From No Tomorrow

Interceptors

The next morning, Elzbieta, clad in full flight gear, approached her fighter while the nineteen other Ragyogas pilots inspected their vehicles for the first time. With the morning sun pouring in at its blindingly low angle, Elzbieta looked down to protect her eyes as she walked slowly up to her plane. As soon as she was upsun of the fighter, she turned to it and looked up.

There, two workers prepared the plane for takeoff. One of them crouched on the rear stabilizer that bridged the two fuselages in the rear, minutely examining a hinge on one of the rudders. The other worker, kneeling in the shade of her wing and examining her landing gear, noticed Elzbieta and looked up.

"Miss Majauskén?" he properly addressed.

For a brief moment, Elzbieta started at the mechanic. His sweet face, scruffy brown hair and wire-thin frame contrasted jarringly with his deep, smooth voice.

"Miss?" the mechanic tried again.

"Sorry," Elzbieta excused, shaking her head. "Yes? What is it?"

"My name is Imre," the mechanic introduced. "My partner Balász and I were assigned to work on your fighter. It should be good to go now, but if you hear the landing gear vibrate while on the runway, don't take off."

"Okay..." Elzbieta accepted.

"Is something wrong?" probed Imre.

Catching herself staring again, Elzbieta tore her eyes away from Imre and boarded her plane. In short order, the two mechanics pulled away the ladder and themselves scarce.

Even as the air traffic controller began presiding over the static-blighted radio, Elzbieta could not help but watch Imre leave. Only when the controller began addressing the pilots did she refocus. When her turn came, she executed the takeoff without a hitch.

Once in the air, Elzbieta's problems seemed to melt away as she remembered how much she missed the glorious feeling of flight. Drawing on her extensive experience with gliders and moderate experience with powered aircraft, Elzbieta mastered the skies, flying in a tighter formation than anyone else and quickly learning to throw her bulky plane into its full spectrum of aerobatic capabilities.

After the flight, back on the runway, as soon as her brakes ground her to a halt, Imre and his partner wheeled up the ladder, letting Elzbieta down.

As soon as she reached the ground, a legless, middle-aged man in a wheelchair rolled up.

"Nice flying," he casually offered.

"Thanks," Elzbieta unceremoniously accepted, peeling off her hot leather helmet and fanning herself.

"Do you know who that was?" asked Balász, as the legless man wheeled away.

Elzbieta shook her head.

"That was István Pyre," the mechanic introduced. "He's the best stunt pilot on this side of the peninsula."

Elzbieta gaped at the man, seeing only his back.

"Did you have a good time?" asked Akyta, as she approached. "I couldn't tell which one you were."

"It was fine," Elzbieta tersely assured, still processing the gravity of István's remark.

"Good to hear," Akyta accepted.

With that, the flyers began to disperse.

For the next few weeks, Elzbieta learned the intricacies of her aircraft. Each time she flew, she wanted to speak to Imre, but, as the days melted into weeks, she made nothing of it, speaking only in the sparse language of silent admiration. It was unclear to her how much of this attraction Imre perceived; he easily exchanged pleasantries with her and diligently maintained her aircraft, but he made no move.