Aurora - Wings of the Goddess Pt. 06

"See that, Beck?" Ally said, head down, tapping new flight details into the tablet. "Did you spot Dick's deliberate mistakes? Didn't listen to the PIC. Didn't check his work. Didn't admit he made a mistake. And on top of it all he tried to answer back. Not a bad morning's work."

"Like to see you in a seven-G turn," Skilling muttered, "with your pipper on a bogie and your tail warning going off."

Ally turned around and dropped the tablet heavily in his lap. "My tail warning goes off all the time." she said, "doesn't worry me." She gave Beck a wink. "How about yours?"

"Uh huh." Beck nodded. "In fact it's going off right now."

"That might be your fuckwit alert," Ally sniffed, "they sound very similar. Here, Dick, could you do me a favour? Next time I ask you to lodge a flight plan, do it properly."

"I see," the surly male replied, "so suddenly I'm the flight plan bitch."

"Its' the right-seater's duty."

"Right seat?" he snorted. "Yeah, well, don't get used to that. Hate to tell you, but I'm not gonna be there long."

Ally turned away sneering. "How right you are."

Turning off the highway into the GA side of the airport, the van pulled in to a low-slung FBO. After loading their gear into a trailer hitched to a golf cart, they were fitted with yellow reflective hi-viz vests for the perilous journey across a hundred meters of apron to their plane. Beck could hardly contain herself when she set eyes on the fabled Gulfstream. The last time she'd seen it, her fervent declaration was barely a fantasy, a heady and delicious yet unobtainable dream. And now here she was, about to fly away in the thing, embarking on a journey that would eventually lead to the cockpit.

Their bags were dropped at the foot of the airstairs and the golf cart trundled away. It was quiet, but for the distant comings and goings of aircraft, but Ally parked a pair of earmuffs on her temples, just out of habit, in preparation for the ritual walk-around. "Wanna follow me, Beck?" she asked, handing Beck a pair of orange ear protectors. A far cry from the girl in the yellow shorts, Ally looked every inch the professional, her shoulders broadened by the gold striped shoulder boards, the contours of her firm round butt shown off to excellent effect by the tailored navy-blue slacks. Left to his own devices, her copilot, Skilling, stepped over the pile of bags at the foot of the airstairs and went to climb on board.

"OI!" Ally yelled, stopping Skilling in his tracks. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Skilling looked around frowning, then shrugged. "What?"

Ally planted her fists on her hips and cocked her head. "They won't load themselves, Dick. I know. I've already tried."

Skilling's jaw dropped. "I am not loading bags!"

Watson stepped in, eager to avert unnecessary bloodshed. "That's okay," he said, "I'll-"

"Damon!" Ally snapped and Watson froze. "Thanks all the same but Dick can do 'em. It's in his contract."

"Dick won't do 'em," Skilling parried, and went to mount the stairs.

"Then where are you going?" Ally asked.

"To load the flight plan."

"Why? We're not going anywhere. Till you load those fuckin' bags. You can load them on board or get your stuff and fuck off. I'll have the firm send up a proper copilot and you will never work for the company again. Or any other company I can get in touch with."

His bluff called, Skilling stumped angrily down the steps. "This is outrageous," he muttered, and Watson heard another word that sounded like 'slut'. Stooping, he gathered up the gear, trying to shoulder the lot in one massive heap. Halfway up, he lost control of the load, dropping Beck's duffle bag and her shark in the process.

"DO YOU MIND?" Ally shrilled and he blanched. "That's a girl's most treasured pet. And a protected species, unlike you."

Chastened, Skilling set his burden down, then retrieved the fallen duffle bag and wiped the dust off the shark. They watched him disappear into the plane and Ally resumed the walk-around.

"He's not very nice." Beck said, standing under the wing beside her.

"I've had worse," Ally said woodenly, peering into the torch-lit wheel well. "Not much worse, I grant you. I'm sorry he had to go and spoil your first ride, but look on the bright side. He's doing you a favour at the risk of his own job. He's showing you how to never to act as a copilot."

"How should he act?"

"The same way I do when I'm flying shotgun for Ben. In a considered, courteous, professional manner, willing to-"

"Courteous?" Beck demanded, disbelief written all over her face.

"Okay, in a considered and professional manner. Benny and me are besties, Becky, he'd be heartbroken if I was nice to him. But that's not the point. My job as a copilot is to make sure the PIC has everything he or she needs to carry out their job in the safest possible manner. And Ben does the same for me when he's in the right-hand seat, in spite of the name-calling. But this guy." Ally shook her head, "Nuh uh. It's meant to be two pilots, one crew, but in this case, it's two of one and none of the other."

