Holly’s target lay away from what would shortly be a bustling centre of commerce. She adjusted her fingers, and the sensors in her armoured gloves translated the movements to commands for the mechanical wings on her back, sending her spiralling down towards the small island of Uunisaari, half a mile from the port.

‘The body sensors are nice,’ she said. ‘Very intuitive.’

‘It’s as close as it gets to being a bird,’ said Foaly. ‘Unless you want to integrate?’

‘No thank you,’ said Holly vehemently. She loved flying, but not enough to have an LEP surgeon sew a few implants into her cerebellum.

‘Very well, Captain Short,’ said Foaly, switching to business mode. ‘Pre-op check. Three Ws please.’

The three Ws were every Reconnaissance officer’s checklist before approaching an operation’s zone. Wings, weapon and a way home.

Holly checked the transparent readouts on her helmet visor.

‘Power cell charged. Weapon on green. Wings and suit fully functional. No red lights.’

‘Excellent,’ said Foaly. ‘Check, check and check. Our screens agree.’

Holly heard keys clicking as Foaly recorded this information in the mission log. The centaur was known for his fondness for old-school keyboards, even though he himself had patented an extremely efficient virtual keyboard — the v-board.

‘Remember, Holly, this is just reconnaissance. Go down and check the sensor. Those things are two hundred years old, and the problem is more than likely a simple overheat. All you need to do is go where I tell you and fix what I tell you. No indiscriminate blasting involved. Understand?’

Holly snorted. ‘I can see why Caballine fell for you, Foaly. You’re such a charmer.’