The home of the master technician always put Eva in a nostalgic mood, reminding her of her foster father’s workshop. Here, all the spare parts needed to make the pilots‘ flying machines fit for action could be found, and the smell of gear oil and wood polish lingered in the air. However, the hangar was much tidier than the old Greybeard’s workshop. Ottilie kept everything in its place. Her organisational regime was feared among the apprentices; even a wrench hung crookedly could lead to a ten-minute lecture on the immutability of work equipment discipline. The master herself was not hard to find: the tall woman with long white hair, which she always wore in elaborate braids and knots, was in the middle of the hall – but only her feet were visible as she was busy working on the underside of a wind rider. When Eva spoke to her, the rolling board moved and Ottilie came into view. A shiny smear of grease adorned her cheek, but otherwise she looked impeccable as always.
‘Yes, Grand Master?’ she asked curtly. ‘How many times do I have to ask you to call me “Eva”?’ said Eva, smiling. ‘I could be your daughter, age-wise.’ Ottilie furrowed her brow and shook her head. „I don’t care how old someone is when I’m at work – all that matters to me is ability. And titles are important. They keep our lives organised. What’s up?‘ ’We sent scouts to Goldendale. Can we radio them?‘ The technician took off her gloves and carefully placed them on the skateboard. ’Of course,“ she replied and led Eva to an adjoining room.
The order’s radio control centre was a narrow, elongated room that was as tidy as everything else that had the good fortune to be under Ottilie Brandt’s watchful eye. Consoles lined the walls, next to neatly labelled boxes containing microphones, headphones, switches and other spare parts. The surfaces gleamed immaculately; even the dust seemed afraid to provoke the mistress’s displeasure. Two technicians worked intently on a frequency panel, while at the other end of the room a small circle of recruits received radio training. ‘Once more,’ the instructor admonished in a deep voice. ‘Clearly. Slowly. No filler words.’ A young man leaned towards the microphone, but on the way there he knocked a switch with his elbow, and when he spoke, the console began to screech: ‘THIS IS RECRUIT HARTWIN, PLEASE COME IN…’ With a hiss, the connection was broken, followed by the pathetic wheezing of an amplifier that had been quickly turned off. ‘Hartwin,’ sighed the instructor, ‘I specifically said: don’t touch the squelch.’ ‘I didn’t!’ cried Hartwin.
Ottilie cleared her throat and everyone turned to look at her. Her raised eyebrow was enough to send the entire group of recruits into a state of shock. ‘As a reminder to everyone,’ she said calmly, ‘anyone who violates radio discipline will send every single message using the spelling alphabet during the next training session.’ A chorus of groans rose up. ‘Alpha – Bravo – Charlie…’ someone muttered, sounding as if they were already in physical pain. Eva suppressed a grin. Ottilie cleared her throat. ‘Have I made myself clear?’ All the recruits nodded eagerly, one saluted and accidentally knocked over an amplifier box. ‘You may continue practising,’ she said curtly. ‘Just please be quieter.’
Then she turned to the technicians: ‘We need a connection to Goldendale. Channel 37-B, frequency range northern outer harbour. Noise suppression set to minimum. Give me a signal as soon as you have a stable connection.’ ‘Yes, Master Brandt!’ exclaimed the older of the two, pushing several controls upwards at once. A warm hum filled the room, followed by the characteristic crackling sound as the antenna swivelled to the desired range. ‘Carrier is stable,’ reported the younger one. „Signal clear, no interference. We can transmit.” Ottilie nodded, reached for the heavy brass microphone and handed it to Eva. “When you’re ready, Grand Master. Call sign as always: C.A.F. twelve.” Eva wrapped her fingers around the microphone, pressed the talk button, and there was a crackle on the line. “C.A.F. twelve, come in!” she said.
For a moment, only the dull hum of the ether could be heard. Then there was a click on the line, and a young, breathless voice said, ‘C.A.F. 12 Recon, Virtanen here.’ Eva looked up in surprise and exchanged an irritated glance with her Master of Technology. Why was Onni Virtanen, who had only been assigned to reconnaissance as a recruit eight weeks ago, answering his commander’s radio? ‘Virtanen?’ She spoke calmly, but she felt her stomach slowly tighten into a knot. ‘Why are you using this channel? Where is Master Airis Dornhain?’
Even through the static on the radio connection, they could hear excited voices in the background. Distant rumblings. Onni’s hesitant breathing. ‘Connection to Master Dornhain has been lost since the attack, Grand Master. Her glider was found, but…’ He paused. Something clattered to the floor in the background. “But what, Virtanen?” “… she was no longer on board, Grand Master. Cockpit open, ejector seat still intact.” His voice grew increasingly agitated, causing him to abandon radio discipline. “We believe she tried to ram one of the pirate ships, or at least distract them,” he continued excitedly. ‘The front struts are completely bent, as if she had flown into the middle of a rigging.’
Eva’s hands tightened around the microphone. ‘Report on the situation in Goldendale, recruit.’ ‘’Harbour district burned down. Two ships with silver wave markings — presumably the same fleet that was reported to us last week at Wargau in the north of the island. Defences…’ A hissing sound emerged as the connection became unstable. “Recruit Virtanen?” “…completely destroyed. We had to withdraw from open combat, ma’am. The farmers are fleeing towards the forests. We are trying to support the harbour guard — what’s left of it — and secure the escape routes.” ‘Are the pirates still there?’ Eva asked in surprise, and immediately wished she hadn’t – where else could the explosions she could hear in the background be coming from? „Yes, ma’am. The pirates don’t seem to be just looting. They’re combing through the villages as if they know exactly what they’re looking for. They are leaving fields and barns burning. Sarnheim and Wengrain are already completely destroyed.“
Eva breathed out in gasps. Sarnheim was a large settlement where most of Goldendale’s produce was packaged for onward transport. On the horizon loomed a serious threat to the food supply of all the Cloud Islands. Determination flashed in her eyes. “Continue with this approach, Virtanen. Get yourself to safety and await our arrival. We will set off immediately.” “Yes, Grand Master. We will meet in Dreybergen.” One last crackle, then the line went dead. Only the constant static remained, like a distant wind over a burnt field.