"Why is he being such a dick?"

"I blame his parents," Ally shrugged, "they named him."

"Are they all like this? Men pilots?"

"You take them as you find them." Ally told the main wheels, probing their hydraulics with her torch, "You know, I had a chick copilot once who I seriously wanted to punch, and not in the nice way either. But it's especially bad with these ex-military jocks. These idiots spend their whole lives being told that their shit doesn't stink and in the end they even start to believe it. Funny thing is, most of them are really shit pilots, who would have never made the grade in GA. But they still think you should be saying 'yes sir' and 'no sir' and it really burns their piss when the captain's a chick."

"Maybe he should just stick to fighting dogs."

"If he can keep his hand off it long enough." Ally muttered. "It's a worry you know. Sometimes you just wanna give in, just for the peace and quiet, but let me tell you. Give 'em an inch and they'll shit all over you. I learnt that the hard way. Got cowed by a character just like him and let him usurp my authority. He wound up doing a hard landing one day and I carried the can. A hundred grand's worth of maintenance for not standing up to him." She straightened, and they made their way outboard at the rear of the wing. "Remember, Becks. When you sign for the aircraft, the buck stops with you. If someone wants to run roughshod all over you, and you let them, and they fuck up, you're responsible. Dig?"

Beck nodded, feeling a little rattled.

There was a squeal and a hiss and the Auxiliary Power Unit spooled up, and Ally stepped back. Reaching for Beck's hand, she pulled her over and pointed at the top of the towering T-tail. "See that, Becks? No anticol. That idiot has no idea but he's just lost his job. But don't say anything, okay? Not til we get back to Sydney." She winked. "I want to keep it a surprise."

When they finished, Watson was still at the foot of the airstairs, out of place and looking forlorn. Skilling hadn't asked him on board and he sure as hell wasn't about to invite himself in. "Got it all squared away, Moosh?" he smiled wanly. "There's a quiz at the end of it you know."

"She'll be able to do it in her sleep when I'm done with her." Ally said matter-of-factly.

"Love your copilot." Watson said.

"Dicksssss... Killing?"

"Can't you ditch him? Send him to the shops for some ciggies or something and rack off while he's gone?"

Ally's cheeks dimpled. "Don't speak ill of the dead, Damon. Or the soon-to-be unemployed."

"Seriously?"

Ally and Beck exchanged a glance and Ally put a finger to her lips. "He doesn't know yet. We're having it gift-wrapped."

Watson bumped Beck with a shoulder. "Looks like there might be a vacancy."

"I'll put a reserved sticker on the seat for you." Ally winked. There was a moment's strained silence then Ally snapped out of it. "Okay!" she said and everyone jumped, "We've got our off-blocks time to make... Damon... you take Beck over to the FBO and say goodbye."

The old man and the beautiful little blonde looked at each other, wide-eyed, as if they had just seen into the abyss. The time had come. Ally watched their retreating backs, Beck and Watson, arms around each other, heads bowed, heading across the apron. She felt a stab in her heart- another loving relationship sacrificed to the insatiable demands of aviation. "Make it quick, Beck!" she shouted, then surreptitiously smeared her eyes. "We're on a deadline."

PEREGRINE

Watson rendezvoused with Tanya at Brisbane airport, where they hugged and kissed like long-lost lovers. He'd just arrived from Cairns, Far North Queensland, and was looking decidedly shell-shocked in the aftermath of a ten-day visit from Maya and her girlfriend, Paula. The old man had a pair of Paula's cum-stained knickers Maya had given him, as a souvenir of his holiday in Sydney. The sweet little thing had come up with Maya to get them back, but in the end still managed to leave them behind. She was going to have to visit. Again.

But a good time was had by all, and the old man had the war wounds- scratches on his back, bite-marks on his neck- to prove it. In fact it looked a bit like he'd just been fucked by a tigress, or a pair of them in this case, fit, young, adventurous and horny. Their visit had been life-changing, coming at a time when the old man was in slump, deeply fatigued and feeling abandoned. Once again he had to marvel at the rejuvenative effect of sex, meted out in this case by two girls one-third his age, aided and abetted by a ready supply of dope and Champagne. Watson had produced and ejaculated so much semen during their stay he was thinking of donating his body to science. It had to be a record, surely.

Tanya, meanwhile, had just flown in from the Maldives where she and her friends had been busy stalking super-trawlers. There had been an attempt on her life in the course of the campaign, nothing accidental- a man, with a gun and instructions- and her husband had summarily ordered her home. Together, she and Watson jumped on a jet bound for Sydney, and arrived after a couple of hours at the domestic terminal.

