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“And that’s about the gist of it,” Chaz gloated outside, three o’clock that afternoon once her rounds were done. It had been a lazy day and she gulped messily at her water canteen, spilling most of it on Corny below. She sat in the fig tree with her Pokémon and rubbed her knuckles on her uniform. “Pilot Light is in deep because of all the foreign buggers -no ‘fense Caz- are eating up our business.”
“Bloody Chariots and Qwiksilver!” Kibs swore, grinding his fist into his open palm. “My brother’s mate’s mate was given the bum’s rush because they’ve completely taken over the Orana territory. He reckons the branch is goin’ta close down.”
“Lucky we’ve still got the upper hand in the Bugaral,” Debbie said softly, speaking of the Metone’s arid red centre.
“Yeah,” the group mumbled solemnly, picking at the ice-cream cake melting into sticky puddles in the afternoon heat.
Terra nullius. There was nothing but simmering sand dunes stretching from horizon to horizon for days on end and no navigational markers. Pilots only took a day’s worth of water as a rule to keep weight to a minimum but to do so in the Bug’Rall was to invite death by a few dozen degrees. You could even make a half decent omelette on the sand’s surface, provided you scrapped the bottom off when you were done.
But Jandirri was one of the ‘Gateways to the Bugaral’ and thus a vast tract fell under Blue’s responsibility. He would only send Chaz, Corny and Mouse into the desert. The three could navigate in the featureless landscape by some internal compass from soak to soak where water bubbled to the surface. He thought it was the only use Chaz’s blasted internal compass had and would happily whack her nose with a rolled up newspaper if she mentioned the itch.
“Still,” Chaz said perkily. “It really speaks to me! Risking life and limb for the underdog as it battles the big companies bloated on their own self importance-”
“Sound familiar, eh Chaz?”
“Shut up Kibs. I’m like, one of those blokes… you know, who love their region enough to sacrifice everything they have for it… you know... thingies?”
“Cheapskate?”
“Egotist?”
“Potato?”
“Martyr!” she snapped her fingers triumphantly, cocking an eyebrow at her Pokémon. “Potato?”
It had been Aello the tranquilla who said that. She nestled the entire upper branches like a bean bag. She was a native of Metone’s reef environments and her wingspan was almost five metres of glossy white and teal feathers. A pretty star like array surrounded around her head and her tail resembled massive cresting waving.
There were collectors who’d risk life and limb for a tranquilla, although certainly not this one due to the faulty Greatball of her previous owner. She could traverse the worst of oceanic squalls like pedestrian crossings but couldn’t reach reality with an all day bus pass.
“I’m a martyr,” she repeated haughtily, daring anyone to disagree. They exchanged knowing Sure-You-Are-Chaz looks which seemed to be distributed with the introductory package, along with other helpful expressions such as ‘In-A-Minute-Blue’ and ‘Are-You-Sure-This-Won’t-Cause-Internal-Haemorrhaging-Kibs?’ “They don’t like our oceans either. Can’t figure the currents and keep getting caught in storms.”
She bared a blood thirsty grin at visions of tsunami waves burying the black and silver figures of Qwiksilver pilots in foam and fury.
“So when do you leave?” Mouse asked shyly, doodling in the dirt and blushing.
“I’m away by the end of the fortnight, flying all the way to the tip!” Her friends shrugged, but their eyebrows shot up like caffeinated caterpie when she added, “By plane!”
“What? You’re springing for a plane ticket? Tell me I’m dreamin’!” Kibs’ crowed, grinning up from the base of the trunk. He ducked the sandal that sailed by his ear. “No more ginger beer for Chaz!”
“You calling me stingee?” she growled and looked for other projectiles. She didn’t know one of her other nicknames was Stingington for her coin-counting ways. “As it were Kibs -who will still be slaving in the Jandirri branch until the day he’s too heavy to get of the ground- their shout.”
“Thought so,” he taunted, batting his eyes wantonly at just the wrong moment. Just enough time for the other sandal to strike his ear with a grunt.
