So there was an air show that I was asked to help monitor. The guy in charge was three sketchy degrees connected to me and knew the connection was tenuous. He wrote some serious IOUs just to get a message to me quickly, and after reading it, I had to investigate. He had some reservations about the star of the show (hired by the financial backers). If he had his way, that jackass wouldn’t be allowed to fly a paper airplane. After what happened, I think his wish is going to come true.
Everyone had practiced for the months leading up to the finale. Everyone involved would fly out to a certain point (away from the crowd, far away, binoculars are required) and bomb a target with a specially prepared inert round. The aircraft equivalent of everyone throwing a stick into an unlit pyre. The last round dropped would be the actual incendiary device that would trigger after a certain length of time (to allow the pilot to clear the area) and BOOM! Finale. Cue the band. Thank you for coming, don’t forget to pick up your complementary funnel cake!
The manager was nervous. “If all goes right, Weaver, your being here would be a big ass waste of time and I owe you my life for holding my hand. But if that motherfucker does what I think he’s going to do, save the crowd and let the fucker burn.”
“What do you think he’s going to do?”
“I think he’s going to buzz the crowd and flare off as he does. It’s something he did often when he was first starting out.”
“Put it in simple terms for me. He’s going to fly low over the crowd, dump so much extra fuel into the engines that it flares out as he’s passing over, and pretty much fart a high power flame thrower at the crowd?”
“Eh. Yea.”
“And this was cleared by your safety officer?”
“The guy I hired quit when he heard who was headlining. He fucking quit. The SO is some guy the backers brought in, and claims to have worked with the jackass before and said it was a safe maneuver. No need to inform the insurance company about any possible surprises to the show, he said.”
“Ah… No. Why didn’t you pull the switch?”
“Because I’m in too deep financially, the backers know it, and I really have no choice but to go on with the show. I did manage to get some extra muscle down there to make sure nothing gets tampered with. And all the other flyers have already recommitted to the show as planned. But I just have this feeling… you know… this asshole has always made every show he’s been in about him. And this show is for featuring the local flyers. So he’s going to do something to upstage everyone. Fucking ass. I just know it. I just don’t know how. And I have everything so locked down, that anything he does is going to put someone at risk.”
I ticked off the key points on my fingers. “The crowd is at a safe distance. The maneuvers are being done over barren land so no crops are at risk. The other pilots are sticking to the program. The approach for the finale starts over water. And you personally have the switch for the fireball. The only way he can make this about him is to do something right over the crowd’s heads. Which no right pilot would do.”
“I heard fire is your specialty. Among other things that I don’t want to talk about. I need a firemonger. There hasn’t been a show he’s been in where someone didn’t get burned, crowd or crew. I’ve prepared as best as I can… and if it was just my local pilots, we wouldn’t be having this conversation… but that fucker… he’s been banned from so many big name places because of his bullshit…” He took a deep breath and looked me squarely in my eyes. “He’s carrying the incendiary device. He’s the last flyover before the boom. If he flares the crowd while carrying it…”
I lowered my head into my hands. “You need more than a firemonger. You need an assassin to take him out before the show. Jesus fucking christ, who the hell gave him the bomb knowing his signature move is turbo diarrhea?”
“The backers. They insisted on it. They tried to turn it into a show just for him, but I was able to hold my ground on everything except that.”
I still had my head in my hands. “Fuck. Okay. Change of plans. We have to prepare not just for fuel and fire, but shrapnel as well. Who knows I’m here?”
“No one. The locals are superstitious as fuck, and if they knew that Weaver Deathtouch was here, this place would clear out and no one would step foot on this land again.”
I looked up at him with mirth. My smile surprised him. “To be honest, I’m treating that as the Best Possible Outcome because no one gets hurt. Deathtouch, eh? That’s new. Okay. I have a plan. Tonight, I’m going to walk the grounds and have a chat with the local spirits. See if I can arrange a little extra help if necessary. Tomorrow, you’re not going to see me. At all. Go on with the show and know that I’ll have the crowd covered if he does pull some shit. If all goes well, you’ll not see me until after the show is over and the grounds are clear.”
“And if something happens?”
“Enjoy the show and don’t forget the funnel cake.” I smiled. He frowned.
