FLIGHT SCHOOL

PROLOGUE

A forest fire is raging across a pine-covered peninsula. The flames are easily twice the height of the tallest trees, towering as those already are. The air is still so the wildfire advances slowly, but its direction of travel is clear: it began at the far end of the peninsula, and is ruthlessly creeping its way towards the mainland.

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Peninsula and mainland are connected by Amity Arch, a narrow span of rock devoid of any tree or vegetation cover. This will act as a natural firebreak to prevent the spread of the flames beyond the peninsula; the mainland’s forests, which stretch far beyond the eye can see, are therefore safe.

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But that is scant consolation to the marmels.

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By the time the fires reaches Amity Arch, the flames will have consumed every tree on Peaceful Peninsula. Or, as the marmels call it, home.

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With no firefighting equipment available to them other than their bare paws, the marmels know they have no chance of putting out a blaze of this magnitude. Nor do they need reminding that their homeland is surrounded on all sides by towering cliffs that plunge straight into an angry ocean. The narrow rocky arch is their only path to safety.

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Safety, in this case, means the Foggy Forest – a vast and dense expanse of pine woodland that begins where the arch ends, and extends all the way into the foothills of Mount Malabar and neighbouring peaks.

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The Foggy Forest may boast of being Meridian’s largest forest, but, for the marmels at least, it is far from its best: the trees aren’t as majestic, nor the pine nuts as delicious or abundant, as those on Peaceful Peninsula. And, being set in the shadow of the imposing Mount Malabar, mountain fog often descends and blankets the forest in a humid, frothy grey soup. Its moniker is indeed well deserved.

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There’s another reason why the marmels aren’t fond of the Foggy Forest. It borders both Meridian’s local airfield and its international airport. As such, it is nowhere near as tranquil as the undisturbed expanse of pine that makes their beloved homeland not just a home but also a sanctuary.

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***

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Chins down and tears flowing, the marmels solemnly march across Amity Arch. From the edge of the Foggy Forest, they look back in disbelief at the unfolding catastrophe. Just before them stands the famous “WELCOME TO PEACEFUL PENINSULA” sign, which has long greeted any returning marmel or visiting animal. Beyond that… nothing but a desolate spectacle of burning trees and billowing grey smoke.

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The flames have now ravaged their way as far up as Marshall’s Mound, a humble and solitary elevation which serves as the peninsula’s unofficial geographical midpoint. Half of their home has been reduced to smoldering ashes.

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The oldest marmel in the group remarks how it was only a matter of time before such a terrible fire would go from worst-case-scaneior to reality. Small fires had occasionally singed parts of the peninsula in years gone by, but those had always been localized and quite harmless in nature. They would burn themselves out in minutes, or, at worst, a small group of marmels could swiftly extinguish them with the help of a few pine branches and some repeated whacking action. What’s more, small fires even brought benefits to the peninsula: they returned nutrients to the earth and promoted the growth of new seedlings.

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The older marmels in the community had long been saying, however, that today’s weather is warmer and the forests dryer than they ever were back in their day. A fire of such magnitude was perhaps therefore inevitable.

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To lighten the mood as much as anything else, a young marmel called Marcel closes his eyes, raises his front paws to the skies, and hums an improvised tune as he wriggles his body in an awkward jig. “Just a little rain dance”, he tells the others… beneath a sky a blue as they come.

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Marcel is scolded by some in the group for being an insensitive goon, while others get what he’s trying to do. Desperate times warrant desperate measures, and in times so desperate that no conceivable solution exists, who’s to say a bit of gallows humour can’t provide a welcome moment of distraction?

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Marcel’s little dance ends. Even he wonders whether it was really worth it.

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Seconds later, the marmels are greeted by a sight none could ever have imagined, much less expected. If it’s not some sort of mirage conjured into being through sheer desperation, then it’s nothing short of a miracle.

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Off in the distance, a bright orange-yellow water bomber aircraft has suddenly burst into view, his propellers and wingtips slicing whirly vortices through the thick curtain of smoke that he’s just emerged from. Like a winged firefighting superhero, the flying tanker dumps his load of water onto the fire’s active flank below, then banks steeply back out over the ocean. Moments later, he’s skimming the water and scooping it up into his reservoir again.

