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expressions. She’s widely regarded as one of the best pilots in our camp. But there’s still space between her and everyone else. I’ve never been able to tell if she notices or cares.
    “Indie,” I say, walking up to her. I’m always relieved to see her alive. Even though she’s an errand pilot like me, not a fighter pilot, I always think she might not make it back. The Society’s still out there. And Indie’s as unpredictable as ever.
    “Ky,” she says without preamble. “We’ve been talking. How do
you
think the Pilot’s going to come?” Her voice carries, and people turn to look at us. “I used to believe that the Pilot would come on the water,” Indie says. “That’s what my mother always told me. But I don’t think that anymore. It’s got to be the sky. Don’t you think? Water isn’t everywhere. Sky is.”
    “I don’t know,” I say. This how it always feels to be with her—a mixture of amusement and admiration and exasperation. The few trainees remaining around her mutter excuses and start across the room, leaving us alone.
    “Do you have an errand tonight?” I ask her.
    “Not tonight,” she says. “Are you off, too? Want to walk to the river?”
    “I’m on duty,” I say.
    “Where are you going?”
    We’re not supposed to tell each other where our assignments are, but I lean closer, so close that I can see the dark blue flecks in the light pools of Indie’s eyes. “Central,” I say. I waited until now to break the rules and tell her because I didn’t want her to try to talk me out of going. She knows that once I get to Central, there’s a chance I might find a way to stay.
    Indie doesn’t blink. “You’ve been waiting a long time for an assignment there,” she says. She pushes her chair away from the table and stands up to leave. “Make sure you come back,” she says.
    I don’t promise her anything. I’ve never been able to lie to Indie.

    I’ve just started eating when the siren sounds.
    Not a drill. Not tonight. This can’t happen.
    I rise with the rest of the trainees and head outside. Figures, fast and dark like me, run for the ships. By the looks of things, it’s a full drill. The runways and fields are crowded with ships and trainees, all following procedure to prepare for the time when we all run one massive errand to take over the Society. I switch on my miniport.
Report to Runway 13,
the message reads.
Group Three. Ship C-5. Copilot.
    I don’t think I’ve flown that ship before, though it doesn’t really matter. I’ll have flown something like it. But why am I the copilot? I’m usually the pilot, no matter who I’m flying with.
    “To your ships!” commanders call out. The sirens keep on shrilling.
    When I get closer to the ship I see that the lights are already on and someone’s moving inside the cockpit. The pilot must already be on board.
    I climb the steps and open the door.
    Indie turns to look at me and her eyes widen in surprise. “What are you doing?” she asks.
    “I’m the copilot,” I say. “Are you the pilot?”
    “Yes,” she says.
    “Did you know they were putting us together?”
    “No,” she says. She turns back to the panel to start up the engines on the ship, a sound familiar and unnerving at the same time. Then she glances over her shoulder at me, her long braid whipping around. She looks angry. “Why waste two of us on the same ship? We’re both good.”
    The group commander’s voice comes in from the speaker in the cockpit. “Begin final checks in preparation for departure.”
    I swear under my breath. It’s a full drill. We’re actually going to take flight. I can feel my trip to Central slipping away.
    Unless they send us there on our drill. There’s still a chance.
    Indie leans forward to the speakers in the cockpit. “We’re missing our runner,” she says.
    The door opens and another figure in black comes in. For a moment we can’t see who it is, and I think
Maybe it’s Vick, or Eli.
Why not? I’m paired