Ordinary Heroes: Molniya

The very official looking document began with Ms. #Lebedev. That mistake was enough for the entire thick envelope to find its way into the recycling. #Keziah was hanging over the back of their curb-found couch, a pint of ice cream in his hand and a spoon in the other.

“Wazzat?” he asked around a mouthful of multicolored, frozen dairy product. His head and shoulders lowered along the back of the couch, tucking and rolling as his hips cleared the top. Somehow he kept the pint upright the entire time as he rolled forward onto his feet. Spoon in mouth he walked over to the bin and pulled out the packet. #Molniya reached for the packet, but he fended them off by thrusting the pint into their hands and in a quick flick of his nimble fingers, the spoon into the contents.

“It’s just another offer to dissect me, #Kizzy,” their voice held an edge they didn’t mean for him, but these pharmaceutical offers came nearly every week. At least they stopped showing up at their door in fashionable suits and bleached smiles. #Keziah peeled off sheet after sheet, gave each a disapproving pout, and promptly deposited each into the recycling bin.

#Molniya scooped a hefty serving of the brown and white swirl with nuts. They kicked lightly off the floor and tucked both legs into a crossed sitting position as they drifted across the open living room. It was more of a communal space that had been a kitchen, living room, and dining room, but the owners had the walls knocked down making it one big open room with their bedrooms on one side, the sliding doors of the very thin balcony on one, a noise reduction foamed, shared neighboring wall, and closed off by what used to be a hallway to the front door. Now it was just a short hallway with a small utility room that doubled as a closet attached.

They kept the common area pretty clean through a mutual understanding when they moved in together. Neither wanted to bring someone home and have to explain random pieces of clothing or pizza boxes. Molniya drifted over the artistically painted and stickered cable roll turned coffee table. Another spoonful and they drifted over a discarded mishmash of boards and building materials that served as a shelving unit for records and turntables. With a well timed elbow she sent herself spinning slowly toward the kitchen and #Kizzy. He read a single page as he dropped remaining into the recycling. Molniya held out the nearly empty pint. Keziah plucked it from their hand and thrust out the single page.

“Lotta zeroes, Moe,” he sighed leaning against the island they had refinished by hand last summer. Molniya extended their neck and opened their mouth so he could grab the spoon. He deftly plucked it away and scrapped the bottom of the tub before tipping the whole thing up to scarf down the last melted sweetness.

“Lotta needles, Kizzy,” they retorted dropping the page with the financial offer letting it flutter down to join all its brethren. He nodded and sighed. The empty pint plunked into the waste bin and the spoon flew true landing with a clattering in the sink. Molniya applauded lightly with long delicate fingers. Keziah grabbed their knees as they floated by and pushed them into the living room once again.

“You working tonight?” he asked letting them go with a push that sent them spinning in place, “or am I spinning for other folks only?”

Molniya let their legs open up in a wide straddle. They stretched their long arms overhead and kicked both legs down into a pointed toe line. They spun in place, the entire living room one blur of multicolored streaks from their increased angular velocity. All at once they threw their limbs wide slowing down their spin and willed themselves to a stop facing Keziah. He had just set needle to groove and was moving his hips in the way he did prepping for the beat to hit. Molniya believed he had every song memorized for structure.

They kicked over in the air, arching their back hands chasing ankles. If they had a hoop it would look like an aerial bar push out. They kept the roll going, fingers reaching for their pointed feet. After two full rolls, they swam their arms out and up until they floated in a pointe. A feat that was much less painful when one ignored gravity. Kizzy gave a little golf clap masked by the beat of the speakers. With intro ending and the full force of the song in swing, The roommates danced around the living room, Kizzy with fast feet and Molniya swimming through the air. Molniya dipped low and grabbed the strap of the large duffel they kept filled with dancing necessities and anything else they needed, “I work later. I got some stuff to deal with first. I think I have a delivery or two waiting for pick up at the day office.”

Day office was the quick gigs they could get doing city flight delivery. It paid poorly, but it didn’t have set hours. Night office was the club Kizzy waited and they danced at. On non-weekends, Kizzy also got to run a few spots as the DJ. Molniya tried not to miss his shifts since the club only had a handful of dancers who could fly. Those performances often brought more tips in and more notice for the staff.

Keziah flattened himself against the curtains and glass sliding doors onto the 30th story balcony. Molniya came up short, one leg extended, the other bent at the knee, both arms out wide. Some fliers said that all the body motions were psychosomatic and they didn’t actually help with flight. But since no one really knew how fliers flew, and since Molniya found it helpful, they just kept flying as they felt. Keziah had a concerned frown.

“You know you’re gonna get a ticket,” his voice already had a tone of defeat, but he didn’t move, “and another one means you have to go to flying ed classes. Again.”

“I got the course all mapped out. Alleys all the way,” they waved a hand in an attempt to waft the needless concern away, “plus pidges got more important things to chase than one lone flier.”

“I’m just saying,” he held up his hands and stepped out of the way, “I’d hate to see you grounded. I hear they don’t clean them between uses.”

“Never get me in a boot!” Molniya thrust out their pointed chin, impish smile plastered on their face, “never met a pidge that could catch me anyway.”