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The marmels have earned the right to hope, and young Marcel has instantly earned a nickname that will forever stick: “Miracle Marcel”.

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Awash in a wave of heightened hopefulness, the marmels march further into the Foggy Forest, in search of a spot to rest, wait, and pray. At dusk, a small group of them stands atop Rumble Ridge, high in the foothills of Mount Malabar. Their elevated vantage point offers unobstructed views of the water bomber’s brave and still-ongoing aerial battle.

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Maybe at least part of their homeland can be saved after all!

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***

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The water bomber is visibly exhausted and flying on fumes now, so he makes a beeline for the local airfield – his homebase – to refuel. To the horror of the onlooking marmels however, his engines sputter and cut out well before he’s able to reach the runway. He desperately scrambles to somehow make it home and, by trading height for speed, he musters the wherewithal to glide his way to the runway threshold. But it’s an ugly landing. He hits the asphalt hard and fast, and skids to a halt in a screeching shower of sparks and shredded metal.

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The valiant firefighter has sustained visible damage to his underside. He won’t be flying again for some time, let alone transporting seawater to douse out-of-control wildfires.

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Perched up on the ridge, the marmels are unwitting witnesses to the grim crash-landing. And like that, it’s the last of their hope that goes up in smoke.

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***

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It’s shortly after nightfall when the marmels spot the lights of another turboprop taking off from the local airfield. As it climbs into a night sky rendered cloudless by smoke, they dig deep to source a splash of renewed hope that – by some extra-time miracle – this aircraft might also be one that can scoop, schlep, and slam water onto burning trees. After all, the marmels are aware that the airfield’s regular airplanes never fly after dark… so perhaps this one is on a special mission?

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It wasn’t to be though. The airplane climbs away from the ocean – not towards it – and disappears into the darkness.

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Another day passes as the fire continues to inch its way towards Amity Arch, and as the helpless marmels can’t help but watch on. The line of flames is now closer to the arch than to Marshall’s Mound; more than three-quarters of the peninsula’s forest cover has burned.

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The next day, the broken-hearted forest-dwellers are still staring down as the flames of what will forever be known as the Great Fire finally reach the rocky archway. Tears running down their protruding cheeks, they’re still watching as the “WELCOME TO PEACEFUL PENINSULA” sign goes up in flames.

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The destruction of their beloved homeland is now total.

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CHAPTER 1

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-- 6 months later --

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“WELCOME TO FLIGHT SCHOOL!”

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The banner displaying the warm welcome message is draped across Monty’s brightly coloured canopy.

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Monty is Meridian’s affable and versatile promotional hot air balloon, and his latest gig sees him tethered to the gates at the entrance to Flight School. His friendly banner is there to welcome – as well as to calm the nerves of – the little airplanes currently filing beneath him. For this day is a special one for Meridian’s airplane community, and for the youngest members of its winged community in particular:

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Today is their first day of school!

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Flight School sits on the grounds of the same local airfield where the unlucky water bomber crash-landed six months earlier. In fact he’s still half-parked, half-dumped over there in the grass, a short skidding distance from the runway he slammed down onto that fateful day. His expression betrays both a genuine interest in the events unfolding today at Flight School, and a keen sense of frustration at his unenviable situation.

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Flight School is where Meridian’s littlest aircraft are taught everything that a turboprop airplane needs to know about flight – from basic taxiing and runway etiquette, to getting and staying airborne, to more advanced flight maneuvers and navigation techniques. The school’s tagline is prominently displayed on its main hangar door: “Your Gateway to Big Jet Plane Life”.

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At this early stage in life, young airplanes have only small, engineless proto-wings, so they propel themselves by shifting their weight on their wheels from side to side, pushing forward in amusing little bursts. Only once they’ve earned their training engines will they be able to move around the airfield’s apron and runway – and eventually up into the air – through powered propulsion.

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With a mixture of excitement and apprehension, the little airplanes roll onto the school grounds, where Flight School’s principal is ready to welcome them. “Welcome” is, however, not quite the right word here, as Principal Piston cuts anything but a friendly figure. His presence is more intimidating than reassuring, with his rigid manner, sharp stare, and rusty old fuselage announcing a decidedly old-school brand of authoritarian education.

