Stella Magenta Book 1 1.1

“Skylar, would you pass me that wrench, please?” Timothy Rennedon, Skylar's father and the owner of Rennedon Repairs, requested, sticking his head out from underneath the cockpit.

Skylar nodded and sifted through a pile of different sized wrenches before selecting one of the larger wrenches. She slid it over to her father. “This one?”

Mr. Rennedon examined it. "That’s the one. Thanks."

Skylar didn't respond. She was too busy working on her own section of the airplane, making sure that everything was properly greased. In her professional opinion, it looked as if the fan to keep the motor cool might be clogged by the grime from the engine, so she grabbed a rag and carefully cleaned the fan blades to ensure that they would spin quickly and smoothly.

“My section looks good,” she yelled to her dad, who was now adjusting several knobs in the cockpit. “How’s your side coming along?”

“I'm getting there. A couple more minutes, maybe. While I work, how ‘bout you check the output valve?”

Skylar groaned.“Okay.” She picked up a bucket of cold, murky water and an old rag before shuffling over to the output valve, where the dirt from the rest of the airplane accumulated. This was one of the messiest parts of the plane, and while she didn’t usually shy away from messes, all the gunk, oil, and whatever else had made its way into this pipe was a whole new level of messy. This was her least favorite part of aircrafts by far, and she tried to get out of this job whenever possible.

“Are you sure this is necessary, Dad?” she called. “I mean, this ship is pretty much brand new. I don't think we have to clean every nook and cranny, do you?"

“Just do it, Skylar. You’ll live." Unsurprisingly, her father was unsympathetic. “Besides, I thought you wanted the full experience. Cleaning up gross messes is a big part of mechanics." While his tone was light, Skylar could tell that he was serious.

“Well, maybe I’ll hire somebody to be my partner when I take over the shop,” she called back. “Somebody who will appreciate my knack for invention and my ability to nurse even the skeleton of an airplane back to health. Even better, I’ll make my kids do all the dirty stuff so they can learn to take over the family business.”

“What if your kids aren’t interested in airplanes?”

Skylar gasped dramatically. “May it never be so,” she declared in her most theatrical voice. “I guess I’d just keep having ‘em until I found one that had a liking for it. Besides, I’ll pass my genes down to them, so there’s no way they won’t be absolutely obsessed with any and all machines.”

“Quit rambling and check that valve." Even though Skylar couldn't see her father, she could sense him rolling his eyes.

Sighing, Skylar got down on one knee to look inside. There was a little bit of dirt clinging to the sides of the valve, but not nearly as much as some other vales she had been forced to scrub. In older ships, sometimes the dirt was so thick it completely clogged the pipe, and it could take her the better part of an hour to clean it out. For some reason, the thick layers of filth in the output valve disgusted her in a way unrivaled by any other part of the ship.

She pushed her rag into the valve, stretching until her entire forearm had disappeared in the pipe. She grimaced as her arm brushed against the dirt, then moved the rag in a circular motion, pulling it towards her slowly until enough gunk had built up. She dunked the rag in her bucket, wrung it out, and repeated the process. After she had done this three or four times, she took one final look at the pipe. "Good enough," she muttered under her breath before carrying the bucket rather ungracefully to where her father was finishing up his work in the cockpit.

"Finished,” she called up to the cockpit, walking over to where her father had set his toolbox .

“Leave the rag in the cockpit and then come up here.”

Skylar tossed the rag in the bucket, turning her head at the last second so she didn’t get a faceful of dirty water. A few droplets of dirty water landed on the side of her face, and she wiped them off with the back of her hand. She bounded up the stairs to the cockpit, taking them by two until she was standing next to her father. “Ready!” She could barely contain the enthusiasm in her voice. She loved this part of repairing airplanes—the part when her father would turn the airplane on to make sure it worked properly and sometimes let her sit in the pilot’s seat.

Her father smiled and pointed to one of the switches. “This is the main power switch. When you're ready, flip it, and we'll make sure that everything is functioning right."

Skylar gasped. “You mean it, Dad? You’d really let me turn it on?”

Her father smiled, showing his slightly yellowed teeth. “I think you’re ready, don’t you? You’ve been a great helper the last few months, Skylar. I’m lucky to have you.”

Skylar blushed crimson with pride. Even though she had been longing for the day she was allowed to actually turn an airplane on, her father's praise was even more valuable to her than this distinguished honor. She leaned over and flipped the switch, reveling in the feeling of power as the switch slid from “off” to “on”.

With a hiss, the engine started to purr, making the floor under them vibrate. Mr. Rennedon clapped Skylar on the shoulder. “We did it, Sky! She’s as good as new, and we’ll make a good profit from this. You did great today. I’m proud of you.”

Skylar beamed. “Thanks, Dad.”

"Go update the books while I put a few finishing touches on," Mr. Rennedon instructed. Skylar obediently climbed down from the cockpit, still exuberant with the thrill of turning the plane on.