I remained out of sight the rest of the day. Walking in shadows, I looked over all the pilots and their crews. The local airheads were sticking to the plan, and muttering in fear and anger about the show’s headline. He had tried to bluff the other pilots into cutting their routine or dropping out of the show altogether. Despite the manager’s extra muscle patrolling the grounds, many of the pilots had recruited family members to guard their planes and gear. For good reason. All sabotage attempts were successfully thwarted.
That night, I was able to contact the local land spirits. Nice, quiet folk. Much like the human communities that were ignorant of them. Didn’t like to be bothered by others. Wasn’t too happy at the airshow because of all the ruckus. Did like to hear the sound of laughter and feel the warmth of people gathering for fun. Just wanted the seasons to go on as they do, and just move with the flow of time.
I explained the purpose of the airshow was to celebrate the skills of the local pilots. Explained the effect of cotton candy and funnel cake on children. And I explained how the manager was trying to make sure everyone was safe during the event, and why things were being done in certain places. The local spirits liked the manager’s preparations. And now that they knew why the ruckus was happening, gave their blessings to events.
I explained to them what would happen if one of the “outsider’s” stunts backfired and the local folk were hurt. Emphasized that the outsider was brought in against the manager’s wishes and that the manager was afraid someone was going to get hurt by him. I explained how I thought the flyboy was going to put the crowd at risk, and explained my limits in dealing with the threat. Could they help?
The local spirits told me what they could do. We worked out a plan that would keep the crowd safe. If the flyboy did nothing, then nothing would happen. If something went wrong, I now had Plans A, B, and C in place.
The next day, all the food vendors came to their stalls and found something curious had happened overnight. From each vendor, a plate with one serving of food was found on the ground. The food was being swiftly devoured by ants, but nothing else was touched. Some of the oldtimers in the community told stories about their grandparents taking the first serving of a communal function and placing it on an anthill so lost souls could share in the feast, but that practice had stopped generations ago. Many of the vendors took the ant covered food and placed it behind their stall or out of sight. Those few that attempted to kill the offending ants found their stall completely over run by ants in minutes.
The airshow began at noon. Barnstorming antics, daredevil wingwalkers, and amusing sky-writers thrilled the crowd. Those pilots that just earned their license were acknowledged and those pilots that were retiring were saluted. Children laughed and ran about without fear. Gossip cliques clucked the latest scandal. Shy teen couples dared to hold hands in public. Would-be gourmands argued over who could cook the best roast pig. I saw the manager briefly. He was nervous, but in control of himself and the show.
The flyboy was livid. Someone did not properly maintain his gear and now the flare off lever was stuck. If he didn’t know better, it looked like someone had actually melted it into the frame, leaving it permanently in the off position. An unauthorized alteration to begin with, it did not interfere with normal flying in the off position. But how is he going to impress the crowd now? He has to find some way to show himself superior to these country inbred hicks!
God damn it, the fucker brought spare assemblies? Of course. He would show the plane to the safety inspectors in one configuration, then quickly switch out the parts. No wonder his crew was often burnt. No safety gear, no safe thinking at all! He’ll have his plane in proper order just in time for the finale. I moved swiftly to Plan A position and whispered to the land spirits what his intentions were.
They were prepared. Let the fucker start shit.
The finale started. One by one, the pilots ran their final approach and dropped their inert payloads onto the target. Each one was allowed to fly away with a flourish if desired. The new pilots just wiggled their wings. The more experienced pilots made side strafing approaches and barrel rolled as they flew away.
The flyboy made his approach with the incendiary device. At the moment when he should have dropped his payload, he turned to make a pass over the crowd. From every staff’s headset I heard the manager yell into his mic, “DO NOT PANIC! DO NOT MOVE! Trust me. I made plans for this shit.”. His level voice overrode his staff’s panic. No one moved.”
Two giant black stone pillars erupted from the ground at the far ends of the observation areas. The crowd thought this was all part of the show and applauded the vertical shafts. The air between the pillars crackled and shimmered as the land spirits erected a translucent barrier between them. The crowd was safe behind the barrier. I was standing in front of it, but in a shadowy form.
The flyboy flared off as the manager and I feared. The crowd screamed in fear at first, then in delight as the barrier kept the heat and flames from the crowd. As the flare off ended, I flared up. The crowd now saw a person hovering over the ground, with wings of fire and a shield. They interpreted my presence as the source of protection from the flyboy’s antics and celebrated my appearance.
