Chapter 9: Southward -------------------- "Malia?" "Yes?" said Malia, blinking herself back to full consciousness from alert sleepiness. They had been flying for three hours now, and were cruising down the Serpent Trench. "I think I can see another aircraft. Looks small, a Spitfire, or maybe a cutter." "A pursuit craft?" "No, It's off my port bow, coming towards us." Now Malia could see it too, a small, low-flying aircraft which did indeed appear to be headed towards them. Then the pilot of the craft took it into a shallow dive, and began to bank away. They obviously didn't want confrontation. Malia frowned. "I'm going closer to make sure it's not a threat or a spy ship. It's not like the skies are full of innocent little hobby fliers." "Like you?" Paul quipped. "Mmm. Stay on your heading; you're still trailing some live wires, and we don't want to upset your plane's careful balance. Besides, if it comes to a fight, you're not much good in that thing." Paul, not pleased at being left out, harrumphed, but stayed put when Malia swung away towards the small cutter below. * * * Katrina had been enjoying her little outing. She'd spent so long working on the craft, mainly in secret; finally flying it was an unsurpassed thrill. Until the fighters showed up. Technically, she supposed they were on her side, being Imperial, but just to be safe, she made a detour, dropping altitude. Now one of them was coming after her, and a small knot of fear was building in her stomach. She looked at her craft, the tubing that held her in the open cockpit, the wires and tubes and rotors that made the cutter fly. Suddenly, it all seemed so naked, weak, unprotecting. * * * Malia looked at her target, growing bigger in her windshield. It was no child of a Vector Assembly line, she was fairly certain. Its rotor and prop-engines, added to the open cockpit and control arrangements, made it a definite amateur flyer, but one that followed the old Imperial unarmed cutter design; non-Magitek. No threat, unless it was going to report their position and heading to Doma. Malia's finger tightened on her cannons, but she didn't fire. Let's just be far, far away when that ship's big brothers come knocking, she thought, as the Blood Wind pulled back up. * * * Katrina made the sign of Kefka, and continued on her way. * * * After another few hours, the low-lying hills below began to climb, marking the beginning of the God Ring. The bare, grey-brown peaks marked the entrance to the lands of Kefka's cult; not a tree or blade of grass showed their faces on those mountains. The Light of Judgement has shaped their flanks: now they were jagged, sheer, and unscalable. "Paul," said Malia over the drone of the engines, "Are they going to be shooting at us when we pop through on the other side? If so, I *would* like to know beforehand." "I'm not sure. I know the Empire was planning to fortify and defend the Tower, but lately I haven't heard anything about it." "Oh, well, I'm always game for chance. Follow the leader!" With that, Malia swept the Blood Wind into one of the wider passes. Paul was more hesitant. "Malia, my plane isn't in top condition, if you noticed. I don't want to take her in anywhere where-" "Ach, laddy," said Malia in a fake voice, "There be room for all me pirates down here, and room for plenty rum, a' well!" "Rule number one: never get in your plane after consuming too much sugar." "Actually, I think it's adrenaline backwash!" Malia giggled, rushing her plane between two outcropping of rock. Paul dropped down behind her. "Seriously, though," said Malia, regaining some composure, "this will make it easier to slip through the fire screen if the Tower _is_ loaded. When we come out of the pass, I swerve right, you take left. When there's enough room, take on altitude and accelerate like hell. Got it?" "Last time I checked, I was your superior officer." said Paul jokingly. Malia didn't get it. "Hey! We're off that Imp s*** now, ok? You want to go back and play captain?" "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. Just joking, Mal." Malia was blushing at her outburst. "Yeah, sorry Paul. I, uh, I'm a little tense." "You've got the biggest army in the world after your head on a platter; s'ok." said Paul in a conciliatory tone. A tense silence reigned as they approached the opening in the pass. The Tower's imagined weaponry (probably Step Mines, or Flare rods, capable of tearing an airship apart if it came too close) were three rises of rock away. Now two, and Malia was assessing damage control already, wondering what to do if one were hit, or if Paul went down. Now one, and the butterflies in Paul's stomach which appeared every time he was about to go into battle were turning into wasps. Then they were through, and the ugly long dark shapes jutting out of the Tower's huge surface cast long shadows in the dying sunlight, covering the planes. They were the ugliest gargoyles Malia had ever seen. Whoever had built the Tower probably scribbled the design on a padded wall somewhere.