasp. I keep going.

“Me and my younger sister - we were both away from home when it happened. We got sent to an orphanage. But I qualified for the military, so that’s where I went.”

I focus on keeping my voice steady as I guide the Sanan through the valleys.

“I got a letter when I was seventeen. Second year in the military. A bomb hit near the orphanage. Burned it down. Some made it out. My sister wasn’t one of them.”

I stop. That’s enough.

Zyla doesn’t speak.

I don’t blame her.

What do you say to that?

Still, I force myself to keep going. Fill the silence before it gets too loud.

“So I stayed in the military. And now here I am - caught up in a mission the world’s best pilots turned down, flying for a country I thought was hostile two days ago.”

I let the words hang in the air, cold and weightless.

Zyla’s voice returns - shaky, hesitant, heavy with sorrow.

“I-I-I’m so sorry. That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

I try to sound warmer than I feel.

“It’s alright. Sorry. That was a lot to dump on you.”

Silence. Again.

I hate it. It echoes too easily inside my chest.