Beck was waiting at the gate with Ally, both in uniform. In her tailored navy-blue pants and crisp white shirt, with gold wings over one breast and her name tag over the other, the epaulettes with their three gold stripes and a blue peaked cap with a big gold badge, Beck was the very portrait of a professional pilot, in miniature perhaps, straight backed and proud, calm, confident and vigilant. She had cut her hair back to a shoulder-length bob as a concession to the unrelenting schedule, hour upon hour at forty thousand feet at the controls of her dream machine. She looked so mature, so... capable... a far cry from the terrified little foundling of a few years before.

They greeted each with hugs and kisses, the two pocket-rocket female aviators and the stylish, beautiful woman of middle age, and a weather beaten old man with more white hair than grey. Watson hadn't seen Beck since Dubai a few months before, and pushed her away, holding her at arm's length the better to study her. "Beck? Baby? Is that really you?"

"Beck?" the blonde blew a raspberry, "Pfft... Never heard of her."

Watson looked at her, fleetingly stumped.

"It's Moosh to you, Mister." she smiled, "And don't you ever fuckin' forget it."

They fell into a staggering clinch and he pushed her away once more. "You've put on weight."

Tanya stood back, arms crossed, chewing a knuckle. "You can say that again." she intoned, and it was true, the one or two more kilos padding out the hollows of her butt. "Know what? I think I just wet my knickers."

"Oh, Aunty Tan," Beck teased. "that's my job!"

Ally swept off her cap and raked back her blonde-streaked brown hair. "Mrs. Bragg," she said, putting her hand up, "Yoo hoo, Mrs. Bragg. I wanna make a complaint."

Tanya rolled her eyes. "What now, Darling?"

"It's this new fucking pilot." Ally said, sounding pained, "She never lets me fly."

Beck looked at Ally, beaming. It was true, she did take the lion's share, but only after paying hefty bribes in sex. They'd become inseparable over the year, Ally and Beck, regular visits from Vicky and Tanya notwithstanding. Beck had blossomed under her feisty little mentor's tutelage and was already flying as a trainee captain on the odd, non-passenger flights. As close as they were she still maintained a healthy modicum of deference, honouring a power gradient that kept their relationship functional.

"You'll just have to pull rank." Tanya suggested.

"She does all the time." Beck complained. "Who do you think always has to get the coffee?"

"Naww..." Watson said with mock concern, "poor Moosh. Does she beat you?"

Beck's cheeks pinked as she recalled a certain night in Berlin, when Ally had shown up with a novelty cat o' nines. "When I'm good." she replied with a Tanya-esque wrinkle of her nose.

"And when you're bad?"

"She gets to beat me." Ally snorted, thinking back to the very same night. She looked at her watch. "Mister Watson, Mrs. Bragg. If you'll come this way. We're on a very tight schedule." Ally looked at Beck and gave the blushing little blonde a wink. The old man didn't know it yet, but he was about to collect his long-promised reward.

* * *

Beck won the toss and climbed into the driver's seat of the company's Porsche Cayenne. Watson strapped in behind her, looking nervous. "Aren't you still on your P's?"

Ally and Beck swapped a glance, then Beck rolled onto one butt cheek and ferreted a slim pink wallet from her back pocket. "Here." she said, handing over a Middle Eastern driver's licence.

Watson turned it over, then paused to stare intently at her photo ID, at the portrait of a glowing young woman, face framed by platinum hair, a pair of big blue eyes peering out at him. "Fake!" he said, handing it back.

"Nuh uhh!" Beck shook her head. "It's the real deal."

"Really? How did you pull that off?"

"We've got a fixer." Ally said smugly. "He fixes things. He fixed it, didn't he Beck?"

They both snorted with laughter and Beck put the licence away.

"Is it too late to take out some life insurance?" Watson asked Tanya.

Beck shot her old man a glare over her shoulder. "You can walk if you want. Or take a taxi."

"No way!" Watson scoffed. "I wanna film the prang."

"Oi!" Ally bridled, "You're talking to a Gulfstream driver you know. Compared to her other ride a simple old car is bullshit."

They set off, happily chatting. The Gulfstream was waiting at the FBO, half an hour's drive away at a secondary airport. Vicky would be meeting them there for their trip to Switzerland. First stop, Darwin, for an overnight stay and to pick up some clients. Billionaires, naturally. Next stop Brunei, where Roger was waiting for a hot extraction, having crossed a Chinese crime boss down in Borneo. Roger was presently working on the preservation of Orangutans while the crime boss was working on the preservation of his ill-gotten gains, and Roger had been forced to make a tactical withdrawal. All in a day's work, as he liked to say. The job of saving the planet.

