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Rodrigo glances at me and nods.

“We haven’t done one of those for four months,” Aleta protests.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t do it again,” Rodrigo says.

Aleta shakes her head. “The last air drop nearly killed both Teado and Selvie. We can’t risk it.”

I swallow, thinking of the possibilities. An entire cargo plane full of rations and equipment could last us out here for another six months. We wouldn’t have to depend on Bava for resupply. Hell, if the air drop works there is no reason we can’t do it again and again. We’ve already proved we could operate with impunity—that the enemy’s best scouts can’t find us. Bellara sees to that.

But Aleta is right. The last air drop did nearly kill me. Selvie, too, but when I glance in her direction she’s already staring at the sky, talking to herself—probably trying to remember how to fly one of those big cargo planes.

“Can Benny even handle it?” Giado asks. He’s talking to Rodrigo, but he’s looking at me, and I can tell he’s asking for silent permission to give it a try. Headquarters banned air drops last year because they lost too many Changers trying to capture supplies, then lifted the ban when the enemy pushed too far across the Bavares.

“She can handle it,” Rodrigo insists. “We’ll have to strip her down a bit, but carrying three people won’t be a problem.”

“Four,” Bellara speaks up. “You’ll need me to cloak the cargo plane the moment we touch it, or else they’ll just follow us back to our base.”

Rodrigo’s face sours, and it’s obvious he hasn’t considered putting his sister in harm’s way. “What did we do last time?” he asks.

“Last time,” Aleta says, “we captured a bomber and landed it in Bava.”

Rodrigo chews on his fingernails. “We can’t just do that again?”

“We need food,” Bellara reminds him, “and if we fly a cargo plane into Bava, headquarters will confiscate the cargo. We’ll be lucky to get one crate for ourselves.”

“If,” I cut in, giving the commander a small nod to indicate I’m on board, “we can take the cargo plane and land it back here, we’re set for the rest of summer and most of the winter. I’ve heard rumors the enemy even has fresh coffee.” I don’t tell them that I heard that on one of their propaganda broadcasts. No one asks.

Rodrigo shakes his head. “No, no. We’ll have to think of something else.”

“This is your idea,” Bellara reminds him.

“And you’re my sister. I’m not taking you up in that death trap.”

The rest of us exchange knowing glances while Bellara glares at her brother. On every other day, Benny is his beauty, admired above all lovers. But Benny is relegated to a death trap at the thought of flying his little sister into a mission?

“Benny is not a death trap,” Selvie objects. “And I agree, she can carry four people no problem. I’ll get to work stripping her down right now.” Our mechanic takes off toward the runway before anyone can argue with her.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Aleta says to no one in particular, watching Selvie go. The objection is half-hearted. She knows as well as any of us that we need supplies, or we will starve.

I glance sidelong at Bellara. Her lips are pursed. She has never objected to, nor volunteered for, a dangerous mission before. I think back on our conversation and wonder if she’s going crazy. It is not unheard of for any fighter to become more and more reckless. I myself consider, from time to time, just walking off across the plains.

I let it go, and tell Aleta that I think the mission will be a success. She smiles at me, face hard, having said her piece. The commander’s brief moment of awareness seems to pass, and he sinks back into himself, glaring and muttering.

The camp becomes more animated. People smile, and talk in normal voices. Harado repeats the joke he told earlier, and some people laugh out loud. The prospect of a rations coup gets them more excited than any night-time ambush, and I hear my mention of fresh coffee repeated around the canyon. I go with Rodrigo and Selvie down to the runway to see if there’s anything I can do to help to prepare for tomorrow’s mission.

* * *

The next morning proves poor light for a mission. A cloud cover hangs low over the plains, with dew dripping off Benny’s wings as our tiny group gathers beside the cockpit. Rodrigo argues that we call off the mission, but the first hour of daylight quickly burns off the moisture.

Benny has been stripped down to her bare bones, with fuel reserves removed and cargo containers emptied. Selvie removed the seat, replacing it with a plank of wood and an old cushion so that two people can fit behind the stick. She’s also wrapped each wing with a pair of leather straps, and the sight of them makes my stomach do a backflip. I tug on the one on the right wing. It seems stable.

“It’ll be fine,” Selvie tells me.

Rodrigo squints into the distance, silently cursing the clearing sky. “Our runway is too short to land a cargo plane,” he says in a last-ditch effort to excuse his sister from the mission.

“No it’s not,” Selvie says. She seems to search her memory, then corrects herself. “The cargo planes the enemy uses are only a little bigger than the ones the smugglers who flew in and out of here used to pilot. Besides, we’re not capturing the plane to have a plane. If I run out of runway and shear the landing gear, we still have the supplies.”

I turn away from my examination of Benny’s wing. This last bit gets me nervous. Not only do I like Selvie, but she’s our spare pilot and our only mechanic. Lose her, and our jeeps and motorbikes will give up the ghost in weeks. “That sounds like a good way to get you killed,” I say.

“Any of this could get me killed,” she responds, rolling her eyes.

Commander Giado smells of gin, if you can call what we distill in the back of the canyon gin, but he stands upright through the entire conversation. He looks more like his old self: hard, but fatherly. “This is happening,” he declares. “The weather is good and you’ve got a schedule to keep. Rodrigo, stop waffling.”

“Yes, sir,” Rodrigo says, ducking his head. He finishes his inspection and helps Bellara onto the wing and into the cockpit, then settles in front of her to start his pre-flight.

Giado shakes my hand and hugs Selvie. “You two take care,” he says, speaking louder as the engine roars to life, propeller spinning. “You let Rodrigo circle twice, and if you don’t see those cargo planes then come back to base or you’ll run out of fuel. Understand?” He’s shouting by the end, barely holding his hat on. I nod and climb up onto the wing.

They’ve given Selvie the warmest clothes they can find. She’s wrapped in leather and wool, and I am jealous of how comfortable she looks. I remove my shoes, socks, and jacket, and hand the bundle over to Giado before climbing up onto the wing and strapping myself in. On the opposite side Selvie does the same, checking her counterweights so that my size doesn’t unbalance Benny. The metal is frigid beneath my touch, and I hope I don’t freeze to death before the mission is over. My only luxury is an old pair of aviator’s goggles.

“Everything okay?” Rodrigo shouts from the pilot seat. I put on my aviator’s goggles and give him a thumbs-up, wondering how long it has been since Bellara flew. This mission depends on each of us being able to do all our jobs, and the last thing we need is her passing out or vomiting on her brother’s neck. Will she be able to handle her illusions midflight?

As if in answer, the sound suddenly cuts out. There is no sputter of the engine dying, and I can still feel the rattle of the metal beneath me. I hold up my thumb once more, this time for Bellara, as it is her sorcery that has extinguished the sound of Benny’s engine.