Raven's Prey

“What was that? What happened?”
    “Just a little turbulence. Nothing to worry about. Now, see that peak over there? Try flying toward it Remember, keep the wings level. What the devil? Honor, the airspeed’s disintegrating. It’s going to hell! Get the nose down, you idiot, or we’ll stall. For God’s sake, can’t you feel that shudder? That’s the first warning of a stall. [_Get the damned nose down!” _]He grabbed the controls again and eased the plane back into a level altitude.
    “I don’t know about this, Judd…”
    “Don’t steer with the rudder pedals,” he growled.
    “You did on the ground!”
    “That’s different. Okay, let’s try another turn. Easy, Honor, take it [_easy! _]You want to get us into a spin? Watch the turn-and-bank indicator.”
    “Oh, boy, am I having fun,” Honor muttered savagely just under her breath.
    “What?” He glared at her suspiciously.
    “Nothing. Forget it.”
    “All right, now let’s try to keep to one altitude, shall we?” Judd asked with exaggerated patience. “We’re all over the sky. Watch the ammeter for a minute, will
you?”
    “Which one’s the altimeter?”
    “This one!”
    “There certainly are a lot of instruments, aren’t there?’ Honor gritted tightly, staring at the numbers behind the glass in front of her. “This isn’t exactly like driving a car.”
    “Of course it isn’t. Keep the wings level, Honor.”
    The next half hour comprised the worst thirty minutes Honor had ever spent in her life. She was soaking wet by the time Judd instructed her to turn the plane back toward the airport. Her instructor sat grim and implacable beside her» his vocabulary now consisting of a heartfelt oath every three words or so.
    Honor felt like doing more than a little swearing herself. She didn’t care if she never rode in a plane again in her life. Some fun.
    “Okay, we’re nearing the airport. I’ll take over,” Judd announced, sounding as relieved as Honor felt when he took the controls. “You can handle the radio.”
    “I don’t know what to say!”
    “I’ll tell you what to say and when to say it,” he informed her evenly. “Start by saying, ‘This is Cessna nine-nine Lima five miles out. …’”
    Honor seized the microphone and dutifully repeated the landing information in a laconic, laid-back, southwestern twang that brought Judd’s head around in astonishment.
    “Where the hell did you get the accent?” he demanded.
    “All pilots talk like that on the radio,” she informed him sweetly. “Everyone knows that. Commercial pilots, airline pilots, private pilots, astronauts, military pilots. They all develop this lovely southwestern drawl when they get on the radio. Haven’t you ever seen the movies? Or heard astronauts landing? It’s part of having the [_right stuff, _]you know. Even you talk like that on the microphone, Judd.”
    “I talk like that because I was born and raised in the Southwest! It’s my natural accent!”
    “Nope. You talk like that on the radio because that’s the way pilots are supposed to talk. What do I say next?” she inquired, feeling more cheerful by the minute now that the controls had been taken out of her hands. “I like this part. Maybe I could just become a professional on the mike.”
    Judd cast pleading eyes toward heaven but he grimly gave her the rest of the directions, wincing visibly as she repeated them in her newfound accent.
    “Cessna nine-nine Lima entering downwind for runway one-eight,” she drawled at the appropriate moment. “Turning final…”
    Judd brought the Cessna down with his usual expertise, allowing the rollout to bring them even with one of the runway turnoffs. It had been a perfect flare-out and landing, and Honor was disgusted by it. The least he could have done was to have bumped along the runway a bit He was just trying to make her own performance in the air suffer by comparison. “Show off,” she muttered.
    “All right, now, Honor. Pay attention. There’s a lot to be done at the end of the flight. You have to pull the mixture control, turn off the mag switches, lock the controls, shut off the radios and the master switch—”
    “You should make a list!” she told him crisply.
    “I’ve got a list” he countered. “Right here.” He reached behind his seat and produced a plastic-encased list of procedures to be followed before takeoff and after landing.
    “Well, why in hell didn’t you give that to me earlier?” she blazed. “It would