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***

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The young airplanes’ parents wave and blow air kisses as the last of their offspring are ushered through the school gates. Just one student approaches the threshold alone, knowing better than to look back to where there’s nobody proudly watching her go.

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That airplane is Alea.

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Despite turning up alone today and having no air kiss launched her way, Alea’s manner is confident and carefree. Once she’s made her way through the gates and under Monty’s balloon, she immediately starts to engage with another student airplane, thereby relieving him from an awkward loneliness. With first names out of the way, the two airplanes admit to each other that they’re nervous about what lies ahead. Such feelings are tempered, however, by their shared excitement about the big jet plane low pass that will take place momentarily.

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Because… forget welcome speeches or hangar tours! It’s the same thing every year on the first day of Flight School: the spectacular flyover executed by a latest-generation jet airplane will be the absolute standout highlight of the day! Big jet planes never otherwise fly over this part of Meridian, and certainly never so low nor this close to the local airfield. After all, big jet planes belong at Meridian’s international airport, way over on the other side of the Foggy Forest; the airfield is the unassuming domain of the humble local turboprop.

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For the incoming little airplanes, getting to see a big jet plane fly at full tilt mere metres overhead is a unique opportunity to be close to an idol… to feel closer to the dream. Because growing up to be a big jet plane is what every little airplane dreams of.

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It is, unquestionably, Alea’s big dream.

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The same dream is – or was – her father’s as well. On many an occasion before he disappeared, he entreated his daughter to do everything within her power to become a big jet plane. “The reasons why will make sense to you when you’re older”, he had added more than once, though to this day Alea still doesn’t know exactly what he meant by that.

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As she facilitates introductions in the group that’s begun to come together around her, Alea spots an anxious-looking classmate who’s set apart from the other students. She beckons him over with a kind word and warm smile.

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“What’s your name?”, she asks the timid airplane.

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“Splash”, he replies, before adding, “I’m really nervous about starting school. And I miss my parents already.”

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Alea reassures him that it’s perfectly normal to feel uneasy right now, and that he’ll be able to see his parents again just as soon as the school day is over. She reminds him that today is the start of a wonderfully exciting adventure for all of them, encouraging him to think about all the new friends he’s about to make and all the new skills he’s going to learn.

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Empathy and a concern for others clearly come naturally to Alea.

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***

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The school gates swing closed, and Principal Piston advances to his lectern.

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The school director’s look alone is enough to bring the chattering amongst the newly acquainted student airplanes to an immediate stop. He basks in his authority for a moment too long, then begins his speech.

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“Welcome to Flight School!

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Listen up! And listen carefully! Today marks the start of the most important stage of your lives. For this is the first day on your journey to becoming successful high-flying professional airplanes!

You all do want to be successful, right?

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Let me tell you a little bit about success. About how to be successful as an airplane and in life. It’s really not complicated – you just need to do as I say, and I can pretty much guarantee that you will all be very, very successful.

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Principal Piston’s severe style is, whether by design or not, more patronizing than uplifting.

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What does success look like? Well, in a few moments, you will enjoy a flyover by one of Meridian’s most modern, most powerful, and most beautiful big jet planes. THAT… is what success looks like! A successful and respected professional airplane is a big jet plane, based at the international airport over there, that proudly flies the flag of Meridian around the world.

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I could have been a big jet plane like that, but instead I chose to dedicate myself to educating little airplanes like you. You’re welcome! That is ALSO what success looks like: being in a position of leadership, of authority. A position of power.

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Here at Flight School, we will be giving you all the tools and knowledge you need in order to go far, to go high, and to go fast – in the sky and in life. We will tell you what you need to know in order to go from what you are today – not even capable of reaching takeoff speed, let alone of getting airborne – to being the fastest and sleekest modern jet planes in the sky.

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The path to success is a simple one. While here at Flight School, you must listen and you must obey. That way you will learn, and that way you will master every aspect of flight that we will  be teaching you. If you do well here, then you WILL get accepted into Aero Academy. I believe that each and every one of you has it in you to get into the Academy! Then when you graduate from Aero Academy, you will be rewarded with brand new jet engines when you are hired as a big jet plane by a leading airline. THAT is how you become a success!

