Sighing, you looked around the inside of the Captain's Guild coffee shop as life in Constantinople passed you by. Alright, technically it was "Istanbul" now. That didn't change the character of the city in the least, though, and that character was a vibrant, bustling center of cosmopolitan commerce and culture. From your position on the hills in the eastern half of the city, you saw dozens of punts and cutters darting around the sky, each garishly-painted balloon standing out above the clear blue skies.
Looking down at your notes, you shook your head and tried to focus. You had to sell your cargo to one Sanjak-bey of Yeniköy, wherever and whatever that was. More importantly, though, you had a ship to unfuck. You knew you'd made a bad call playing for time over the Caribbean when those pirates attacked, but some damage to a steering main you'd fixed already shouldn't be that much of a problem. Something was up, and you need to fix it.
To that end, you finished off your coffee and collected your notes before heading to your airship. The aerodrome and facilities here weren't nearly as nice as the ones in Sault St. Marie, mostly in still using ground-poles for mooring instead of suspended cat-docks and elevated bridgeways. As such, you needed to catch a tram out to the area you were parked in, then hike to your pole.
Due to asinine and byzantine rules, all airships had to remain fifty feet above ground level at all times to help prevent interference with ground traffic from unloading. While this might make unloaded ground traffic easier, it made actual unloading a hell of a lot harder, as evidenced by the creaking chain hoists you heard going at the unloading. Normally you'd be up in there, keeping the whole affair from sending the ship into disarray as Loadmasters frantically adjusted the trim weights and lift systems. The freshwater hose hooked up to the tower was pumping steadily, working frantically to keep the ship somewhat even in the sky. Your options for ascending were either the tower ladder, or catching a ride up on the chain hoist. You chose the former.
Twenty minutes of lader-climbing later and a daunting rope-bridge walk to your dorsal hull, you finally made your way to your ship's wardroom. Inside, Jack was sipping a cup of tea, while Thomas growled as he looked through a book of schematics.
"Chief Engineer." You said respectfully, before swinging over to the counter and getting your own mug of tea and some rolls. "How goes it?"
"You remember that damage control team you sent out?" he grumbled, parsing through the design. "Well, they smelled a few rats, and I have to say I'm glad they caught them."
"Oh?"
Thomas leaned back in his chair, and sighed. "We've found a lot of shit that's not up to code or Guild standards. For starters, the steering lines, and we've been blowing gaskets in the ballast system like mad."
Your jaw dropped. "What do you mean?"
"Well, for starters, the steering mains are supposed to be interconnected rods, not straight chain. Then there's the fact the steering secondaries are supposed to be at least eight hundred pound test instead of three hundred pound test. Not to mention most of the chain wasn't shock rated, either. Kinda important, that. As for the ballest system, the moving tank weights are good, but the pump tanks are all leaking like sons of bitches. I've had to pipe in at least eighty gallons to portside so far, and it's only been two hours since we started unloading. Which reminds me, the cargo guys were saying the load decks were making bad sounds, so I've got to check that too so we don't lose a load deck."
Your head was flat on the table. "Anything else?"
"I'll tell you when we find it, and I'll tell you now we're gonna find more."
"Thank you."
---
As repairs went on, you had to go hunt down your buyer. After a long talk with the Guild Representative and a small bribe, you promptly got to work scrounging up a ride over to West Constantinople so you could hunt down your guy. With you was a pair of Loadmasters and another pair of Espatiers for protection and just looking important. Plus, it also came with the bonus of having people around who actually knew how to airship when your dumbass lighter pilot fell over the side into the Bosporus.
As that didn't happen and you did have to pay the laughing little stinkwad, you went out towards the Yeniköy Konak, or mayoral palace, or whatever the fuck things were called here in the Ottoman Empire. More importantly, though, you really hoped this guy spoke French, because trying to negotiate through a translator was a pain. You'd had to do it with Mama in Quebec a few times, and it never worked.
Then again, that was in Quebec, and this was someplace completely different. You could get lucky…
…or you could get stonewalled at the front door until someone came by who did speak French, wave you through, until it was the middle of the night and you wanted to crash and burn. At that point, though, you were finally introduced to, if not the man himself, than certainly someone who could speak with authority and a language you both understood. As you worked your way through the thick accent and thicker connotations, you figured out a few things. The first, and most important, was that you were apparently very early on the shipment. This produced a lot of concern- were you smugglers selling them after capture? Were you fakes? Were you bond-jumping someone else's cargo?
The answer to all that being "no" followed by "here's the paperwork" made this particular civil servant go rigid. Aparently, it normally took a month to do what you did in little over a week, and with significant risk of Greek and Italian pirates to boot! It took a few minutes of detail-wrangling to get the truth of it out- Engish-flagged ships didn't carry Ottoman cargo, Italian-flagged ships stole Ottoman cargo, and French-flagged ships were too busy in Tunsia- but once you were familiar with the details you were very unhappy. The group in Toulouse made this sound like a reasonable venture, not a trip through the jaws of a dragon!