Smirking, her eyes flitted affectionately across the gang, almost passing over Caz who sprawled on the grass with his hands behind his head and an angelic smile. Her smirk faded because she knew Caz’s dictionary went straight from innkeeper to innocuous.
“What do you know about this Caz?” she demanded. She clambered to her feet and shuffled to the end of the branch which overhung his reclined figure. When he didn’t answer right away she bounced up and down a few times on the branch and letting a few leaves pinwheel onto his face.
He brushed them away. “They asked my brother yonks ago. He’s in on the deal and loves it. Reckons he’s got a girlfriend for every city he’s delivered to in the last fortnight,” he leered to Corny who wore a look of pure envy. For emphasis, he repeated while patting his chest meaningfully, “Loves it!”
“You have a brother,” Debbie asked with increasing disgust with Chaz's grimaced in confirmation as the thought took hold. “There are more of you released on the gods fearing public?”
“Yep!” he grinned salaciously and tried to pinch her bum. “Taught me everything he knew!”
“Bring a can of mace with you,” Debbie advised, her mouth curled in mock revulsion.
Chaz sighed. In the eastern afternoon sky the moon was a smudgy globe on the horizon, so close it was almost scary. The other night there had been a creature feature on television and like a moron she had stayed up to watch it without even Chester for company.
Debbie collected the paper plates from the others and kicked Kibs when he tried to hide his beneath a buttress root.
“Oh no,” moaned Chaz, her head in her hands. She dropped from the tree and her face scrunched in sudden revelation. “Gotta break the news to mum. She’ll throw a hissy fit. She doesn’t like me living here; she won’t have it if I’m crossing oceans to get to other regions.”
“And your dad?” Deb tossed the plates in the wheelie bin beside the door and leaned across the lockers. She waved as the others mounted up and took to the skies. The wind whipped wildly for a few minutes rattling the leaves of the fig grove like maracas until little Mouse darted away on top of his thrumming Flygon.
When it died away, she looked thoughtfully up at the sky. “He’ll find somewhere to hide. He’d rather avoid confrontation than be a parent,” she said with annoyance.
She twirled the dial to her locker and pulled out a duffle bag that contained clean clothes, generous amounts of hairgel and makeup. It was dubbed the emergency pack and was reserved for any emergency her mother could cook up to bring her home. She could go from the north to the south of Metone in less than twenty four hours and that still wouldn’t be good enough if her hair was mussed and face bereft of lipstick. “He likes that. It would be too much to ask him to support me because I want to do this.”
“Do you?” Deb blurted, sounding generally surprised. She scoured Chaz’s upturned face still scowling at the full moon like it offended her, and shrugged. “It’s just that you don’t get excited about much.”
“I do too,” she retorted defensively.
“That’s for show,” she said knowingly. “This is something you want to sink your teeth into. Something exciting.”
“You’re not jealous?”
“Nah. Somehow struggling across storm churned oceans doesn’t appeal to me. I’d like to live ‘til I’m thirty, thankyou.”
“Hah! What life after thirty? I better nick it anyway. I’ll leave the bike here and fly straight there. She still has my old clothes in their old draws with perfect creases. It’s not like she doesn’t have enough to do looking after Elliot and Conrad.”
“Twelve and sixteen, right?”
“Elliot was ten in May. I swear to gods, you should see them. It’s the smut on TV, or that rap music. If he gives me lip I’ll boot him up the backside so hard he’ll need dentures. Dad doesn’t do anything, and mum would rather whine about how the wind dries out my skin. Hooroo, seeya tomorrow.”
“If El doesn’t have an embolism.”
“Don’t say that!” Chaz shrilled, both shocked and bemused that it was a distinct possibility.
She strapped the duffle bag on tight and recalled all her Pokémon except Razor the pidgeot. She clambered up, tucking her legs close to his body just before his wings. She loved flying, and she loved Razor whatever any outside observer saw. There was nothing so comforting in the world as leaning the curve of her body into his neck and feeling the downy softness of his feathers.