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Couldn’t be easier, right?!

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And who said the sky’s the limit?! If any of you want to enjoy truly world-class success, truly universal success, then look beyond they sky. Look to the stars! There’s always the space program for those who have what it takes to fly as a spaceship. Then you’d really put Meridian on the map. Regretfully no airplane from Meridian has yet to become a spaceship. I hope that one of you will!

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LISTEN UP! I don’t need to remind any of you what the opposite of success is, do I?! I don’t even want to pronounce that word… F-f-f-failure. There’s no room for that under my watch! Fail here and you won’t get into Aero Academy – and poof! Just like that, forever gone are your chances of becoming a big jet plane. Fail and you’ll end up… like THAT!

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Principal Piston points across the airfield to the damaged and out-of-work water bomber, who for the last half-year has sat all but abandoned in the grass beside the runway. The clumps of taller grass around his landing gear tell the story of a plane who hasn’t moved in a long time.

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Don’t get me wrong. I know most of you have parents who are turboprops and who have never left Meridian. Don’t hold it against them. And there’s a place in this big world for local airplanes. After all, jet planes can’t land on these short runways nor serve the more remote parts of Meridian, can they? But not everyone has the opportunity to attend a great school like Flight School, under my great leadership. YOU have that opportunity. Make the most of it! Start growing into tomorrow’s big jet planes today!

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Flight School’s director is visibly pleased with his performance. His students’ reactions are more muted, combining for the most part a jumbled sense of hopefulness and ambition with intimidation and nerves. Those emotions soon give way to a collective sense of excitement however, giddy as the young airplanes are about what they know is coming next.

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The first-day-of-school low-pass is a celebrated annual tradition marking the end of Flight School’s welcome ceremony, and the start of everything that will follow. It takes the form of a jaw-droppingly low flyover executed by one of Meridian’s latest-generation jet planes. The identity of the jet who gets to perform the spectacle in any particular year is a well-guarded secret, revealed only when the selected airplane rears its nose on the inbound leg. One thing is constant every year though: being invited to buzz Flight School on opening day is one of the greatest honours for any big jet plane.

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In addition to its unashamed entertainment value, the low-pass also serves a quite different purpose: to demonstrate in no uncertain terms to the young airplanes what they too can become… if they do well enough at school.

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Principal Piston is bringing his speech to a close:

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Can you hear that? It’s coming from over there… THAT is the sound of success!

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You guessed it, it’s time for Flight School’s famous first-day flyover! THIS aircraft is among the latest generation of big jet planes in Meridian – AND he’s a proud graduate of Flight School!”.

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The young airplanes all look up in unison and in awe as what began as a speck low on the horizon just a few seconds ago is now a sleek and ultramodern jet airliner screaming overhead. The jet clears the terminal building by the narrowest of margins, dragging the airfield’s windsock in its slipstream as it roars up and away.

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The deafening noise of the jet engines has subsided just enough for Alea’s inadvertent yelp of excitement to be heard by all her classmates. She’s embarrassed herself a little in front of them, but no one’s judging her for that; none of the other students has ever seen a big jet plane fly so low, so fast, and so loud before either.

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Alea’s desire to grow up to be a big jet plane is stronger than it ever was before. To be sure, the prestige and exhilaration of big jet plane life appeal to her, just as it does to each of her peers. However, her reasons for wanting to fly far and wide with jets under her wings are more profound than that. For if Alea is lucky enough to achieve this dream, then it might just allow her to fill two parent-sized holes in her heart.

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***

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At the very same time and not far away in the Foggy Forest, the marmels are running around in a blind panic. The sudden and unexpected noise has taken them completely by surprise.

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Ever since their homeland burned to the ground and forced them to relocate to their adopted home, the marmels have grown used to certain sounds that they never heard on Peaceful Peninsula. The hum of propeller engines from the local airfield during the day, and, when a steady wind blows in from the north, the round-the-clock faint rumble of jet engines thrusting an airliner into the sky all the way over at the international airport have become an unwelcome but regular part of the soundtrack to their new habitat.

