Dry savanna rushed past in a yellowish, brownish blur, dotted now and then with clusters of trees. They were now in the continent that was once called Africa, snaking their way down to Sector 45 in an attempt to avoid any larger populations.

The pilot looked across to Luka, "we've got four bogies on the radar."

"What?" Luka exclaimed, offended, "it wasn't me."

"Sorry?"

Ignoring him Luka stated, "I can't even see them, the screen looks clean enough to me."

"Can't you see those four dots approaching?"

"They're not bogies, they're planes or something."

"Yes, I know, hence the term bogies, it's a military term."

"Oh, yeah...erm...I have told you about using jargon."

"Anyhow, there are four bogi...I mean unidentified objects approaching."

"So what are they?"

With exasperation the pilot replied, "that's the point of the term bogies, it means I don't know what they are."

"Oh."

"So, what should I do?"

"I don't know...fly casual, and hope it's not Princips."

"I think we can safely say it's Princips."

The pilot responded with a low, thoughtful hum. Silence made its appearance in the cockpit, assaulted by the conversation in the room behind. Soon dots appeared in the distance, far to the west, they were doing well to keep up whilst moving closer. Princips had also been working on increasing the speed of aircraft, something important to their work after g-force issues caused research into individual pod travel in underground tubes to be halted.

When the airships came close enough to see from the cockpit, Luka and his pilot observed four craft, smaller than they were in. Only big enough for two people, they were fast, nimble fighters.

Deviation was not an option, the rebellion craft holding its course, ignoring the fighters' presence. A once dormant screen burst into life, 'incoming communication' flashing on it. Without hesitation, Luka swiped the screen. An authoritative voice commanded, "this is Wing Commander Sutton of the Princips Flying Corps, you do not have authorisation to be flying here, identify yourself."

"We...erm...we're taking an escaped prisoner back to their slum."

"That's a job for Princips."

"Yeah but..." A call on his watch distracted Luka, "not now Du Puteron," he muttered under his breath. Composing himself, Luka continued, "she was in an independent state so the bosses thought it best to send someone not associated with Princips, to stop any friction."

"Right....erm....which slum are you taking the prisoner to?"

Finally, a question Luka was able to answer, "S45-D5."

He heard some low chattering from the craft, then childish sniggering. "What's your code?"

"Code?" Luke panicked.

"Yeah...erm," the voice only just kept control, almost snorting in an attempt to contain the laughter. "Your...you know..." the voice trailed off, only to return a few seconds later with, "your transfer code."

Luka was glad they could not see the fear on his face. He looked at the pilot, who simply shrugged back. All Luka could do was say something with confidence, "TR45618."

"Let me check that," more muffled giggling bled through the speaker. "Yep, all looks fine. We will follow you on your mission, just in case."

The call ended abruptly. Luka asked his pilot, "what do we do now?"

"Fly casual?" he joked.

"Come on James, I'm serious, this could jeopardise the whole mission."

"What do you want me to do, shoot them all out the sky?"

"Can you do that?"

"Really?" James answered sarcastically, "I know we're bigger but there are four of them. I might be able to take two, maybe three, out before they shoot us down."

"So what now then?"

"Don't know, but we don't have long to decide."

~

"It's just a bit strange, that's all I'm saying," Dana stated.

"Orders are orders," Wing Commander Martin Sutton replied, more stroppy than authoritative.

"Yes, but don't you ever question orders?" She took his sullen silence to mean he did not. "You're a commander in the Flying Corps., yet they don't tell you why you are doing something, that smells of conspiracy to me."

"Will you stop with the conspiracy theories?" Sutton replied.

"Well, look at it this way, we have four fighters being sent to guard one aircraft that only contains a runaway prisoner. Now, either that prisoner is going to spark a rebellion or there is something more they are not telling us."

"I just know that orders are on a need to know basis, I need to know what to do, not why I do them."

"But what if what we are doing is wrong? We joined up to protect the world, not to aid someone up top get richer."

"Maybe it is just a rebel."

"Then why have they not been killed?"

"Well, they could have important information, or by dying a martyr start some sort of war."