Kizzy opened the sliding door and bowed, one strong arm sweeping across his chest and out into the cool city air. Molniya did a bow in the air that rolled over into a forward roll and flew out the opening. Regular doors were for grounders.

The cross breeze between buildings was stronger than usual. The shape of the city tended to force air along certain paths. Today, the wind must be from the east, because there was a certain hint of sewage in the air and a strange updraft from the warmer air of the industrial section of town. Molniya danced among the currents regardless of the smell or origin.

They stuck to the fire escape trellised alleyways, shooting across open streets after quick glances around for any Pidges floating about with their ticket books and bike cop reminiscent uniforms. Active wear for the active flying law enforcer. A typical Pdige hot spot was downtown and the classier sections of town. Down here, and the industrial section were only hot with activity when there was trouble or some quota.

Molniya dropped stories as they went from alley way to alley way. Some folks hanging out on rooftops or lounging on metal fire escape stairs waved as the lithe flier passed. A pair of kids threw paper airplanes which Molniya snatched from the air, did a long legged back kick flip and tossed them both back at the kids. Their screams of glee lost in the rushing wind of a speedy exit.

As they got lower, the noises of the street grew clearer. More fliers shot along the streets mimicking the car patterns below. Since fliers could go in multiple dimensions intersections were a cinch; east west roads were always a lower altitude than north south roads. All flight lanes were conveniently indicated by double sided LEDs attached to telephone poles, lights, and buildings. Stay between the lights, no tickets. Deviate from the path, ticket. Pretty easy system. If you wanted to fly at boring speeds in ordinary spaces.

Molniya eyed a pidge as they slid into the light traffic. The man sat like a blue and black gargoyle on a police issued building perch. He had a radar gun out and was checking cars as well as the few fliers zipping through the intersection. Molniya did a lazy roll through the open space waving at the officer as they went by. The man barely moved, just tipping the end of the radar gun their way.

Some cities didn’t allow flying within city limits at all, but this city had the largest flyer community here for some reason, so the city counsel had a few too many protests and packed chamber meetings to ignore it forever. Even though they tried. For every hundred grounded folks there was one flyer here. It wasn’t often that their density was that high, but something about this city brought fliers. It was probably the openness to the large unregulated rural areas outside the city.

Most folks above street level were like them, heading to or from work. A few wore the bright colors of some advertising firm trailing a streamer with some picture or ad. Molniya dreaded that job, flying endless loops around stores and through downtown hocking some new widget or appliance. They weren’t above doing it, they just hated it. At least their current job let them break a few rules to deliver packages and parcels to designated offices around the city. These offices had external drop off location on the outside of high-rises. Flying curriers such as themselves were allowed to fly up along the building to deliver time sensitive packages . Their biggest rivals were the scooter couriers on the streets, but usually, flyers were faster. Day office employed both kinds, which caused the expected internal rivalry.

The workers entrance to Speedies Deliveries - whose mascot was a turtle in runners gear - was a large roll cargo door, currently open, and a set of double doors to one side, also open. There was also Molniya’s entrance, the sky light above the locker rooms. Molniya slipped in the open window and drifted quietly under the exposed rafters in the open two story room. They dropped their bag on the ground followed by shoes and pants.

“Fuck, M” the startled courier shouted clutching her chest, her uniform half zipped up, “can’t you use the fucking door like the rest of us?”

Shanda was a scooter courier and fierce. Molniya had once seen her drive through an active arrest and along a 2 by 4 laid across drying cement. Not on the same day, but they imagined that almost every delivery was equally as daring. She flexed her brown shoulders and zipped the green and white overalls up to her chin. Molinya upside down in the air retrieved one uniform from their bag and hung it in the locker. They retrieved the one in the locker and began donning it with little twirls and spins to get a leg through or an arm.

“I could,” they replied, “but what if Harvey was using it too? His head and little ol’ me couldn’t fit through at the same time.”

“It would be a tight fit,” Shanda smiled and pulled the space fighter pilot themed scooter helmet over the two poms of hair. Harvey was another scooter, but unlike Shanda he didn’t consort with freaks like Molnyia. He also had the best record for deliveries of the entire staff which may have been impressive if he also didn’t get the easiest deliveries known to man.

Molniya slid their phone into a forearm sleeve pocket and opened up the employee app. It pinged and slowly resolved the city map around them as they pulled on their shoes. Nothing was flashing an urgent message so they followed Shanda out into the common area. It was shift change so folks mingled coming into or leaving work. A few couriers were lounging around on their phones or tweaking their various modes of transportation. Most were grouped up into little cliques of delivery locations. There was a phys-enhanced girl with a rugged bike that did dock deliveries. Molniya disliked the name Bricks. They felt it lumped a dazzling variety of physical enhancement into a rather bland wrapper. The PE girl was laughing loudly with two boys who would make more sense at a biker bar than the delivery shop. Harvey was out in downtown, but a handful of his throng sat with sneers on their faces as Molniya floated in.

The wall across from the locker room was a projection of names. All the couriers logged in to the app at the moment were listed along one side. When a lovely little chime would sound in the building, the courier’s app would vibrate and the destination would appear on both the wall and their phone. Other information could be accessed by anyone interested- pick up location if it wasn’t at the shop, the amount of time allotted, and the fastest it had been done. There was a lot of talk around the common room about having two separate times because flyers had it “easier”.