The Elementalist

29. Nostalgia

NostalgiaVoi awoke later that morning eager to get back to work, though Captain Neverri insisted they take a few days off while he carried on with his investigation. She decided to travel back to Du Mon and see her new townhome for the first time.

It was every bit as colorful and charming as it was in the photograph Mr. Callahan had given her. The house was fully furnished, as promised—compliments of her mother. Spotting a folded piece of paper on the coffee table, she picked up the letter then began to read aloud:

Dear Voi,

She scanned to the bottom. Recognizing her mother’s signature, she smiled sadly then read on:

I hope you find your new home suitable. I hadn’t the slightest idea what your taste in architecture might be; we’ve been out of touch for so long. However, I do recall you liking antiques. I suspect you’ll find the old velvet sofa and refitted brass gaslight fixtures charming.

If the selection of this house and its contents are a success by your standards, then all credit is due to the kind man who assisted me with gathering some much-needed research into your personal tastes. (He has a knack for investigation, that man.)

Something about this last statement bothered Voi, and she fidgeted.

If you ever come to suspect those whom you work for, then rest assured: yours is a caring handler and a good man. Careful and guarded, but good. It may be difficult for you to see this now, but I’m certain he has your best interests at heart.

I won’t keep you any longer. Just know that I love you and will always be here for you. I’m proud of the steps you have taken in securing a new life for yourself, Voi, and wish you the very best.

With love,

Bambi

P. S. Happy Birthday

Voi gave a wistful sigh as she glanced around, taking in her quaint surroundings. The layout and style of the house were very similar to the one back in Chandra City. Unsettling as it was to admit, Mr. Callahan had, indeed, done a superb job in securing a home to her liking. Short of breath, she steadied herself with a hand against the wall. Twenty-six years… I almost forgot. What a relief it had been to stop counting down the days, to stop worrying about how long she’d have before being committed to the asylum. Still, it was a sobering thought, realizing that her life might always be this way: carefully hedged, monitored… controlled.

Voi frowned. No amount of care that Mr. Callahan put into selecting a League-approved cage for her would ever change the fact that it was, indeed, just that: a cage.

* * *

The next morning, Voi made arrangements to return to the air base near Kippoli. Captain Neverri reluctantly allowed her to continue testing the MR-6, though he was very strict in the way they went about this and had others keep a close eye on her. He wanted everything from the aethercraft’s fuel consumption rate to optimal speeds for various maneuvers to be carefully observed and documented, allowing them to accurately gauge the aerocraft’s performance and ensure it met the Apexia Air Corps’ specifications.

Furthermore, the source of the wobbling and sideslipping problem had been discovered.

“Has it been fixed?” Voi asked Lester before hopping into the plane.

“It has,” he said.

“What was it?”

“Some of the parts inside the core weren’t holding properly, a mechanical issue. Don’t worry, Captain Neverri made sure everything was secured.”

Voi smiled, climbing into the aethercraft.

“Hey.” Lester stopped her, holding something out for her to take.

She looked at it. “What’s that?”

“An oxygen mask. You’ll need it for high altitude tests.”

Voi slipped into her seat, half-ignoring him. “I don’t see why I should. I’ve flown many times at great heights without it.”

“With great risk to yourself, Voi. You know how dangerous that is.”

She did know. Better than anyone. Still, she remained obstinate. “Tell Captain Neverri his concern is touching, but I won’t be needing the mask.”

Lester sighed. “I can’t let you fly at higher altitudes without it, Voi.”

“Then why don’t we try some other tests today, hmm? I don’t like masks that cover my mouth. They make me feel claustrophobic.”

He shook his head, pulling back. “The captain’s not going to like this…”

Still, Lester let Voi run a test on the aether drive, taking the MR-6 for a short trip around the base. She was pleased to report no strange wobbling or sideslipping at top speeds. This time, the aerocraft reached 470 miles per hour!

Voi wasn’t sure how Captain Neverri felt about this, as he was still dealing with fallout from the incident at the inn, for the time being.

Meanwhile, in the evenings, Milia and Voi would steal away to an abandoned gas processing plant on the outskirts of Kippoli to practice elementalism. Milia used a variety of metal objects as obstacles and weapons: pipes, bars, gauges, wheels, leftover tools—whatever she could wrench from their environment to keep Voi on her toes. Dodge this, deflect that. More power! Attack. Roll. Keep the enemy at bay. More drills, more exercises designed to make the aviatrix nimbler, her elemental attacks more potent.

Surprisingly, Milia never let an object actually strike Voi, yet she always left the plant sweaty and exhausted, fearing for her life.

“You’re a weapon, Voi,” Milia told her once, “whether you like it or not.”

She didn’t feel like one. She didn’t want to. In fact, Voi was beginning to resent the idea of becoming an elementalist.

Back at the airfield, Emil and some of the mechanics at Neverri Aeronautíq cut a hole in the underside of the MR-6 to fit new aerial camera equipment for testing at high altitudes—a requirement of the AAC. When Captain Neverri heard that Voi had refused the oxygen mask again, however, he came out of nowhere and caught her just before her first camera test, waving the mask at her.

“You need to start wearing this.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“This isn’t about what you think, Voi. It’s a direct order.”

“I’m used to flying at these altitudes without oxygen, captain. Trust me, I’ll be fine.”

Captain Neverri lowered his voice. “You’ll be flying at thirty thousand feet, which means hypoxia is a guarantee. Your physiology may grant you unusual periods of consciousness under certain circumstances, being what you are, but even you aren’t immune to biology. At eighteen thousand feet, the average pilot has less than thirty minutes of useful consciousness without supplementary oxygen—and that’s assuming they aren’t rapidly ascending. At twenty-five, perhaps three minutes. At thirty thousand, the pilot has only seconds to get the job done. You may have longer, but not enough for the extended amounts of time these tests will require.

