John Marco - Starfinder

MOTH WAS FLYING his kite near the aerodrome when he heard the dragonfly crash.

Just minutes before he had seen the craft overhead, its four wings rapidly beating the mountain air. Now the heat of the crash splashed against Moth’s face. The kite un-spooled from his hand, floating helplessly away. The wind was strongest here at the north side, blowing the dragonfly off course. The mangled wings of the vessel stuck out from the ground, drooping in the flames. Moth raced toward the wreckage, pumping his arms and looking toward the aerodrome. Others had seen the crash too and were hurrying to help. Another dragonfly buzzed loudly overhead, circling the airfield.

“Skyhigh!” Moth cried, waving at the craft, hoping frantically his friend was aboard.

Moth skidded to a stop when he reached the wreck. Flames had engulfed the long tail section and the craft had cracked in two. Behind the cloudy canopy Moth could see the pilot slumped over his controls. A helmet hid his head and his face was turned away.

“Hold on!” shouted Moth, not knowing if the man could hear him or not. He would need help to free the pilot, but help was still far away. Moth swatted at the smoke. The sting of fire pricked his face. At thirteen, Moth was a wiry, slight boy, faster than he was strong. He had grown up around the aerodrome and had seen dragonflies crash before.

“I’m coming!” he told the man. “Don’t be dead. Oh, please don’t be!”

Flames reached for his clothes. Moth climbed over the bent nose of the craft and, without thinking, used a hand to steady himself. He cried out as the hot metal burned his skin, making him stagger back. Men from the aerodrome were rushing forward. Not far away, the other dragonfly settled onto its landing claws, its mechanical wings shaking Moth’s bones.

“I can’t reach him!” yelled Moth to the unseen pilot. “Hurry before he cooks in there!”

The dragonfly’s canopy popped up and out hurried Skyhigh, ripping off his helmet and pulling himself from the cockpit. Sweaty blond hair drooped into his eyes as he scrambled down from his aircraft, waving madly for Moth to move away.

“Move off!” bellowed the Skyknight. He charged forward, holding his helmet by the strap like a sling. Moth stepped aside, watching as the young man climbed across the same pile of bent metal, his gloved hands pulling him toward the canopy. “Close your eyes!” Skyhigh ordered. His arm cocked back and he let his helmet fly, swinging it like a hammer against the glass canopy. The canopy shattered. Skyhigh pulled at the shards of glass, trying frantically to reach his fellow Skyknight. Moth once again climbed atop the debris, wanting to help.

“Is he alive?”

“I told you to go!” roared Skyhigh, not even taking the time to look at Moth as he peeled back sections of glass and struts of metal. Others had finally reached the wreckage now, men like Skyhigh dressed in dark blue uniforms or brown leather jackets. A man with an ax shouldered past Moth, smashing down the twists of metal. Behind Moth, someone boomed out his name.

“Moth!”

Major Hark stood away from the smoke and flames, letting his men swarm in to help. The rock-jawed commander beckoned to Moth with a crooked finger. “Get over here now .”

Moth jumped down from the broken fuselage. “I couldn’t get to him,” he explained, frustrated. “I tried, but the fire… It was too hot.”

Major Hark snarled, “You don’t have gloves or an ax or anything! You keep away from the wrecks, you hear me? You’re a kid .”

“So what? I work at the aerodrome! I should do nothing?”

For a moment Hark forgot about the crash and his wounded man. He reached out and snatched Moth by the collar, pulling him farther from the scene. “You could have been killed, boy. What if you’d fallen?” Hark snapped Moth’s collar, letting him go. “You’re lucky your clothes didn’t catch fire.”

Moth had worked in the aerodrome for nearly three years now and was used to Hark’s chewings out. The Major had always been fair to him, though, and Moth wasn’t really afraid of him.

“I was the first one here,” Moth grumbled, looking back toward the others. They had managed to pull the pilot free of the cockpit, grabbing hold of his limp arms. Skyhigh watched with a worried expression, his face red and smudgy. A crowd started to gather from the aerodrome. Among them were some squires, boys about Moth’s age who looked after the Skyknights and their airships. Moth shot them his usual look of contempt. He was as close to Skyhigh as any of the squires, but he was not a squire himself and never could be.

“It’s Diggy,” said Hark, sighing at the unconscious pilot. Diggy was one of the younger pilots, like Skyhigh. Friendly, too.

“Is he alive?” Moth asked.

Major Hark barked to his men, “Well? Did he make it?”

One of the rescuers pulled off Diggy’s helmet and put his fingers to his neck. “He’s alive!” he called back, and the other Skyknights cheered. The man kneeling over Diggy started cutting the scarf around his throat free. Another pulled up his eyelids and stared into his eyes. Skyhigh tugged off his gloves and tossed them to the ground, shaking his head.

“Come on, Diggy,” he muttered.

His pain knifed at Moth. Skyhigh Coralin was more than just a friend. He was everything Moth dreamed of one day being. He was also the best pilot Moth had ever seen. Like all the other pilots, Skyhigh had given up everything to come to Calio just so he could fly. In other cities a man could be a baker or a physician, but anyone who dreamed of flying belonged in only one place, really—Calio. The mountain city. The edge of the world.

Major Hark called to Skyhigh. “Coralin, get your ship out of here. Get back to the aerodrome.”

Skyhigh finally lifted his blue eyes. “What about Diggy?”

“Nothing for you to do. Just get your ship away from the cliff.”

The winds at the edge of the field could easily lift the dragonfly if they gusted just right. Calio wasn’t just the end of their world; it was also the highest city ever built. To the north of Calio stretched the Reach, like a sea of fog that never ended. Flat and peaceful, the mists went on to the horizon, but over the Reach loomed Calio, standing guard against the things within it—and beyond.

Skyhigh reached for the gloves he had thrown down. “Moth, come here,” he called.

Eager to get away from Hark, Moth bolted toward Skyhigh. Hark called over to him to stay clear of trouble, but Moth wasn’t listening. He was glad his friend was safe, and not in the wreck that had grounded Diggy.

“You all right?” Skyhigh asked as he pulled on his gloves.

“Yeah, fine,” Moth nodded. “Diggy will be all right too. You’ll see.”

Skyhigh turned and started back toward his own dragonfly. Among the Skyknights it was bad luck to talk about crashes. When their friend Pepper had died, Skyhigh had just shrugged and said, “Flying is dangerous,” but Moth knew how broken up he’d felt. He looked that way now, too, his blue eyes full of distance.