Kitra

A glance at the altimeter showed I had passed 750 meters. I was running out of options. I could keep hunting for the thermals rising from the hot plains at the edge of the city, but if they weren’t there anymore, that would mean a hard landing far from the gliderport. For a moment, I considered just riding all the way down anyway and activating the emergency antigravity brake, a tiny battery powered thing that would slow my descent in the last seconds before landing. I grimaced at the thought. I’d never had to use it before, and it would be an embarrassment, an admission of failure. Not to mention a long walk home.

I squinted at the distant towers of Denizli. That was an option. It was about 39 o’ clock, and the sun had warmed the downtown streets and plazas for twenty hours. They might provide enough lift. Then again, they might not. It was nearly sunset. Anyway, flying at low altitude over the capital was a sure way to run into the air traffic cops.

I continued my spiral, flaps fully off, trying to maximize my glideslope to get somewhere, anywhere there might be lift. I was already down to 500 meters. I looked around for a ridge or hill. Maybe I could use the wind that blows upward when a horizontal breeze hits a slope? No, no luck. All the good ones were too far away.

Bright light filled the cockpit, dazzling me for a moment. The glancing rays of the setting sun reflected off the ocean, shimmering all the way to the limits of vision. I hadn’t realized I was so close to the shore. Shielding my eyes from the glare, I grinned. Of course! I knew where to find a ridge after all. An invisible one.

I waited until the plane was facing the shore and then straightened out, making a beeline for the ocean. Would I have enough time? I looked down and swallowed. Suburban houses, stores, a school, were drifting uncomfortably closer and closer beneath me. Then, at 150 meters, buildings gave way to a sprawling stretch of beach. It curved away on both sides for kilometers, to skyscrapers toward the city, to preserved parkland in the other direction. I headed toward the greenery, aiming for the source of lift I knew existed parallel to the shore.

The altimeter read 100 meters as I sailed over the crashing breakers. The glider jerked in the chaotic air flow, and I gripped the controls tightly to keep it steady. My back pressed into the seat as the plane’s wings caught the winds that zoomed up where the warm air of the land met the colder air above the sea. The plane jittered, then smoothed out, climbing faster and faster. In no time, I was at 300 meters and still rising, wisps of marine layer clouds breaking across the glider’s wingtips as I soared above them. The greenish sky of Vatan was turning gold in the sunset, and the planet’s rings formed an arch that started at the horizon and vaulted high overhead. I breathed a sigh of relief and punched a fist against my knee in victory.

At 2000 meters, more than high enough to make it back to the gliderport, I eased the plane into a smooth bank, aiming for the traffic pattern that would eventually get me home. Then I gave my forehead a little rap for my lapse of concentration. Soaring is something you can do for hours on end, and it’s easy to slide into a sort of trance, letting your hands guide the glider on their own while your mind wanders. That’s when you get into trouble.

I settled into my seat, blowing out a breath. But even with that object lesson, now that the danger had passed, my thoughts went right back to what had distracted me in the first place. The decision I’d been so sure of last night.

Once again, I got those butterflies in my stomach that had nothing to do with flying, at least not directly. Was this really going to be my final flight? Was I really going to sell my glider? I loved soaring, and I loved my little plane. It had given me good service for two years. Flying in it had become almost as familiar, as easy as walking. Did I really want to give it up? Could I?

I looked out the right window, watching the setting sun ignite the ocean horizon with green flame. It was a sight I never got tired of.

I bit my lip. It wouldn’t just be the glider. It’d be selling virtually everything I owned, just to start the next phase of my plan. Ridding myself of a lifetime of security. It would be safer to just pick out a college, plan a career. If I wanted to follow in my late mother’s footsteps, I could get a degree in interstellar studies and join the state department. In fifteen years, maybe only ten, I’d be eligible for a diplomatic mission off-planet. It was what my uncle, my mother’s brother, wanted me to do. It was the safe route.

I shook my head. No. That wasn’t the course for me. It was too long, and the pay-off might never happen. I needed to stick to the plan.

Next week, Marta and I would go to the auction yards where they sold second-hand and decommissioned spaceships. In my bank account would be my inheritance plus the proceeds of the sale of nearly all of my possessions, including the glider. It should be enough to buy a ship of my very own. Once I assembled a crew, I wouldn’t be Kitra Yilmaz anymore. I’d be Captain Kitra Yilmaz.

That thought dispelled the last of my doubts. I smiled and gave the control panel a fond pat, a goodbye embrace. Then I steered for home.

From now on, the soaring I’d do would be among the stars.