Legend Of The Skies

Two tickets to the Cerberus Fleet Annual Airshow. Exclusive all areas access.

Faolán stares at the ticket - an electronic pass on his C-Tech - still bewildered by the factors that led up to this moment. According to the organisers, it was a gift to top ten applicants for the Piloting Apprenticeship Programme.

To Faolán, it’s the opportunity of a lifetime.

Sure, general admissions to the airshow are cheap enough that he’s been three times before, but with those passes you don’t get to experience the full awe inspiring history of the fleet. An exclusive pass though? The only limits are “don’t break anything, don’t try to fly anything, and don’t be a dick” which Faolán is more than capable of following.

As much as I would like to fly one of the old ships, he thinks, smiling to himself.

Security stops him at a checkpoint. One of the guards, donning the Fleet’s ceremonial dress, gives Faolán a quick once over. “Pass,” he says curtly.

Faolán gulps, nervous even though he knows he doesn’t need to be because what if the pass is fake?, but as he holds his C-Tech to the reader, he watches the light go green and sighs. That’s all the confirmation the security guard needs, waving him through with absolute passivity, and Faolán walks through the doorway into Showroom C.

Before him stand relics of a bygone age. Machinery kept in pristine condition purely for the purpose of display and an occasional low-scale flight plan, from fully fitted spacecraft to skimmer jets. One in particular catches his eye.

The sleek outer plating of the Hercules V shimmers under the showroom lights. Its metallic paint finish, a navy base coating with white and yellow trims, looks as fresh as the day the Hercules V made its first flight.

He makes a beeline for the ship. Wanders as close as he possibly can, almost close enough to touch the steel wings. He inspects every inch with a childlike wonder, taking zero notice of the people around him doing the exact same thing because why would he when the Terran’s greatest success story is on display?

“Wow…” he says, a little breathless.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” someone asks. Faolán startles, glancing over his shoulder to find an older woman. Dark blonde hair is pulled tightly into a ponytail, grey streaks betraying her age. For a moment Faolán thinks he’s gone back in time, or maybe he’s looking at a ghost, because this woman is the spitting image of Astrid Ziegler - the famous captain of the Hercules V.

Then he meets her gaze, realises that those thoughts are impossible, because Astrid had hazel eyes and this woman has a piercing, electric blue stare. She smiles, but the warmth is negated by the intensity held in those eyes. For some strange reason Faolán feels compelled to straighten up and offer the woman a salute, even if the resulting gesture is overly sloppy.

She waves it off.

“No need for that, dear, I’m off duty.” A pause follows as she sizes him up, lips pursing. “You’re one of our new apprentices, yes?”

He nods frantically, trying desperately not to fidget as his mind screams at him, oh god, it’s General Ziegler, holy crap. “How did you know?”

“Hercules here always draws the attention of our latest batch of pilots,” she says, voice measured. “Besides, I attend the airshow every year - every other person in this showroom is a familiar face.”

“Oh…”

“Oh indeed.” And that feels more than a little mocking, or perhaps the tone is plain disappointment. In either case, Faolán suddenly feels the need to run and hide from the General’s scrutinising gaze. “Enjoy the show, dear. If you wait around for another hour or two, they’ll open the Hercules up for a tour.” Another pause follows that. She turns away as though she hasn’t just dropped a bombshell of a revelation on Faolán, calling back over her shoulder as her heels clack against the floor. “And good luck with the apprenticeship - you’ll need it.”