“Now, don’t think I haven’t got a clue about your seemingly miraculous high-altitude stunts and the ludicrous risks you took, banking on a quick recovery before pulling out of an unconsciousness-induced nosedive. I won’t accept your suicidal tendencies here, Miss Román, no matter the reasons. You’re here, you’ve agreed to do a job, and people are depending on you. You are wanted—alive. So, for the love of the pantheon, put the damn mask on!” He threw it at her.

Voi jumped in her seat, catching the mask with a scowl. She watched the captain storm away then shook her head, hooking the mask up to the oxygen supply on her control panel. Brute tyrant. Never mind the fact that he was entirely correct.

After she’d successfully run tests with the aerial camera and flown with the oxygen mask on—only when it was strictly needed, as she could barely tolerate it—Captain Neverri showed Voi how to use another type of camera. It was a strange thing shaped very much like a rifle with a scope, though instead of shooting bullets, it ‘shot’ photographs. Luckily, it was easy enough to use. She could also fit it inside the cockpit and strap it to the inner hull of the plane.

Eventually, Voi was taught how to safely use the MR-6’s ejection seat. Learning to land was the hardest part—a feat perfected by Borellian airmen who’d served on airships. Voi visited a nearby training facility where she practiced with some of these soldiers, who were very encouraging. During training, she was catapulted into the air by a mechanical device designed to give her a feel for the incredible force involved with ejection; she was also put through physical drills to teach her proper landing techniques.

Colonel Snipes was pleased with the aerocraft’s performance so far under Voi’s piloting. He prepared a progress report then went away to present their developments to his superiors.

With only two weeks left until Darmoil’s induction ceremony, Voi was very sore from the parachuting drills but thankful, as her own parachute landing after Micál’s sabotage had been less than ideal. She sat in the cockpit of the MR-6 at the end of the day, hand resting limply on the release pull for the ejection seat as she recalled her accident.

Suddenly, the mission started to feel real.

* * *

Finished with most of her test flights, Voi put in another obligatory training session with Milia then returned to her Du Monian townhome for a bit of R & R. She sat at her kitchen table the next morning, slowly stirring a cup of tea—gazing out the window while thinking of her friends and the life she’d once led back in Chandra City. Growing nostalgic, Voi decided to write a letter to Secily.

Voi had put off contacting her for fear she wouldn’t respond. “Well, you never know unless you try,” she told herself, getting up from the table in search of writing materials. Even if Secily didn’t respond, Voi had to believe the gesture of reaching out counted for something.

She found some materials at the secretary desk. She stared blankly at the page initially, not sure how to begin. Should she apologize for her unfair behavior at Mayfield Park? Dive right in explaining how much she missed her friend? Figuring her writing hand would do the talking for her, Voi put the tip of her pencil to the paper and simply began with:

Secily,

She paused, biting her lip. Words were not forthcoming. She shook her head then tried again:

I realize it’s been some time since we’ve last spoken to one another. I hope my snappish behavior towards you during our last archery practice hasn’t damaged our friendship beyond repair. I was hesitant to write you earlier for fear that you would reject my apology, that you would no longer deem our friendship worth salvaging. I sincerely hope this isn’t the case, for if it were, my heart would truly break.

Voi huffed; she didn’t like dwelling on her feelings.

As Paul may have already told you, I’ve accepted a new job in Du Mon. I can’t tell you much about it, but it does involves flying (naturally). Suffice it to say, my new position pays more than my previous two combined! It’s quite satisfying.

She considered hinting at her liberation from urche and her frustration with her training as an elementalist. However, immediately seeing the problem of this, Voi shook her head then continued her letter.

In any case, you won’t believe who my employer is. Do you know the very man who designs the airships you and I adore so much—the ones with the ruched skins—is the same man whose planes I now fly? That’s right, Captain Andre Neverri!

Most people know very little about him. He’s so particular about the company he keeps. Stranger yet, he’s taken an unusually keen interest in me. He flirts shamelessly, and recently, he asked me to dinner—only for the fourth time since my arrival. (The first three times, I said no; his first attempt came out as more of a command than a request.)

Anyway, Captain Neverri doesn’t seem to mind me being an emelesiac. In fact, he told me his first wife is an emelesiac! (Oh dear, I really ought to write about that in another letter. This one is getting long.) At first, I was skeptical and thought that dinner with him was a very bad idea; you know how I feel about romantic relationships with my condition. However, I think he was beginning to think I hated him, so naturally, I gave in. (Yes, yes. Say what you will.)

Tonight, we’re finally going out. The venue is a surprise, he said. I’m so nervous! I don’t have anything suitable to wear for a man of his station. I’m beginning to regret skipping all those shopping dates with you and Lila. (Yes, I can see you wagging your finger at me.)

A lingering sense of guilt turned into nausea in Voi’s stomach. She took a deep breath, grabbed a second sheet of paper, then continued writing.

Secily, the next time we see each other, I want to spend an entire day of shopping with you girls and buy as many dresses as I can stand!

Oh, Secily, I do hope you’ll write back, even if it’s just to scold me. There’s much to see and do in Du Mon, but it’s all rather bland without you. Honestly, I miss your company. And Paul’s. (I’m too afraid to write him, knowing how he feels about Neverri’s business.)

Voi considered starting a letter to Paul but couldn’t summon the courage. She sighed then went back to addressing Secily.

Don’t hold a grudge for too long. I’ll freeze to death from the chill of it! Thinking of you,

Voi

She leaned back in her chair in satisfaction then glanced over at the clock. If she left for the post office now, she could make the delivery for the day and still have time to prepare for dinner with Captain Neverri.

But hmm… what would she wear?