"So, what you are really saying is that you believe there is a rebellion."

"Let's not go there again."

"That's not denying it," Dana teased him. She was sure he knew something. Maybe it was his demeanour, but he always seemed to hold back. Behind Sutton's solemn face and stern exterior was a shell, one she had not yet cracked despite the constant tapping. There were moments of fun, times he ran with the jokes, but when things got serious, he shut down. Just for once she would like all the details, to understand the mission they had been sent on.

Another fighter saved Sutton from the next onslaught, "what are they doing? They're out of formation."

At the other side of the larger airship, Dace and Gatsby had moved their fighter above the rebellion plane. 

With incredible swiftness, Sutton called the rogue plane, "what are you doing? Fall back into formation."

Dace replied, "for Kendra, for Princips!"

"What? Kendra is dead, and we have orders from Princips to protect this plane." Sutton shouted into the void, the call had ended abruptly after Dace's cryptic comments.

Something fell from the fighter, something exploded.

"Where the hell did they get a bomb from?" Sutton said in shock,

The rebellion airship rocked, trying to throw the passengers from their seats. Belts resisted the impact, burning skin as they held their occupants in place.

"What are they doing?" Kira shrieked.

"Trying to kill us." Louisa answered, calm as ever.

"We're going to die." For once Kira feared more for herself than the thought of never seeing her mother. But a hand calmed her; pale white and cold, grasping her warm dark skin. Memories of hope flooded back, the butterflies she had felt so long ago returned. It was the wrong time to reacquaint herself with these strange feelings, but the heart often overruled the brain.

"We're not going to die like this," anger filled Eliana's voice, but also knowledge, like some oracle able to see the future.

Inside the cockpit, Luka demanded a status report.

James updated him. "They have not breached the outer shell, this new metal Du Puteron has engineered really is strong stuff. Our rear right engine is damaged and offline, lucky it wasn't one of the main ones or we might be dropping out of the air."

"I thought they were just escorting us?!"

"It seems they now have other ideas. You know the plan to shoot them out of the air?"

"Yes."

"I suggest we go with that and hope we get them before they get us."

"At least we will go down fighting."

Sutton continued his attempts to open a channel of communication, but Dace and Gatsby had more pressing matters to attend to. They would destroy the rebellion plane and worry about the consequences later. Sutton, however, had orders, and some renegades were not about to compromised these. In glorious cliche, he muttered, "not on my watch."

"You can't be serious," Dana pleaded, "they are our colleagues, our friends."

"They are traitors."

"You can't kill them," she shouted.

"I'm not going to, they'll have plenty of time to eject."

Sutton turned the sleek fighter and headed for a collision course with his former soldiers. Bullets ripped into their exhaust. A small explosion, followed by a mass of thick black smoke, the plane plummeted from the sky. Sutton and Dana's fighter lifted at the last second to avoid contact.

The rebellion craft's maneuver had started, keeping them clear from the dropping bird. Though guns were readied, the attack faltered. "What happened?" Luka asked.

"One of the other fighters just shot that one out of the sky."

"Why?"

An incoming call would answer the quandary. "Sorry about that," Sutton said, as if it was only some minor inconvenience, "it seems one of our own did not want to follow orders. There are still some in our rank that are angry about Kendra's death."

"Kendra's dead?" Luka tried to hide the joy in his voice. He had never met the woman, but she was seen as a figurehead for all that was evil in this world, at least from the rebellion's point of view.

"I'm afraid so."

Silence ensued. To break the unnerving lull, James said, "that is sad news." The lie rolled easily off his tongue.

"Anyway, how are you? Any damage?"

James continued, "a little to one of our back propellers, but not enough to stop us."

"Right, well let's keep going then, the sooner we get this prisoner back, the sooner we can get back to our normal lives."

The news was too exciting to keep to himself, Luka turned to the back and stated, "did you hear that? Kendra's dead."

A sudden surge of pain shot through Kira's hand. "You're squeezing me."

The pressure released, "sorry, I just don't trust these guys. I don't want us to get our hopes up only for them to be dashed."

"As long as Princips is around, I won't get my hopes up."