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But the piercing scream of a large jet airliner almost directly overhead is not something they’ve ever had to endure before!

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As the engine noise grew steadily louder, most of the marmels managed to scurry underground in search of emergency shelter, a bespectacled young one screaming “This is nuts!” as he disappeared into the nearest burrow. A few marmels weren’t so lucky however, and these paid a steep price for failing to get below ground in time. As the roar reached its agonizing apex, the exposed marmels’ muscles stiffened up as they lost consciousness and fell over in a sudden rigid paralysis.

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This noise-induced freezing-and-fainting spectacle might have looked alarming – perhaps even amusing – to an onlooker, but to the marmels this is just who they are, and something they must all learn to live with. Because a defining characteristic of the marmel species is that it cannot deal with noise. Loud noises – from even a distant lightning strike, from a tree falling over or a large branch cracking, from a nearby rockfall, or indeed from a jet airplane passing overhead – will make a marmel go rigid, pass out, and topple over. Even one marmel sneezing can render another unconscious.

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Particularly loud noises can, and have been, fatal to marmels.

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As such, the implications of this unexpected low pass are instantly apparent to the marmels: it would be impossible for them to continue to live in the Foggy Forest if this sort of event were to occur with any greater frequency.

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But where would they go if they needed to leave?! Every last tree on Peaceful Peninsula was killed during the Great Fire, and a marmel cannot live where there are no trees; they depend on healthy towering pines for food and shelter… and for their mental wellbeing too. As much as it rips their little hearts to shreds to just think about it, they know it will be a very long time indeed before a permanent return to Peaceful Peninsula will be possible. Mature trees must have returned before the marmels can.

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Aside from their homeland’s forest and the one they’re currently in, Meridian possesses no forest big enough to accommodate all the marmels. The Foggy Forest is their only viable alternative.

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Several of the marmels who fainted as the jet flew overhead are now beginning to recover, and are slowly emerging from their stupor. Those who were able to find shelter in time climb out from their burrows and immediately attend to their less fortunate friends’ needs. Two marmels remain unconscious, and their buddies’ cheek slaps are still not doing the trick.

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Because loud noises can be so dangerous to them, marmels are taught from their most tender years to never go anywhere near an airport. Little surprise then that they grow up with a deeply-ingrained fear of airplanes, and an equally strong aversion to anything at all associated with aviation. This had never been an issue for them in the past, as in living memory there had never been any reason for marmels and airplanes to be in close proximity: the animals seldom left the peace and tranquility of their homeland, and – other than in exceptional circumstances like fighting a forest fire – airplanes were forbidden from flying over Peaceful Peninsula.

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The Great Fire changed everything.

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***

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The sleek jet airliner which threw the marmels into their noise-induced panic has now flown well beyond the airfield, and is in a 180-degree turn out over the ocean. He then roars back for a second low pass, this time buzzing Flight School’s incoming class with even less room to spare than on the first leg. Alea lets out another excited yelp of approval, this time deliberately, generating even more giggles from her new classmates.

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As he climbs away for good this time, the big jet plane tips his wings to each side in a farewell gesture to his admiring audience.

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The spectacular end to the welcome ceremony leaves the young airplanes with no doubt as to what success looks like. Success has, after all, just about deafened them all with an exhilarating flyover!

The same event serves a very different purpose for the poor marmels. It reminds them that they are far from suited to their current environment, which – with its proximity to airports and airplanes and life-threateningly loud noises – can only be a short-term living solution at best.

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The marmels miss the undisturbed quiet of Peaceful Peninsula.

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They miss its delicious nuts and honey.

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They miss the unique scent of its rich earth and pine sap carried on a gentle sea breeze.

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They miss the soothing hypnotic sound of waves breaking where the ocean meets its cliffs.

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They miss feeling safe and sound on the tongue of land that every one of their ancestors lived on before them.

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The marmels miss… their home.

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There is no room whatsoever for doubt: they must find a way to return to their beloved homeland. Sooner rather than later.

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CHAPTER 2

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Life – both of the professional and educational varieties – is in full swing on the grounds of the local airfield.

