The cracking of wood snapped The Baron out of his slumber. The canvas blanket over him took on a glow as sunlight entered the barn. Hope sparked within him, but he held it in check. He listened as one side of the great double doors was opened, then the other. Only Pilot opened both doors. His canvas blanket shifted as Pilot pulled it off him. Cool morning air and a bright blue sky waited for them just outside.

His wires flickered warm as Pilot connected him to the battery. Moments later five gallons of precious fuel filled his tank. It was the good stuff today; aviation grade. Then began Pilot’s slow ritual. His hands caressed every edge and surface, every wire and bolt was tested, each instrument checked and adjusted. Only when Pilot was satisfied would the chucks be pulled away from his wheels. Pilot knew The Baron better than anyone; better than The Baron himself. He had built The Baron with care and love. His first memories were of Pilot’s thoughtful touch. The Baron had known Pilot before he had known the sky.

The chucks slid away from his wheels, and Pilot’s touch pushed him into the sun. A few of the big animals that carried Pilot sometimes were near, but they would flee once his engine started. Stepping up onto his wing, Pilot slid into place. Pilot latched the belts around himself, he and The Baron were one now: the five point harness would not let them part till Pilot chose to undo it. Now The Baron could truly let himself get excited, this was going to be a flying day.

Pilot touched the radio, setting it ready to call out its 1200 squawk. Plugging in his headset he spoke to the radio. Sometimes he’d talk to other Pilots in the air, but it was rare for one to respond while they were still on the ground.

“Allright Baron, you ready to fly?” Pilot asked him.

Of course he was, and he answered pilot when the ignition key twisted. His reincarnated engine roared with all its might at Pilot’s command. Once it had powered a car called a beetle, but it was The Baron’s now. He was a young plane with an old soul, a Fokker biplane built in the twenty-first century.

The large animals fled from them as they taxied to the long flat spot on the lower side of the field. The Baron’s flaps wiggled and his engine revved in one last ritual before Pilot loosed his brakes, and they began barreling down the field. Pilot forced his elevator hard against gravity’s pull, not letting off till the air pulled his wheels from the earth. The Baron climbed into the sky at Pilots command with everything he had. Only when they were above the clouds did Pilot ease the throttle back.

They played among the clouds for a while, before gaining a bit more altitude. Here they played their favorite game against each other; Pilot would try to stall him out, while he would fight to stay flying. Pilot usually got him to stall after a short struggle, but The Baron would always recover immediately. After a few rounds of this, they took a lazy flight over the neighboring farms, occasionally taking time to make a orbit around a silo.

It was in the middle of one of these tight turns that the weather turned on them. The blue sky vanished behind angry clouds that had been white and sparse moments ago.

“That’s a thunderhead, we gotta get home,” Pilot told him.

The Baron raced his engine as Pilot pushed the throttle in. He wanted to be sad about their day being cut short, but something told him they were in real danger. A strange calm unnerved him, and he could tell Pilot felt it too: the wind was too still, it had no life here.

He only had a moment to think about this before the calm became a fury. It was neither a wind nor a gust. It was an updraft, but like nothing he had ever experienced. This was not the friendly air that gave him free lift, this was a clutching, rasping force that made him fall into the sky. For all his might, The Baron could not break free of its grasp; for all his skill, Pilot could not show The Baron where to go. His altimeter spun as they were sucked into the dark mountain of cloud: six thousand, eight thousand, eleven thousand feet. Engine and control surfaces struggled to escape the rising plume of air, but neither propeller nor flap could overcome the unnatural force. Pilot set the radio’s squawk to 7700 and spoke into it, no answer, no other Pilots to help.

The Baron winced as something struck him. He didn’t have time to think about it before a dozen more strikes assaulted him, punching holes in his fabric skin. Pilot yelped in pain, he could feel him trying to curl up and hide from the assault, but the harness held him in place.

It was ice. Not snow, but balls of ice that tore at him. Twenty thousand feet, and the ice assault only intensified. Pilot shielded his head with the clipboard he kept under the seat, leaving The Baron to fly himself, it was a responsibility he took very seriously. Twenty-eight thousand feet— this was too high. The Baron never thought he would be too high, but he was. The ice had gone away, but the air was cold and thin, his propeller could barely grab air, and his engine struggled for oxygen.

Forty eight thousand feet, Pilot wasn’t moving. The Baron had to help him. He screamed in frustration. Anemic engine and tattered wings refused to save his Pilot; his friend. Sixty thousand feet.

White light seared The Baron’s skin, an explosion shook his frame. Lighting scared The Baron, it was a force that he knew could destroy him. He waited for a second strike, but it did not come. The air the had been attacking him stopped, replaced by tranquil stillness. The inky cloud still covered him, but now he could act, now he could save Pilot.

Down, The Baron tipped. He could not move the throttle from where Pilot had set it, but he could let his wing fail to hold the air. His altimeter spun with a whizzing sound; he was falling, but not that fast. Thick cloud gave way to thin fog, and The Baron again forced his wings to hold air. Pilot still wasn’t moving. He was alive, he had to be. The Baron didn’t know where he was. Water stretched from horizon to horizon, and his fuel was down to the last gallon.

Something called to The Baron. Not by voice or radio, but something called; another child of the sky. He’d seen other aircraft, been near several on both the ground and air, but they were not like him; they did not know their Pilot, they did not know themselves.

The Baron leaned towards the voice. “Help me! my Pilot is damaged!” he called to the voice. He had no voice, he spoke no words, but called all the same.

“This way,” the voice answered.

Following the wordless voice, The Baron plowed through the sky. It had to be near; he did not have the gas to go far, soon he would truly be falling from the sky. His will was strong, but he could not run his engine without it.

A shadow in the fog caught his attention. “I will catch you,” the voice told him. He had never seen such a flying machine before. It was bigger than a barn, with great webs of rope stretching between its sections. He knew what he had to do. Aiming for the webbing, he slammed into the other flying machine. He forced his propeller to spin far longer than it wanted to, tangling it into yards of the rope.

The world went black to The Baron. A soft voice woke him back up. “You are safe, you are both safe,” it sang to him. This machine had many Pilots, he could see them looking up at him with both fear and curiosity. They looked like the large animals Pilot rode, but much smaller. One lept into the air like a bird, and landed on his wing. Her feet tore his abused fabric even more, but she was reaching for Pilot. He would suffer far worse, if she could save Pilot.

She pulled at him, but the harness held him tight. She fumbled with the clasp, it took far too long for her to solve the puzzle, but the eventual click of its release was music to The Baron.

“Sleep now. He is safe,” the voice said. Her words soothed his tattered frame. Gentle blackness washed over him as he watched Pilot lowered to the strange ship’s floor.