— Léon —
Whatever he said, the man in front of Léon didn't look like a veteran airNAV pilot. Léon wondered if he had made the right choice when he asked a guy called Mr. Modraniht to take him to Old Continent. It was one of the most dangerous airplane routes in modern history—even more with the coming storm—and he really wanted to arrive in one piece.
He swallowed his nervousness and let out a sigh when he heard steps approaching.
"Mr. Dickens?"
Léon turned around to look at the voice owner, and his eyebrows twitched upward. "Hi. You must be Mr. Modraniht." Léon offered a handshake; the man accepted it with a grin.
"I never expected to receive another call on that number." Modraniht was even taller, bulkier, and older in person, with warm black eyes and big hands of hairy and stubby fingers circled by way too many gold bands. There was a deep scar cutting the right side of his chin and another on the bridge of his crooked nose. Contrasting with those, his voice was calm and soft, gentle like a feather. "You look younger than you sound. I thought you'd be a forty-something when we talked on the phone."
"I get that a lot." Léon's chuckle was a soft, low rumble. "You... sound your age."
Modraniht laughed. "Which means I sound almost fifty-five. Thanks for not pointing that out." He let out a loud laugh and shuffled Léon's short brown hair. "I think I'm gonna like you, kid."
Léon tried on a smile and took a step back. He tucked his thumbs under the straps of his backpack and pulled them up like a little child. There was something so fatherly about Modraniht that Léon didn't exactly know how to act around him. The only person Léon could think of that had that same aura was Grandpa Jo—and they had stopped talking more than a decade ago, when Bonee almost bit Grandma's hand off, and she kicked him and Amma out of the house.
"I'm... I'm sorry for cutting your holidays short," Léon said. "I wish I could wait a few more days, but with the situation in OC and the storm coming...."
"Nah. I remember your mother and brother. They're good people." Modraniht snatched Léon's bags and threw them into the small compartment of the two-person airNAV. "If you're anything like them and I can help in any way, it'll be my pleasure to do so." He flicked his cigarette butt on the floor and squashed it under his boot.
"Right," Léon answered with a smile. Was it weird to note his cigarette smelled like clove and roses? "I just...." Léon shut his eyes and balled his hands at his sides; his heartbeat sounded loud against his ear. Léon needed to tell him the truth. He couldn't hide the dangers of this trip. "Listen, Mr. Modraniht... you must know that NC will close its borders to Old Continent in a couple of days. Oh, and there's a storm approaching Cidade Santa, so you'll have to be twice as quick to come back. I'll...." The words stuck in his throat, but he forced them to come out. "I'll understand if you don't want to come. I know you have family here. But I... it wouldn't be right to let you take me without knowing the risks."
With the silence that issued, Léon peeked at the older man. With arched eyebrows, Modraniht studied Léon like a doctor studying a patient. Finally, he smiled.
"Yeah, I already knew all that." He patted Léon's arm and chuckled. "You're a good kid all right," he mumbled, turning around. "You have a leave permit, I hope?" And as if the storm and the sickness and the closing borders were nothing but pebbles on his way, Modraniht fished a rag from his back pocket and started polishing the airNAV's spinner. "We'll be contacted mid-air when we cross the border, and I'll need to give'em your request number."
Pursing his lips, Léon shuffled his feet. Modraniht was a weird man.
Léon liked him.
"I don't have one," Léon answered. New Continent's authorities liked to have ironclad control over the population's whereabouts. More than that, they used that information to find the perfect reason to expel people from their little paradise. New Continent made it easy to leave and almost impossible to get in, so the only way for someone to join the New Continentians was if one of them got out. Most of the time, there was no going back from giving up your spot.
That's what Kaliandra and Pipo had done and what Léon was about to do.
"No permit, huh. You're leaving for good, then?" Modraniht asked.
"I think I am," Léon said in a low voice. His fingers tightened around the straps of his backpack.
Modraniht hummed. It was a husky and grave sound filled with gentleness. "Can't say I blame you, kid. I have my work and my woman in this shite, and that's the only reason why I come back every month." He jerked a finger to point at the city behind them. "Truth is, it's a matter of control over freedom. Old Continent has the latter, and there is where my heart and my clinic are." Modraniht let out a sigh. "But my wife and I have a temporary position here, so I have to search for excuses to go back to my real home. You're my excuse today, kid."
Léon didn't expect that answer or that openness. With a soft smile, he said, "People usually point out New Continent is where the money's at."
With a scoff, Modraniht turned around and crossed his arms. "Well, you can't eat money, can you? The damned thing is a means to your ends; it shouldn't be your whole objective." He sighed and rested against the plasmetallic fuselage of the airNAV. As he raised a hand to scratch his nape, a branding mark appeared on his wrist, probably made by a hot iron. It was an A enclosed in a circle. "But I wonder if you really wanna go, Dickens." He clicked his tongue. "Your body language. You seem scared."
And Léon was scared; of course he was! Pipo was in trouble, Amma had started lying to him, Rob was... something, and everyone and everything in his life right now just felt so uncertain and distant and cold. But that wasn't enough reason to give up. That wasn't enough reason to sit pretty in NC and do nothing! The only thing Léon needed to do was to arrive in Cidade Santa, convince Amma and Rob to go back home, and then take a bigger airNAV back before the whole shitstorm came down on OC.
Oh, and there was Rafa too. Léon had never met his sister-in-law, so... oh shit, he was getting nervous.
"Dickens?" Modraniht insisted. "Are you sure you wanna go risk yourself in OC?"