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A short taxi roll across the grass from Flight School, it’s business as usual for the older turboprops, who are going about doing what professional aircraft do: landing and taking off, filling their tanks with fuel, getting a thorough spray-down, undergoing their maintenance checks, and catching up on industry gossip as they sit at the gates between flights. Down at the airfield’s dock, the seaplanes are doing much the same thing on the protected waters of Balmy Bay.

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Meridian’s local airfield is home to commercial, cargo, search & rescue, and firefighting aircraft – many of whom are parents to young airplanes currently enrolled at Flight School. Those students whose parents are based at the airfield rejoin them at the end of each learning day. Many of these families have never had a family member attend Aero Academy, nor therefore have the opportunity to work as a big jet plane; for them, it would be an honour of the highest order for one of their little ones to go on to earn their jet engines.

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At the local airfield, each and every airplane – regardless of its stage in life or chosen activity – must be back in its hangar or at its designated parking spot before dusk. That’s because the airfield operates only during daylight hours, with no local flights in Meridian taking place between sundown and sunup.

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Over at Flight School’s campus, which sits nestled between the airfield’s runway and the edge of the Foggy Forest, the young airplanes are making steady progress on their educational journey. Alea and her new friends are learning critical flight skills every day, with each lesson taking them that much closer to the milestone moment when they will first get airborne.

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Flight School’s lessons are classroom-based during this first part of the airplanes’ educational journey, with only minimal activity taking place out in the open. Very young airplanes are still unsteady on their landing gear, so initial classes cover the basics of a safe and smooth roll, including how to accelerate, turn, and stop at increasing rates of speed. Lessons then move on to the fundamentals of flight, with students learning the basic rules of aerodynamics and the principles of lift, thrust and drag. Navigation and meteorology are also on the curriculum.

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It's not long before the student airplanes are fitted with training wheels, which will allow them to move around the apron and runway more easily. There, they are able to practice taxiing and parking, and they can begin to familiarize themselves with an airfield’s ground operations.

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On multiple occasions, a solitary marmel can be seen perched high up in one of the trees that stands as the unofficial border between the airfield and the rest of the Foggy Forest. The marmel will discretely observe the day’s lessons from his elevated vantage point, rarely leaving before classes end, and always engrossed in the goings-on down below. This marmel wears glasses, and – oddly enough and for reasons that are a mystery to all who spot him – he never appears to be bothered by any of the noise on or around the busy airfield.

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***

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The differing personalities, interests and skills of the young airplanes have by this stage become more pronounced.

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Alea is a capable student who demonstrates a keen desire to support her peers. She’s kind, thoughtful and patient, and – despite her well-stated ambition of becoming a big jet plane – she appears to often be more focused on her friends’ success than on her own.

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Alea also takes a great interest in the natural world around her – an uncommon trait indeed for an airplane. This was on display when the young airplanes were being taught about when and how a jet airliner might need to dump fuel. Alea was shocked to learn that large volumes of jet fuel sometimes need to be jettisoned out over the ocean, or in the case of a more urgent scenario, even directly over a forest. She was, to some extent at least, reassured to hear that this is a rare occurrence, and that any fuel disposed of in this way usually evaporates into the air before it hits the ground. Nevertheless, she voiced a strong opinion that dumping precious fuel sounds both wasteful and injurious to the environment.

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In the relatively short time since school began, Alea has grown closest to Splash. Splash is a bit of an oddball within the group, as – unlike any other airplane – he’s happiest when it rains. This allows him to roll through wet grass and the puddles of standing water on the apron, letting out little squeals of joy that rival Alea’s memorable ones from opening day.

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Alea’s also on very friendly terms with Caio, a shy young airplane who’s the only other member of the class to voice genuine concern for the environment. Caio stands out amongst most of his peers for another reason too: he doesn’t dream about becoming a big jet plane. Instead, he hopes to become a water bomber, so that he can protect Meridian’s forests and play his part in preventing another Great Fire.

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Alea’s friends also include Speedbird and Cactus, two of the class’s most capable students, with both already solidly on the path to a life as big jets. At the end of the school day, Alea will often gather with them on Flight School’s lawn to discuss all the great many things about being a big jet plane: how fast, how high, and how far you can fly; the tremendous noise you make which turns cockpits and heads wherever you go; the attention lavished on you by ground crews wherever in the world you land; the variety of exotic destinations you get to fly to; the awesome contrails you leave in your wake when at cruising altitude… The list goes on!

