Aloft (Petronaut Tales) by Ben Rovik Read Free Book Online Page B

training field stretched out in front of her, flat and open and inviting.
    She stuffed the keypin in her pocket and slunk away from the machine.  The engine went dead behind her.
    Ask him.  Just ask him.
    “As you’d know if you’d been reading my reports,” Iggy was saying as Ensie rejoined them, “we were hoping for something closer to five-and-a-half meters on a straight jump with no pilot’s mass.”
    “You didn’t get it.”  Tomas crossed his arms over his chest, pursing his lips at the ground.  “Sounds like the problem’s in that ranine box.”
    “It could be the box, or it could be the limiters we installed on the props.  If we dial them back, the lift would be a little higher and the gliding a little smoother.”
     “I’m sick of all the back-and-forth on this burning thing.”  He pressed his toe into one of the sandbags like a sulking toddler.  “Just pump up the box so it gets high enough.”
    “Well, hey, sir, thanks for the confident leadership, but what if that’s not what it needs?”
    “You want it to pass five point five, that’s the easiest way to do it.” 
    Iggy put her hands on her hips and started to sputter at him.  He raised a finger to stop her.  “Don’t kill yourself for this thing, tech,” he said.  “It’s dead on arrival.  You honestly think that the future of personal flight is jumping around on a foil-covered shrimp?  This thing’s never going to catch on.”
    “If we execute the design badly, of course it won’t.”
    “When we’re going up against the latest thrust packs, trust me; this thing’s going to look bad no matter how many hours you waste on it.”
    “Thrust packs?  You’ve seen their tests?”  Ensie chimed in.  “Dame Guernsey, right?”
    Tomas sighed and nodded.  “Spheres yeah.  Now that’s a project that’s going places.  If I weren’t stuck with this damn thing I’d be slitting throats left and right to pilot in their demo.  As it is, I’m pulling strings to be Guernsey’s alternate.”
    “Spheres, Tomas.”  Iggy clenched her teeth.  “Can you pay attention to your job for thirty seconds?  We just had our first successful jump test, and all you can do is whine about how another ‘naut’s project is shinier than yours.”
    “Somebody’s got to put my career first.  It might as well be me.”  He turned on his heel and started to walk back towards the Aerial compound.  “Crank up the ranine box and call it a day, techs,” he shouted over his shoulder.
    Iggy narrowed her eyes and turned her back on him, swearing skillfully in at least three languages.  As Ensie watched him go, she saw an opportunity peeking out through the crack of an unexpected open door.  She took a deep breath and hustled after the ‘naut, her flat shoes skidding on the dusty ground.
    “Sir Tomas,” she said.  “I… there’s something I wanted to ask you.” 
    He didn’t look at her or change his stride in the slightest as she paced him behind his left shoulder. 
    “It’s a little irregular, but I thought—especially if you’re interested in being open for the thrust pack demo—it might be something you wanted to hear.”
    He couldn’t hear her at all, as far as she could tell.  His sharp-featured face was pointed right towards the workshop door.  She brushed her palms over each other and forced the words out of her mouth. 
    “I might want to try flying the Flicker.”
    “What do you mean?” he said, not slowing down.
     “I mean, in the demo.  If you wanted, I could try being the test pilot.”
    That actually stopped him.  Sir Tomas frowned.  He looked up into the sky, tilting his head.  “Did you really just ask me that?”
    Ensie looked at the ground.  She laced her fingers together as he went on.
    “What in the flames is wrong with you?  You’re not trained for flight.”
    “The Flicker’s a concept vehicle, sir.  Nobody in the world is trained for it,” she said quietly.
    “Junior techs don’t