Little Moon, Almost Full

Chapter 4: The Test Run

Adrian called me six days later.

"Westbridge says the inspection was completed at their plant," he said. "The form was filled out incorrectly."

"Did they send the raw inspection sheets?"

"No."

"Did you ask?"

"I did."

"And?"

"They said the original records were archived and would take a week to retrieve."

"That doesn't sound like an answer."

"No," he said. "It doesn't."

I stood in the lobby of the Wren Aerospace building, the notebook in my hands. My father had scheduled a trust review for the following morning. Grant had sent a short email explaining that my "recent conduct" raised concerns about my fitness to exercise voting authority.

"Will you delay the next ground test?" I asked.

"We're testing at low power, with the aircraft secured. It isn't the flight."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Can I come?"

"Why?"

"Because I don't trust the paperwork."

"Neither do I," he said. "That doesn't mean you need to be there."

"I want to see the test."

"Come if you want. But if something goes wrong, don't say I invited you to fix it."

"I won't."

The next afternoon, I stood behind the safety barrier at the test field with Adrian and a dozen engineers. The Aster's engine whined as the propeller turned. Its wings trembled, then settled. The whole machine gave a low, steady shudder that I felt in my ribs.

A technician called out a reading. Adrian looked at his tablet.

"Hold it at thirty percent," he said.

The engine climbed.

I watched the wing. The white inspection tag fluttered in the wind. For a moment, everything seemed fine.

Then a sharp metallic pop cut through the field.

The left wing jerked.

"Power down," Adrian said.

The propeller slowed. The aircraft rocked against its restraints.

I heard someone swear. Adrian was already moving toward the safety gate. I followed him until a mechanic caught my arm.

"Stay back," he said.

Adrian reached the aircraft first. He crouched beside the wing root and held up one hand, stopping the others from touching it. His face had gone pale beneath the afternoon sun.

"Get the load data," he said. "No one moves the wing until we document the failure."

I stayed behind the barrier, my hands clenched around the notebook. The engineer beside me muttered that it was probably a loose connection. Another said something about the test rig. Neither explanation sounded like relief.

When the mechanics finally let us closer, I saw the split in the outer fitting. It wasn't the wing spar itself. It was small, a bright hairline fracture beside a bolt.

Adrian studied it. "The Aster doesn't fly until we know why."

His program manager, a broad-shouldered man named Dean, stepped toward him. "We can replace the fitting and repeat the test by Friday."

"No."

"We're already behind schedule."

"Then we're behind schedule."

"We have investors flying in next month."

Adrian straightened. "Tell them what happened."

Dean's eyes flicked toward me. "This isn't a decision for someone outside the project."

"I'm the chief engineer," Adrian said. "It is my decision."

I saw the argument register on Dean's face. Then his jaw tightened and he looked away.

Adrian turned to me. "You saw it."

"Yes."

"Did you expect that?"

"No."

It was a lie, but not a useful one. I had known something was wrong. I hadn't known the exact failure, or the exact day.

Adrian followed my glance to the cracked fitting. "Why did you say the plane would crash?"

"Because I remembered it happening."

"Where?"

"In a book."

He stared at me.

I heard the wind tug at the tarpaulin around the aircraft. I heard the murmur of the people behind us. I could have tried to make it sound less strange. I couldn't make it sound true.

"What kind of book?" he asked.

"A romance novel. You were the hero."

"That sounds flattering."

"You were brilliant. You built the Aster. It crashed three years from now, at Rook Bay. You were badly injured."

He held my gaze. "And you were the villain?"

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

"I left you after the crash."

His face stayed unreadable. I couldn't tell whether he thought I was mocking him or unwell.

"Did I know you?" he asked.

"We were engaged."

"That part, at least, is real."

"In the book, you were a stranger to me until after the accident. I was supposed to be shallow and cruel."

"And now you're trying to change the ending."

"No. I'm trying to tell you the truth."

"Those are not the same thing."

"I know."

He walked a few paces toward the hangar. I followed, keeping space between us.

"Did the book say what caused the crash?" he asked.

"Not clearly. I remember a failure in the wing structure. I remember the company getting blamed. I remember that you survived."

"Did it say I wanted you to save me?"

"No."

"Then don't."

He opened the hangar door and went inside. I stopped at the threshold.

"Adrian."

He turned back.

"I know this doesn't give you a reason to believe me. But the test should stop until you have the original records."

He looked down at the broken fitting in his hand. "I know."

It wasn't acceptance. It was a decision.

For the first time, I understood that he didn't need me to believe in his danger. He needed a reason he could use.