Wayward Son

Chapter 4

The engines flared with immense power, lifting the Condor clear of the ground, and Edward stumbled and caught the railing just before he fell.

"Watch your step," Stork said flatly without even looking.

"Thank you," Edward said with just as much enthusiasm.

He watched as the rest of the team flew out on their individual rides, screwing his eyebrows in confusion when he saw that they apparently called armour.

'How the hell is that supposed to protect anything?!' he wondered.

"So, um..." he said slowly, deciding to let that point slide as he would probably be considered weird for bringing it up, "...exactly how often do you guys do this sort of thing?"

"You mean plunging headfirst at terminal velocity into certain doom?" asked Stork. "Definitely more often than I would prefer, usually about once a week. Two weeks if we're lucky; most of the time we're... not. To say the least. I try not to question why it's almost always on Saturday mornings."

Edward whistled appreciatively.

"Sounds like you've had plenty of practice," he said.

"Unfortunately, yeah," said Stork. "We'll just shake them up a bit and send them home. The folks on Atmosia will never even know they were here if we're lucky-"

He was cut off when one of the pipes ruptured and started spewing steam at an alarming rate.

"Is that bad?" asked Edward.

"No, we use it to cook noodles," Stork said sarcastically. "Of course it's bad! Turn that valve there and release the pressure before the whole thing blows us to smithereens!"

The short blonde hurried over the wheel and heaved it around, and the steam quickly died down, allowing him to set the pipe back into position.

"Wow, that's rusty," he commented. "Wait, all these pipes are rusty! Just how old is this ship anyhow?"

"I honestly have no idea," Stork replied. "She set the airspeed record over a hundred years ago, but I think most of her has been replaced or rebuilt since then. I've improved everything I can. Even added extra-large cup holders."

"Yeah," said Edward, "'coz in a combat situation the one thing you have to focus on is not spilling your drinks, right?"

Stork just rolled his eyes at this. Kids. Never understood what was important did they?

"But seriously," Edward continued, "this thing's that old?! How do you know it's not going to fall out of the sky the moment it takes a single shot? What's it held together with, bootlaces? There's only so long a vehicle can hold up before it rusts out from under your feet!"

"Hey!" Stork whipped around. "I will not have you speaking that way about my Condor!"

"Your...?"

"If you don't like the way she operates, then you can step off right this moment because she has been running beautifully for as long as she's needed to and I'm not planning to give up on her any time soon! So either suck it up or get out of my ship! Door's right there if you need it!"

Edward glanced over at the door.

"Thanks," he said, "I-I'm good. Sorry."

Stork turned back to the windscreen.

"You should be," he grumbled moodily.

The blonde did his best not to stare.

'Is he seriously the eldest person in this group?' he wondered. 'He's almost as petty and obsessive as Mustang! No, scratch that: nobody is as petty and obsessive as Mustang. Nobody.'