After promises of an afternoon appointment tomorrow with the sanjak-bey himself at the aerodrome to cover the items of the shipment, you managed to get you and yours back to the Caroline Anahiem, where a far more damning list awaited you.
"So you remember that whole 'more problems' thing, right?" Thomas asked as you slunk into the wardroom. "Well… we've been finding them left, right, and center. Litterally."
You just groaned into a mug of tea and a meat bun. "Lay it on me, Thomas."
"Cargo decks are fucked, top ballast tanks are fucked, lower ballast tanks are gonna get fucked, fireboxes are extra fucked, condenser coils are fucked, steering engine's fucked, main transformers are fucked, two lift cells are fucked, magazine scrams are fucked, coal scrams are fucked and we nearly had a scuttle fire today, fuseboxes are fucked, steering main lines are fucked, we're ginna need to completely redo the internal layout to unfuck most of the steering, and tomorrow we're popping open the rudder mechanisms to see how fucked they are."
You thought for a minute, before finishing off your tea and violently slamming your head into the table. "Now I know why this ship was headed to the breakers." You moaned.
"It was a tech demonstrator for turboelectric engines." Thomas said. "That shit's expensive. Makes sense to cut a few corners after that."
"A few?" you asked. "A few?"
"Well, okay, this ship's books should be a set of damn circles from all the shaved corners."
"Thank you."
Sighing, Thomas pulled out a flask stealthily and took a long swig. "My opinion? Once we're back in the states, sell this piece of shit back to the scrappers and buy something that ain't falling apart at the seams."
"Noted."
---
The next morning, you still felt vaguely hungover as you rolled out of bed and into a pair of nice pants. Going for the full Airman's Dress, you made sure you were very presentable before you went groundside to await the sanjak-bey. On the plus side, you didn't have to wait long, as a particularly well-pointed lighter touched down in the aerodrome next to your ship. Stepping forth, you saw a handful of servants, followed by an opulent man. While you wouldn't say his clothes were dripping in jewels, he was very well-appointed in gold brocade and a well-tied white turban. Your own headgear, an Airman's cavalade hat, looked positively shabby in comparison.
You needed to fix that, posthaste.
"I great you, Captain." The sanjek-bey said, smiling. "I am Ibrahim Iskandar, sanjek-bey of Yeniköy. Tell me, is it true that you bring the cargo of French weapons two weeks before our most optimistic of estimates?"
You nodded, and mid-nod turned it to a shallow bow. "I great you, sanjek-bey Iskandar, for I am Aleksander van Riebeck. I bring cargo from France, sealed as your envoys did make it so for the delivery."
There was a lot of muttering in Iskandar's train at this, before he spoke, silencing them. "It is incredible, that the cargo remains unspoiled. For two years and more, I have been designated to secure foreign weapons for the Emperor, and for two years we have never received an unmangled delivery. Be it the Romanians and Bulgars, the retched folk, or the Greeks at sea, they still haunt our dealings."
You shook your head, and smiled. "We would have taken this trip in naught but three days, but there is a stain in the Aether which interrupted our progress and set us adrift. If even with these chains of misfortune we are still more swift than others, then I shudder to think at the ruin these groups have caused unto you."
"Truly, it is a great shame and dismay." Iskandar said, shaking his head. "Still, a deal was made by our factors, and so we shall honor it. Tommorow we shall exchange our wares, as is agreed. That is tomorrow, however- and today, as a gift to the most honorable merchant to have graced our city in matters of arms, I invite you to my yali for dinner."
You close your eyes, and bemoan your fate. "I apologies in advance if I am not able to arrive, sanjek-bey Iskandar, for my ship is young in age, but old in her soul. After a run like this, with what seemed to be an unkind spirit slowing our progress, she is in need of much attention to make her well again."
At this, Iskandar smiled. "My invitation still stands, and while it is tasteless to discuss matters of business in a yali, I would let you know of many an opportunity not publically avalible."
Nodding, you smiled. "Thank you for your generosity, sanjek-bey Iskandar."
At this, the conversation became less words and more conepts, specifically 'here's all our stuff, what's it worth?' to which the answer was 'a lot.' You were happy, but recognized that the repairs were going to be expensive as all hell. If you were in America, selling the ship outright for this much trouble would not be out of the question at this point.
Still, you had to start planning. New information, new plans.
Votes
The Dinner
[] Accept, and arrive in your full finery. This is an opportunity that could be literally once in a lifetime, considering this guy's got to be important. Mere middlemen do not get the fancy personal lighters and cloth-of-gold, after all.
[] Decline. Everything, and you do mean everything on the ship is absolutely fucked. Just sourcing replacement parts is going to be a nightmare, and designing and preparing for a full multi-deck remodel is going to take days to get everything to agree with each other.
Manpower Planning
[] Let the crew run wild and spend their pay. They earned it.
[] Let the non-rates go, and keep your core crew. This is a bustling port city, and you know you're going to loose people to its lures before the deadline to go hits.
[] Job's not done until the cash is in your hands, and after that comes the remodeling most likely. Everyone stays on the boat, even if it does mean paying the cooks double overtime.
