Chapter 45

 

Sonja stood with Major Scholz at the double doors to a hangar adjacent to the warehouse. They waited for the surprise that Solaris promised, while Harry visited with his father. She would have to talk with her mother, too, about what she had learned this morning. She hoped it would not have to be today.

The sun felt hotter than ever, and the brilliance of it hurt her eyes, but Sonja refused both hat and sunglasses. She wanted to feel her freedom through its twin messengers of sun and wind. The steady stream of planes taking off and landing nearby reminded her of the good times she’d had in Mariposa and of the little biplane’s sad end. The plane had been a big part of her life, but she felt guilty about grieving for a thing when she had seen so many innocent people die.

“I’m so sad about all those deficientes,” she said. “They were. . . funny. You know, curious, and all they wanted was to please. Who could kill them all like that after living among them?”

She couldn’t go on.

“Yes,” the major agreed, “I understand. The best thing that could happen to him happened, and you don’t have to feel bad about that. You helped stop him, and I thank you personally. The research team says we would be dead now. . . I would be dead now. . . if you hadn’t.”

Sonja sighed, and watched Harry exit the side door of the neighboring warehouse. He held his hand over his eyes for a moment. When he saw her, his face became one huge grin and he hurried over.

“There’s the embassy limo,” the major said. “It’s your mother and Grace Toledo.”

The major stepped aside as the four of them helped themselves to a tearful reunion. When Sonja hugged her mother and touched her face, her skin, it was as though she touched her for the first time.

We are the same, she thought. The very same.

Just then, two airmen rolled back the hangar doors and a small military band stumbled into her favorite Knuckleheads tune, “Skyborne.” The glare outside made it impossible for her to see inside the hangar, but she glimpsed something red. Sergeant Trethewey stepped out of the shadows and waved her forward.

“Come on,” Major Scholz said, her hand between Sonja’s shoulder blades, urging her on. “Take a look.”

A red-lacquered Gypsy Moth, a little bigger and more powerful than her Student Prince glowed in the shadow. Solaris stood beside the plane, out of the reach of the sunlight, and he was applauding. The others in the hangar—SEAL team, guerrilla squad, Marte Chang and a few airmen—joined him in his applause.

“What is this?” Sonja asked.

The major pressed her onward, and she sought out Harry’s hand for support. He gave it a squeeze and escorted her into the hangar.

“This is a small token of our appreciation for your actions on our behalf,” Solaris announced. “Your Student Prince was unsalvageable after the flood. This aircraft is a replica, but I trust you will find some of the auxiliary equipment to your liking.”

He handed her a set of keys.

“An electric start,” he said. “And a full tank. Why don’t you fly it home?”

“All the great women flew Gypsy Moths,” she mumbled.

“No reason to break tradition,” the major said. “Go ahead, take it up.”

“Harry?”

“Chill, eh?” Harry said, running his hand over the fabric. “Sure is pretty.”

“Shall we take her up?” she asked.

“We? Shall we take her up? After what you did to me last time?”

“When you fall off a horse, you’ve got to get back on and ride,” Sonja said. She knew it was a favorite saying of Harry’s father’s.

“If you won’t, I will,” Sergeant Trethewey called out, and several of the other men yelled, “Take me!” “I’ll go!” “She can fly me anywhere.” “Anytime.” “In anything.”

“I’m not as dumb as I look,” Harry said, and climbed into the passenger seat.

“Good thing!” somebody yelled, and everyone laughed.

“See you back home!” Nancy called. “Be careful!”

“Oh, Mom!”

Sonja ran through her checklist, called for “Clear,” and as she hit the starter she knew that her mother would always be her mother, no matter what their genetic details, and that was just fine with her.

In a matter of minutes, Casa Canada spread out dead ahead. The Gypsy Moth, though bigger and more powerful, handled much more smoothly than Mariposa. Sonja flew a few laps around the city, getting the feel of the machine. She sensed Harry’s discomfort—he had never like flying, much—so she tried to be conservative. She fought to hold herself back when she had command of such a magnificent plane.

On their flight back to Casa Canada she took one pass over the devastation that used to be ViraVax Valley. She spotted a flash of yellow sticking out of the muck at the bottom of the valley, and banked in to see what it was.

“It’s Mariposa” she told Harry, “a piece of elevator.”

He didn’t answer.

Sonja waggled her wings in a farewell salute and set her heading home. At Casa Canada, charcoal cooking fires braided their plumes and unreeled their smoke west. Several of the coffee workers squinted up at them, pointing, then ran about rounding up others.

“Perfect wind sock,” Sonja said, pointing out the smoke. She quartered, then quartered again to set their nose into it. The embassy limo turned into the drive just as she set the plane down, and she smiled at Harry’s sigh of relief in her headphones.

“Glad to be down?” she asked.

“Glad to be home,” he said.

She taxied over to the hangar and shut down. Dozens of people had gathered along the airstrip and now they ran up to her, cheering.

“Viva Sonja!” they cried. “Viva ‘arry! Gracias a Dios!”

Already tarps were spread, food laid out, and as they climbed down from the plane a makeshift band struck up “Siempre la Tierra,” a forbidden song of the revolutionaries. Garcia was gone. Everything was possible, even music and joy.