The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,19

wide, smoothly curved wings cutting steadily through the air. On his right was the Storm Dog. He wrinkled his nose and stared at it mistrustfully.

It was a Ludstrome Cloudhammer: a heavy frigate, manufactured in Yortland. Long, vaguely rectangular, with tiny wings for steerage set far back on its hull. Ten times the size of the Ketty Jay, it was built above all for toughness. A Cloudhammer could run any storm, suffer any weather. Slow and cumbersome it might have been, but it bristled with cannons, and its armour was thick enough to take the best that most aircraft could dish out.

Harkins didn't like it. He didn't like the ugly craft or its ugly crew. But more, he didn't like what they were doing. They were threatening to make everyone rich. And Harkins didn't like that idea at all.

There was only one thing in Harkins' life that he really enjoyed, and that was flying. The only time he felt anywhere close to normal was inside the cockpit of a Firecrow. If he couldn't fly, he didn't have much of anything.

Outside the Firecrow, the world was a frightening and hostile place. Harkins didn't deal well with people. Even before the Aerium Wars shot his nerves to pieces, he'd been a jumpy sort. People sensed his weakness and mocked or ignored him. But he'd always let his flying do the talking, at least until his aircraft was taken away.

It was Frey who rescued him from the misery of a land-bound life after he'd been discharged from the Coalition Navy. Frey who'd given him a Firecrow and, with it, another chance. The crew of the Ketty Jay were the closest thing to friends he'd ever managed. And now along came Captain Grist, promising them all riches and fame. Promising change.

What happened if they all did get rich? Did anyone think of that? Did anyone think what would happen to their little band then? Would things really 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 all be easier then. He might be able to talk to her, if it wasn't for the words in the way. He could tell 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 all those weird things she could do. Like how she healed bullet 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. All 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 . .