To get back in the air, she’d consider paying MHA. To get out of waitressing, she definitely would. She’d certainly have taken any wage close to what she made at the truck stop.
In among the huge stack of paperwork to sign aboard with MHA—including a few curious documents like a nondisclosure agreement and a form to authorize a high-level governmental security check, both of which she’d signed with a shrug of indifference—Queen Beale had handed her a p*****t schedule that had shocked Robin clear down to her boots. Base pay as a civilian Firehawk pilot was high living by Robin’s standards, a number that acknowledged hard-learned skills and then some. But if she spent a few weeks over the summer collecting the hazard pay for each day spent on a fire, it would be life changing.
There was an
