The Albatross wasn't built for speed. Wasp Drones were faster, even limited by the restricted height of the Dome Shield. The Albatross had been designed for stealth. The outer hull was coated with a thin layer of Polygraphite to disrupt any scanning devices. Nanomachines, embedded in the flexible armour, captured incoming light from the hull's upper surface and emitted the same wavelength and intensity of light below, making the hull almost invisible from the ground. The armour was cooled by a network of veins that flowed with liquid nitrogen, and every piece of equipment was wrapped in extreme heat insulation to ensure that infrared detection would be impossible. Despite the Albatross' size, it was the least noticeable object in the sky.
The Albatross flew beneath the Dome Shield on rippling wings that modulated their shape to accommodate the changing winds. With the turbines on full power, the flight to Cinnamon City took just over an hour. Markov passed the time familiarising himself with the large pile of memory cubes that Lord Hades had delivered to him. The cubes contained so many documents that he would never be able to read them all. The key reports described the Battle of Havers Compound, and how Admiral Gail Thompson had betrayed Central Command by assisting the Kamari. The Orange Zone was in great need, as always, and General Markov had been recalled from the Southern Territories to answer that need. It would take him several days to skim through the most important reports, but he already had a fair understanding of the dire situation that he was returning to. Markov sat in silence, his steely grey eyes gazing across the flight deck while he gathered his thoughts.
Most of the Albatross' interior was taken up by the complex stealth, navigation and flight control systems. What little space remained was divided into small, black, moulded cabins that were connected by narrow walkways. The flight deck filled the largest available space. It was big enough to provide a modicum of comfort to the minimal flight crew, but it was still smaller than most crew quarters. General Markov insisted on maintaining low light conditions as they approached Cinnamon City. Even though the matter obfuscators had now been shut down, and the flight deck had no windows, he firmly believed that low-level lighting promoted the right mental attitude, and helped to focus the mind.
In the centre of the flight deck, the floor bulged up to form twin command seats. The right seat was empty. There would be no copilot on this journey. Markov's formidable frame filled the left pilot seat completely, giving him the appearance of a man that had been stuffed into a child's seat. The seats were small by design. They had to be snug enough to prevent the pilots from sliding around in case of any sudden manoeuvres. Small electromagnets had engaged when he had first sat down, gripping the metal strips that were sewn into his flight belt. The Albatross could roll upside down and he still wouldn't fall out of his seat.
Markov sat bolt upright in his stiff black military jacket. The reinforced acceleration webbing stretched tight across his barrel chest. His loose black combat trousers were tucked into the top of high black boots that reached almost to his knees. The boots' metal laces were tied tight and precise, pinned into position by small steel clamps on each side of his shins. He was clean shaven, and a single dimple adorned the middle of his wide angular jaw. Thin wisps of brown hair spread across the top of his head, forming a short parting that ended with clean lines and a shaven neck.
Some of the men at Alma Station had taken to calling him the bull, due to his large head and imposing frame. Markov didn't care much for names, but they didn't bother him either. The men would always choose nicknames for each other. The bull was no worse than any other. Markov didn't have any names for those around him. He preferred to judge a man by his deeds rather than his appearance.
Rows of symbols arranged themselves into recurring patterns on the console array in front of him. The consoles were too low to be viewed from Markov's seated position, so he slid his left hand across a flat panel on the left side of his seat. The panel recognised the gesture, and the floor bulged up in front of him, distorting until the consoles formed a semicircular dashboard that wrapped itself around his seat. The dashboard was at the right height now, but it was still low enough for him to see over the top of it. Two vertical yellow lines hovered just above the dashboard. Markov gestured towards them and the lines grew shorter. The Albatross responded by slowing to one-tenth of its previous speed. The transition was seamless, and silent. The gravity webbing pulled lightly at his shoulders. Markov monitored the consoles all around him.
'Approaching Cinnamon City, General. Shall I make the call?' A tall, slim, cabin officer stepped closer to the console but hesitated, awaiting Markov's approval. Her green eyes were barely visible in the dim light, but Markov could see that she was gazing straight ahead, her lips forming a crisp straight line across her passive face.
Markov nodded, resting his hands on his knees.
The cabin officer tapped a row of orange symbols, turning them first blue and then red. When she had completed the command sequence, she stepped over to the right side of the flight deck and remained silent. She had travelled with Markov before. She knew that he was not to be disturbed during the flight. He had many preparations to make before the Albatross could land.