Léon tossed his backpack inside the airNAV. "Yes. I'll... yes. Sorry."
Modraniht nodded, a kind smile on his lips. "You don't have to apologize." He climbed the metallic stairs to the airNAV and reached for something inside the front seat. "Here." He offered Léon a small pad that read cross-travel and immigration register. "Fill this for me, Dickens. This is what I'll need to give the immigration guys. While you're at it, I'll finish checking every inch of this beast." Modraniht patted the airNAV's fuselage.
Nodding, Léon took the pad and ran his eyes through the long list of questions. Besides all the personal info he was required to give—and an amusing bunch of questions asking if he was a terrorist or a drug dealer—there was a small section about his reasons for going back to Old Continent, his permit number, the day he expected to come back, and his emergency contact.
What the hell was he supposed to put in those?
He sighed and typed whatever came to his mind. Reason to travel: family visit. Expected return date... in which month they were in again? June?
Léon lowered his eyes. He heard the distant sound of laughs and conversation from a bigger airNAV a few meters from them. It was another private aircraft, also preparing to take flight.
Years ago, while the nuclear fallout set on the ocean, private airlines took a tad too long to improve and adapt their aircrafts to the new density of the air. Flights were canceled, companies broke, and flying was forbidden.
As society rose to its feet again, small airNAVs were produced and sold to very specific people with very particular bank accounts. Léon always thought they belonged to the rich and the super-rich, so he couldn't understand how people like poor Mr. Modraniht—as gentle and warm as he was—could even dream of having a machine like this. People like that rich couple, though, seemed to fit right into his idea of airNAV owners.
Modraniht whistled, impressed. "They can even hire a guy to be their chauffeur."
"Rich people, right," Léon mumbled. He climbed up the stairs and jumped into the passenger seat.
"Pfft. You can smell the smell of just-washed creds from here."
Léon tried to smile, but something twisted his expression. He grimaced. "Goddess. I never thought dirty money could smell so bad."
With a grating sound, Modraniht pulled the plasmetallic stairs back to their original position and jumped onto the pilot's seat. He let out a long "Aah" and gripped the yoke. With an expression that mixed joy and resignation, he said,
"Your brother thought it'd be a good idea to eat his burger on the plane. In the first turbulence, half of it was on the floor, and the other half was spread on the windows." He let out a breathless laugh. "Oh, kiddo. He kept crying and saying he'd never eat bacon again 'cause Old Continent didn't have WacNodalds!" Another laugh. "Can you believe it? It was so funny. Kids are amazing. Poor little Dickens, though. Once we landed, your mother tried to clean it up, but it was just useless—the bacon sauce was already all over the place, dry like sardines."
"Holy shit, I'm so sorry. Is it too expensive to wash?"
"Nah, older-Dickens. That happened two years and seventeen washes ago. By now, the smell is already part of the faux leather." He paused. "Imagine what that crap WacBurger does to your stomach." Modraniht sighed. His voice softened. "But your little brother didn't seem too great back then. I've met him once or twice after that, and... he wasn't much better." He turned around to look at Léon. "What changed to make you wanna see him?"
Léon took his time to lick his lips. "I...." He narrowed his eyes and hugged his backpack. "I spent the last four years in jail. Was released two days ago."
Modraniht's eyebrows shot up. "Oh." He sat down again, facing forward.
A moment of silence stretched between them, and Léon wondered if that type of reaction would be something common from now on. Maybe he should hide that fact when meeting new people.
Léon raised his eyes and focused on the way the strong morning sun hit Modraniht's brown hair.
"Well. I'm glad," Modraniht finally said. "You were freed, and now you're going to your family. That means you're going back to their support, yeah?"
That's what Léon hoped, yeah.
"It makes a world of difference when you're trying to do right. Mainly at your age." Modraniht bent over the side of the aircraft and shouted, "Clear prop!" He sat down and stared at the control panel. "Circuit brakes, avionics Master, Fuel selector Valve...."
Léon blinked a couple of times. "Mr. Modraniht?"
He turned a few more switches with loud clacks and turned to peek at Léon over his broad shoulders. "Hm?"
"She lied to me. My mother. To keep me here."
Modraniht's gaze moved between Léon's left and right eyes. "Huh. She must have a reason for that." He faced the panel again, and his big fingers hovered a flashing orange button. He took in a deep breath and lowered his hand. "Are you going anyway?"
"Yes."
"There's no going back once we take off, Léon."
"I know," he said in a stronger voice. He tugged his backpack closer. "Whatever happens, I want to face it with them."
Modraniht let out a long sigh. He spent another long moment frozen and then pressed the orange button. As he pulled a sequence of knobs, the muscles in the base of his jaw flexed and relaxed as if he was tense. He ducked to snatch something from the airNAV's floor, then put on a pair of aviator glasses. "All right. Let's get going, then. I'm sure your lover and family are all anxious to see you." He pressed a button, and a glass cover closed the cockpit.
The airNAV purred when Modraniht turned the key. As the old machine rolled down the airstrip, Léon pulled the phone from his pocket.
It was a sunny day in New Continent, and the weather forecast promised nothing but good winds and calmness. Léon gave Modraniht the pad with the form he had answered earlier, and then stared at his phone.
He thought about calling Rob's old number, but Léon was sure Rob had already changed it.
With a sigh, he opened his contacts and tapped the letter P.
***
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Did you like Modraniht? The next chapter will bring and old POV you know well ;)
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