Then to Honkers, to drop off the clients, then Hanners- Hanoi- then west to Dubers-Dubai- for a two day break before heading to Switzerland, where they were to meet up with the Bragg's Korean housekeeper, Sook, for a week's skiing and boarding around Zermatt.

After that it was back to work. Watson would fly home business-class with Tanya, while Roger and his PA would ride the Gulfstream to the United States. From there to Mongolia, to challenge an Australian-based Chinese mining operation that was in the throes of killing a sacred river. After that... it was all up in the air, so to speak.

Watson sat back enjoying the experience of being driven, somewhat purposefully... some might say forcefully... through the mid-afternoon traffic by his erstwhile protégé. The beaten, terrified, malnourished young stray of a few years before was now nowhere to be seen. She had metamorphosed, butterfly-like, into a strong, confident, intelligent, young professional, a blue-eyed, blonde-haired pocket goddess who still exuded a hint of the feral. Watson felt Tanya's gaze on him and looked at her, quickly smearing his eyes as she wrinkled her nose. Hand on his leg, she squeezed his knee.

"Did you know?" Beck said excitedly, "We went to Iceland last month? We landed at Reykjavik- we call it Reykers- at night right on the minimas. And while we were there we went to this place called the blue lagoon. It's like this big fuck-off lagoon, and the water's like blue. It comes straight out of thermal vents and it's hot as a bath. It was like zero fuckin' degrees that day and pissing down with sleet, but me and Ally were still wading around in our bikinis, drinking beer and playing around with the steam vents. Then we went inside a volcano-"

"Is that what I can smell?" Watson said. "I thought someone must have burnt the toast."

"Well obviously we got 'em to empty it first." Ally said dryly. "Except the lava was far too hot to pump so the poor pricks had to use buckets."

"Then we flew to Mongolia." Beck cut in. "Do you know the capital of Mongolia?"

"Ulaanbaatar." Watson said flatly.

"It's Ulaanbaatar. We saw this amazing horse race where little tiny kids were riding their horses across the steppes. Flat strap. No helmets. By fuck they had balls, especially the litte girls cos' it's usually a girl who wins. Do you know the difference between a one-humped camel and a two-humped camel?"

"The number of humps?" Watson asked, as Beck carried on over the top of him.

"One's a bactrian and the other's a dromedary. Camelus bactrianus and Camelus dromedarius. We saw heaps of bactrians out on the steppes, didn't we Ally? And steppe eagles, and Mongolian ponies."

Tanya leant into Watson and whispered in his ear. "Better get ready to grab the wheel."

"What for?" Watson whispered back with a furrowed brow.

"For when she passes out. She hasn't drawn a breath since the airport!"

"The Mongolians make this drink out of mare's milk called..." Beck, snapping her fingers, trying to recall, "it's called..."

"Aireg." Ally prompted.

"Aireg!" Beck nodded. "Ally got totally munted on aireg one day, out on the steppes, at this great big wrestling competition. She reckoned the guys in their tiny little shorts looked like poofs, and she could beat 'em one-handed. She said she wanted a wrestle but they said she wasn't allowed, so Ally rocked up and challenged this little boy-"

"He wasn't a fucken' boy!" Ally glared, "He had a fucken' moustache."

"Right." Beck looked at her old man grinning. "Like three fucken' hairs. He would have been twelve, max. Anyway, Ally picked on him, and-"

"Let me guess," Watson said, "he didn't stand a chance?"

"No. He fuckin' thrashed her."

"No shit!" Ally said looking over her shoulder, "He fuckin' picked me up and speared me into the ground, head first. Really! I used to be six foot tall and now look at me." She shook her head at the memory. "Fuck me those Mongers are tough!"

"Do you know," Beck said breathlessly, "a couple of weeks ago, a sheikh tried to buy me? He thought Ally was my mum and offered her two million dollars-"

Ally turned in her seat. "Her mum!" she fumed, "Can you believe it? Imagine me squeezing that little brat out of my dericate rittle frower? The cheeky fuck! If it hadn't been for that I might have considered it."

"I want a cut!" Watson warned. "If you do manage to sell her."

"Should have seen it," Beck went on, "he had his goon squad chase us all over town, all the way to the sim, and when they tried to get in, there was this great brawl between them and security-"