Prior to her rejoining the Jandirri outpost life had been incredibly complicated. Her mother threw a fit each time she moved but the independence was worth it. Life, free of unhinged professors and manipulating maternal instincts had never been sweeter.
“Fly me home to Bindagai, Razor. Speed would be nice but don’t tire yourself. We should reach it bout sevenish tomorrow night.”
“Can’t I practice?” he alluded deviously. His wings which had been fully extended to allow her to board pounded the air and they rocketed almost vertically with a boom ricocheting through the trees from the violently displaced air.
“WAAAAAAHHHHH!”
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Chaz hid gloomily behind one of the tall conifer trees that lined their driveway of the house she grew up in, checking herself with a compact mirror and a torch. She’d changed down at the local pub and filled up with a bit of Nuschantz courage so to speak. Two glasses of scotch and cola was beginning to give her head a nice buzz. It was almost eight o’clock. Elanora would not be a happy chappy.
“Stop it!” she hissed at Razor who couldn’t stop sniggering.
Compromises were made, but they were entirely Chaz’s.
Her mother was very picky about her hair. Spending years hurtling through high winds had sculpted much of it into upswept wings that she thought suited her personality perfectly. She had enough gel that could keep a kindergarten gluepot full for six months, or merely lather the wings of her hair down so that they were imprisoned in an ugly bowl cut. The tail she wound into a lopsided bun. To complete the transformation was inexpertly applied lipstick, rouge and a cheerful yellow sundress.
She slunk up the sweeping veranda and knocked, mentally preparing herself for the dinner ahead like a prisoner preparing for the guillotine.
The door budged open but before anything else, Elanora Crane swept her up and down critically then opened the door wider.
Jazzed up as she was, the similarity between mother and daughter was eerily close. In genetic lottery, her mother’s fairy floss pink hair had been enriched by her father’s black. Their coffee coloured skin was exactly the same, save Chaz’s was wind scaled and speckled with bruises. There wasn’t much she could do to hide the one on her chin and she didn’t miss the tightening of the lips as her mother’s eyes ran over her face. They were even wearing the same style dress.
“Happy Birthday Chanticleer!” she cooed, hugging her tight. As she pulled back Chaz saw her eyes weren’t focused at her, but past her. Razor nestled in a lower branch fiercely. “I told you not to release them near the house,” she said severely.
“They are not them, mum. You aren’t going to treat my Pokémon like animals,” she said tersely, forcing her fingers to remain unclenched. “You know Razor, he’s my fastest and a good friend. He’s saved my life plenty of times.”
“Be that as it were, you wouldn’t have been in danger if you weren’t a Pokémon Trainer,” she sniffed.
“Well I am!” she snapped but at least restrained herself to that with gritted teeth. Elanora’s expression hardened to argue but she quickly interrupted. “Or I leave now, birthday or not.”
“Fine.” Her smile stuck frozenly to her face like the pebbles of a snowman but Chaz ignored it. When it came to family fights, her Pokémon was the only topic where she unanimously came out on top. Every other subject was a battle of wills. Wills you could bend iron around.
Without waiting she flourished her other Pokeballs and her other partners appeared on the lawn. She hoped one of them would take a crap right in the middle of the driveway, but knew they wouldn’t be so rude even if the driveway was Elanora’s.
Elanora didn’t hate Pokémon, but she regarded them as little more than exalted power-tools. There were good if they had a purpose but otherwise to be left alone. Most of her mother’s distaste stemmed from the fact they took away her darling daughter’s time from her and it wasn’t until after Chaz returned from her journey did she start complaining about the furrets going through her garbage or the lightning storms the pikachu attracted.
As these thoughts made her heart sink with dread her mother glared at the company. Already Chaz regretted releasing them in that moment of pique as Autoch shambled off with scales clattering. Her only non-flying type wore his usual bewilderment when above ground and picked listlessly at the driveway with pronged claws.
“The sandy-slash isn’t going to dig up our drive way is it? Your father wouldn’t like it.” Feodore wouldn’t say boo to a goose.
Chaz sighed in answer and let herself be led off into the dining room. Home, bitter home.