“Uh-oh. Looks like someone showed off a little too much!” The manager’s voice came over the show’s speakers. Smooth bastard, he was treating this like he planned it from the start. “Maybe if that someone did what he was supposed to do, the angry fire angel won’t be too mad, right? Let’s try that approach again.”
The flyboy flew back to his proper starting point and made the approach to the finale target again. He dropped the payload as planned, but instead of flying away to a safe distance before it exploded, he pulled his other trick out of his sleeve. The bastard’s aircraft has movable engines. It’s a vertical take-off and landing craft! It can hover like a helicopter!
Which is what he did over the now hot target. The safety was already off, but to make sure the flyboy took over the finale, he flared off directly onto the incendiary device. The crowd screamed in shock. I think I heard the manager praying. But the land spirits were now deploying Plan B.
They chilled the target to freezing, slowing down the fuse on the device so that it would be at least an hour before the fuse’s cherry reached the caps. They also absorbed the heat of the flare off, so that none of the material on the ground was even warmed by the flyboy’s antics. When the flyboy’s fuel became critically low, he was forced to stop the flare off and return to the landing strip. The finale remained cold and silent.
“Oh dear. No boom.” The manager had recovered his voice and was addressing the crowd again. “Now what do we do? Maybe the fire angel would know!”
Time for Plan C. The land spirits dropped the barrier as I turned to address the crowd. “Such wonderful people I see before me! Such fine examples of humanity! How wonderful you all are!” The crowd loved being pandered to and cheered me. “We need a finale, don’t you think?” More cheers. “I know how to make a finale, but to do so, I need the help of some good boys and girls. Are there any good boys and girls here that can help me?” I descended to the ground and tucked my still flaming wings behind me. While I was able to give the appearance of being dressed in white linen, I won’t be able to hide my black feathers. They had to remain flame if I was going to be unrecognized.
I was surrounded by children before a toe touched the ground. Several concerned adults came as well and I warmly (heh) greeted them. The adults kept curious hands away from the warm feathers. I placed my large shield in front of me. “Okay, on the count of three, you all are going to hit my shield as hard as you can, okay?” Several fists pummeled it in anticipation. “It only works if everyone works together.” The kids stopped and waited.
We all counted to three together, and all the children that came forward hit my shield with vigor. The delay was long enough for the land spirits to warm up the target back to normal and get the fuse going again. At the count of three, the spirits pushed the fuse’s cherry into the caps, and the bomb exploded to everyone’s delight. While the crowd was cheering the finale, I allowed myself to fade away back into the shadows. No one saw my exit, as was planned.
I appeared behind the manager in his observation tower as my normal self. “Well? How’s that for saving the show?”
“God damn it, you have me several heart attacks!” He looks at me then back at the pillars. “Are those permanent?”
“Sadly, yes. They rearranged the bedrock to pull that off. There’s no putting it back.”
“Brilliant move getting the kids involved like that.” The crowd was dispersing and headed back to the vendors, many of which were scrambling to take advantage of the ‘fire angel’ and the black pillars to hawk their “Fired Up Chili” and “Bedrock Chocolate Cake”.
“Fire angel?”
“Everyone knows that Weaver has no love for angels. If anyone dares to say it was you, they will be countered by the declaration of the apparition being a fire angel. I know it sounds wrong to bury your part in this…”
“I know. I know. Superstitious people are superstitious as fuck. As long as they think their divinity was responsible, it will be accepted and your reputation remains intact. No one got hurt, and no one lost money. I’ll count this as a complete success.”
The door to the tower burst inward as the flyboy stormed in. “What the fuck was that about! No one told me there would be a magician at the show! You made me look like an utter ass out there! You fucked up my finale! Who the hell do you…” The flyboy’s rant was cut off by the manager’s swiftly applied fist. He folded into a ball of unconscious piss at the manager’s feet.
I clapped the flyboy’s ultimate finale with vigor. “You know, your request made its way to me via some interesting people. They all expressed a desire for me to tell them a story about the outcome. Some of them are involved with regulatory bodies, and such. Do you mind?”
“If it means getting this jackass out of the air for good, tell everyone.”
“I’ll see what I can do. After I get some of that chili.” I smoothed my feathers away and took on a glamour. To anyone that looked at me, I appeared like the long lost cousin of their old friend that they knew back in the day. Just familiar enough to be friendly. Not familiar enough to be interesting. I doubt anyone would be looking too closely at me. I could smell that chili all the way in the tower. Time to get fired up.