The Fall of the City of Steel

The First Mission

During the operation, I did my best to keep my thoughts elsewhere, and, apparently, I succeeded. All I would remember later was a faint, barely registered stinging as Acromymex slowly drew her emblem onto me. When she finished, she took my hand and helped me to a sitting position, then strapped a warm, damp rag around my waist, covering the fresh tattoo.

"Keep that on," Joan ordered. "You can take it off after your mission. Keep away from hot water for the next few days, or you'll blur the tattoo."

"Okay," I complied, standing up. I felt the tattoo tentatively, then, satisfied, turned to the tattooist and offered my hand, saying, "Thank you, Acromymex."

Acromymex looked at my hand with befuddlement. As I realized my misassumption, Joan quickly explained the gesture to her, and she uncertainly took my hand. I gave it a gentle shake.

Acromymex remarked something, and Joan translated, "She says she hasn't tattooed many people in a long time."

"Why is that?" I inquired.

Joan gave me a dirty look.

"Oh, right." I desisted.

Seeing myself out, I determinedly said to myself, "Now, for my mission."

While I returned to James' workshop, Joan walked behind me. Even without seeing her, I picked up on every scrap of expression I could. Her shadow showed her walking with a posture that was alert and agile, but indelicate. Her footsteps were soft, but somehow still angry. I stole several looks back, all of which she returned with venomous stares. To my disappointment, I still did not seem to have her approval. I decided not to ask.

"James?" I asked, as soon as I came within convenient hearing distance. "Is it ready? Will I be able to fly today?"

"I think so," said James, through a sigh of relief. "That was... suspiciously easy. If anything feels wrong while you're flying, set down as soon as you can, okay?"

"Understood," I acceded.

"We're ready to go, Emma!" James called.

"Where should I set by bearing?" I asked her. "The mine is west, right?"

"You won't be going straight for the mine," Emilia corrected. "You need to look like an officer who got lost, or something else they can dismiss. The plan is to have you pass through the city, coming and going. Once you reach the city, just set your bearing at sixteen degrees south-southwest, and you'll find it after a couple of minutes."

"Got it," I accepted.

At that, Emilia gave some signal to the rest, and they each walked to one of the trees that bent over James' workshop and shaded it. Pulling on a series of simple rope contraptions I had not yet noticed, the four drew back the trees, exposing James' workshop to the sky, granting me a safe takeoff.

As I pulled down the patrol plane's ladder and climbed aboard, Rico prepared James' radio and Joan knelt curiously next to him. I noticed James flipping a switch on the camera rig, then quickly backing away.

Considerately, James waited through my preflight checks, which took several minutes, before calmly entering, "Testing, one, two three... can you hear me, Damon?"

"I can hear you," I confirmed. "Am I cleared for takeoff?"

"The Dragoon hasn't flown by yet," Joan mentioned.

"That's okay," said James, "it's always late on Wednesdays- we don't know why- but Damon has plenty of time." Turning his attention back to me, he added, "You are cleared for takeoff."

Nodding, I started up my left engine, waiting as it roared to near-takeoff speed, then did the same with my right engine. After turning my tail rotor up to what my hands knew as the correct place on the throttle lever, I listened to the vivacious sound of beating propellers until they reached the speeds I had set for them. Then, after judging that I had more margin for error behind me than in front, I turned up my main rotors, and, as quickly as my hands could unerringly move, proportionately powered up my tail rotor.