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Another talented and ambitious airplane in Alea’s wider group is the rambunctious Clipper. With his boistercous manner and bold humour, Clipper dreams of becoming not only a big jet plane, but the very biggest jet plane in the sky. For him, size definitely does matter, so success in Clipper’s eyes means becoming a double-decker jumbo jet – and nothing less.

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Then there’s Lexi, the only student who’s a full boarder at Flight School. Lexi’s parents are both big jet planes, and while there’s a highly regarded – and some might say a lot more prestigious – school for little airplanes at the international airport, her parents chose to send her to this one. Perhaps it was for the quieter surroundings and proximity to the ocean? Or maybe it was just easier for them that having to look after her every evening, which can indeed be a challenge when both parents fly long-haul… Either way, the other little airplanes envy Lexi, who quickly gained celebrity status on campus as a result of who her parents her. She seems entirely unfazed by it however. Moreover, she’s made it clear she might choose a different career for herself.

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By far the least pleasant airplane in Alea’s cohort is the brash and hyperactive Smashface. The son of a fighter jet over at Meridian’s military base, Smashface is happiest when provoking and picking on other students. He sometimes makes unkind comments to Alea because she’s not originally from Meridian, and because her mum and dad are no longer around. Remarkably however, Smashface always seems to get away with his antisocial behaviour.

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It’s perhaps not a coincidence that Principal Piston and Smashface’s father go back a long way.

There was that one occasion when Flight School’s Meteorology teacher grounded Smashface for a particularly distasteful remark he made to Gimli, who was struggling to understand the concept of thrust. But that seemed only for show – because where’s the punishment in being grounded when you can’t even fly yet?

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***

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For Captain Moody, every new day resembles the last.

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The old turboprop and erstwhile firefighter remains flumped between runway and forest, very much stuck in the same spot since he was towed off the runway and dumped unceremoniously in the grass following his now-infamous Great Fire crash-landing. The damage he sustained was significant, with the cracks and holes that peppered his underbelly from nose to tail now rusting and spreading.

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He’d been informed at the time that it would cost too much to repair his fuselage to a state where he could once again carry any water. Since this meant he would never be able to do his job again, he quickly realized that his flying days – and more generally his days of being of value to his wider community – were well and truly over.

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Captain Moody has not flown since that fateful day.

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Given this devastating state of affairs, it's perhaps not surprising that he would sometimes not be in the best of moods. He does his best to put on a brave face and to remain positive, especially when he’s in the company of the students whose company means so much to him – but at times he inevitably feels frustrated and despondent.

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One evening after class, Alea asks Captain Moody why he doesn’t retrain and convert to a different activity, such as carrying cargo. “I can tell you’ve not given up on flying yet!”, she tells him, her voice powerful with positivity. “There are so many other things you could still do!”.

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The older airplane appreciates the encouragement offered by his little friend, but he insists he’s too old – “too past it” in his words – to reinvent himself at this stage. “That sort of conversion would be too expensive for an old aircraft like me”, he asserts. “No local cargo airline in Meridian would ever be willing to sponsor that kind of body work”. As he speaks, Captain Moody’s gaze travels far off out in the general direction of Mount Malabar; he’s struggling to hold himself together as he’s questioned about something that evidently affects him deeply.

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“But surely you still need a purpose?”, Alea asks him, her voice now softer and more measured.

Captain Moody doesn’t answer right away. Alea’s question has just caught him off-guard. A moment later, his eyes leave the distant mountains and lock onto her.

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“It’s quite amazing you say that”, he begins. “The last time anyone spoke to me about purpose, it was a remarkable old cargo airplane.” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “As he revved up his propellers on the night that everything changed for me, he turned to me and said, “My purpose is calling”. I asked him what he could mean by that, since it was dark and he should have been going nowhere at that time. But the noise of his engines drowned out my question, and he said nothing further. He just took off into the night… and was never seen again.”

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Captain Moody’s gaze remains steady, but his voice is faltering.

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“That airplane, Alea, was your father.”

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