things realy carry on as they were?
No. Of course they wouldn't. Things would change. Everyone would leave. Pinn might even go back to his sweetheart. And Harkins would be left out in the cold. Because it didn't matter how much money he had. It wouldn't stop him being scared. He couldn't change the way he was.
What would he do, if he didn't have the Ketty Jay? He'd have to try and make new friends. The agony of strangers. Just the thought of it made him feel a little sick.
But there was another reason, too. Jez. Kindly Jez, who never said a cruel word to him. Lately, he'd begun to feel funny whenever he thought about her. An odd, warm sensation, like a smile inside. A stirring in his—
'Harkins!' said Jez in his ear. He jumped violently enough to crash his head against the windglass of the cockpit.
'Yes! Jez! Yes sir, ma'am, sir!' he burbled, blushing scarlet.
'Course correction. Three degrees south, okay?'
He looked around guiltily, as if someone might be there, observing him. 'Three degrees south. Yes! Got it! Erm . . . yes!'
He adjusted the cap on his head and waited for her to speak again, but there was nothing more. After a short while, he relaxed and made the course correction as instructed. He didn't trust those daemonic little earcuffs. He had a creeping suspicion that they let people read his thoughts.
Would that be such a bad thing, though? On reflection, maybe a little mind-reading would help him out. It would al be easier then. He might be able to talk to her, if it wasn't for the words in the way. He could tel her how humiliating it was to be him. How frustrating and infuriating it was, to be dominated by everything and everyone.
He wanted to be brave, but his bravery had been torn away in strips throughout his life. Too many near misses, too many crashes he'd walked away from, too many comrades lost. He wasn't much of a man, he knew that. But then she was a little strange herself, what with al those weird things she could do. Like how she healed bulet wounds in hours and how she was strong enough to lift crates that even Malvery couldn't.
None of that mattered to Harkins, though. He wasn't fussy. Al that mattered was that she was kind to him. No doubt it was pity that motivated her, and nothing more, but a man like Harkins would take what he could get. Pity was a start. Perhaps, if he was just a little braver . . .
No. It was no good. What woman could respect a man who was bulied by a cat?
Maybe you just need to stand up to him. You are about twenty times his size, after all.
He burned with shame as he remembered the incident in the corridor. That cat. That damned cat.
If he wanted to be brave for Jez, he'd have to see about that cat.
Pinn, for his part, shared none of the concerns of his felow outflyer. The idea of worrying about something that far in the future was alien to him. He only ever thought one step ahead, if that. He didn't realy do consequences.
He didn't have any real idea what to expect of Kurg, but that didn't matter. Despite his near total lack of knowledge, he was confident he could handle it. The prospect of adventure, fame and riches appealed to him greatly. Artis Pinn, adventurer! Perhaps they'd make some pulp novels of his exploits, the way they did about the Century Knights. Pinn had never read any of them - he never read anything - but their covers looked exciting.
He let his mind drift as he sat in the cockpit of the Skylance, the sea below him, empty sky ahead. The roar of the thrusters, steady and unwavering, luled him into a daze.
He pictured himself as the subject of a novel, his likeness on the cover. He was standing atop the corpse of some monster, pistol in hand, native wench hanging off his arm. He had no indication of what the native wenches might actualy look like, and his imagination was too stunted to guess, so he settled on a Vardic woman wearing very few clothes, and mentaly darkened her skin to match Silo's umber tones. Yes, that would do nicely.
He'd
No. Of course they wouldn't. Things would change. Everyone would leave. Pinn might even go back to his sweetheart. And Harkins would be left out in the cold. Because it didn't matter how much money he had. It wouldn't stop him being scared. He couldn't change the way he was.
What would he do, if he didn't have the Ketty Jay? He'd have to try and make new friends. The agony of strangers. Just the thought of it made him feel a little sick.
But there was another reason, too. Jez. Kindly Jez, who never said a cruel word to him. Lately, he'd begun to feel funny whenever he thought about her. An odd, warm sensation, like a smile inside. A stirring in his—
'Harkins!' said Jez in his ear. He jumped violently enough to crash his head against the windglass of the cockpit.
'Yes! Jez! Yes sir, ma'am, sir!' he burbled, blushing scarlet.
'Course correction. Three degrees south, okay?'
He looked around guiltily, as if someone might be there, observing him. 'Three degrees south. Yes! Got it! Erm . . . yes!'
He adjusted the cap on his head and waited for her to speak again, but there was nothing more. After a short while, he relaxed and made the course correction as instructed. He didn't trust those daemonic little earcuffs. He had a creeping suspicion that they let people read his thoughts.
Would that be such a bad thing, though? On reflection, maybe a little mind-reading would help him out. It would al be easier then. He might be able to talk to her, if it wasn't for the words in the way. He could tel her how humiliating it was to be him. How frustrating and infuriating it was, to be dominated by everything and everyone.
He wanted to be brave, but his bravery had been torn away in strips throughout his life. Too many near misses, too many crashes he'd walked away from, too many comrades lost. He wasn't much of a man, he knew that. But then she was a little strange herself, what with al those weird things she could do. Like how she healed bulet wounds in hours and how she was strong enough to lift crates that even Malvery couldn't.
None of that mattered to Harkins, though. He wasn't fussy. Al that mattered was that she was kind to him. No doubt it was pity that motivated her, and nothing more, but a man like Harkins would take what he could get. Pity was a start. Perhaps, if he was just a little braver . . .
No. It was no good. What woman could respect a man who was bulied by a cat?
Maybe you just need to stand up to him. You are about twenty times his size, after all.
He burned with shame as he remembered the incident in the corridor. That cat. That damned cat.
If he wanted to be brave for Jez, he'd have to see about that cat.
Pinn, for his part, shared none of the concerns of his felow outflyer. The idea of worrying about something that far in the future was alien to him. He only ever thought one step ahead, if that. He didn't realy do consequences.
He didn't have any real idea what to expect of Kurg, but that didn't matter. Despite his near total lack of knowledge, he was confident he could handle it. The prospect of adventure, fame and riches appealed to him greatly. Artis Pinn, adventurer! Perhaps they'd make some pulp novels of his exploits, the way they did about the Century Knights. Pinn had never read any of them - he never read anything - but their covers looked exciting.
He let his mind drift as he sat in the cockpit of the Skylance, the sea below him, empty sky ahead. The roar of the thrusters, steady and unwavering, luled him into a daze.
He pictured himself as the subject of a novel, his likeness on the cover. He was standing atop the corpse of some monster, pistol in hand, native wench hanging off his arm. He had no indication of what the native wenches might actualy look like, and his imagination was too stunted to guess, so he settled on a Vardic woman wearing very few clothes, and mentaly darkened her skin to match Silo's umber tones. Yes, that would do nicely.
He'd
Similar Books
