Gwenna was all for simple hand loops and no backup belts.
“And if you can’t hold on to the ’Kent-kissing thing,” she argued, stabbing a finger at Valyn, “maybe you ought to get dumped in the drink.”
Talal shook his head. “That’d be fine for short runs, but do you want to be hanging from hand loops all day? And what if we need to retreat with someone wounded?”
Annick was even blunter. “No. I need two hands to shoot.”
They had, strewn over the table in front of them, a baffling array of buckles, straps, hooks, catches, harnesses, rope, even an old leather saddle, although what they were supposed to do with that was anyone’s guess. There was enough gear in the shop to rig a dozen systems—and yet, none of them could figure a way to make it all fit, to put the pieces together in a way that was actually useful. Gwenna kept her hands busy tying knots, lashing hook and eye pieces to lengths of leather, while Talal held up one piece at a time, gravely considering each in turn. None of it was getting them anywhere.
At first Laith just sat back in his chair, regarding the whole conversation with a faintly concealed grin. He’d brought a firefruit from the mess hall, and seemed more concerned with trying to spit the seeds into the rubbish bin than he was with their abortive engineering project.
“You’re the one who’s been flying this ’Shael-spawned bird the past decade,” Valyn said. “You have anything to add?”
“Careful how you talk about my bird,” Laith said, spitting another seed toward the bin. Missing. “Women come and go, but Suant’ra’s been true to me for years.”
“How romantic. Do you have any ideas that might help?”
The flier shrugged. “I’m up there on her back. I wish you all the best, but it seems like what happens down on the talons is your problem.”
“It’s our fucking problem,” Gwenna snapped, “because you never learned to fly your bird the right way.”
“The right way?” Laith mused. “I prefer to think there’s not just one right and wrong, but rather, a great palate of options, each—”
“Oh, for Hull’s sake,” Valyn broke in. “Leave off with the horseshit for half a second.” He considered his friend carefully. Laith had a good mind, but as long as he considered the whole exercise irrelevant to his own role, he wasn’t likely to use it. Of course, if something happened to make him care …
“What about,” Valyn suggested innocently, “putting two soldiers on the bird’s back? As Laith’s pointed out, it’s easier riding up there.”
Talal opened his mouth to object, then, seeing what Valyn intended, shut it quietly.
“Two?” Laith spluttered, dropping all four feet of his chair onto the floor. “Where would the second one go?”
“Right behind you, I thought. They could hang on to your waist.”
“Any idiot hanging on to my waist while we’re flying maneuvers is just going to pull me off!”
“Luckily,” Talal slipped in, “we’re not idiots.”
Annick rolled her eyes at that.
“All I’m saying,” Valyn continued, pressing his success, “is that we need to keep all options on the table. If we can’t figure a way to get all four of us below, maybe we need to put an extra person on top.”
After that, Laith tossed the remainder of his firefruit in the trash and started confronting the problem in earnest.
At the heart of the matter was the trade-off between speed and security. It was easy to arrange a quick drop—it just meant you didn’t have much holding you in place during the gut-wrenching maneuvers leading up to it. On the other hand, all the buckles and knots of the conventional system made for great security—you could fall fully asleep dangling from the bird’s talons—but inefficient drops.
“What we need,” Laith burst out after they’d been going around and around for the better part of an hour, “is to stop screwing around with buckles. Why can’t the things just explode off?”
Gwenna pursed her lips, then nodded slowly.
“No,” Valyn said, stopping her before she could get started. “We’re not going to rig charges to ourselves or our buckles.”
“A very small charge,” Gwenna suggested, her green eyes bright, “if handled carefully, could do the job. We’d just need a slow-burn wick attached to—”
“No explosives,” Valyn said, setting his fist firmly on the table. “We may be the worst ’Kent-kissing Wing on the Islands, but at least we still have all our fingers.”
“For now,” Laith added.