CW: There's a fair bit of early 1900s parochial racism in the early parts of this chapter.
Sitting in the office, looking over reports that you had written, you reflect on your short time in Akitsukini. The success of your short flight in the C.5 obviously featured, the memory of soaring back and forth over the coastline with the rotor thwip-thwipping above you still fresh in your mind. But that flight could have just as easily been over the familiar Southern hills and valleys of Hesperia, your home and motherland. No, what you were really reflecting on, as you stared out your window at a passing omnibus, was the familiarity of it all.
From what you'd seen, Akitsukini was a nation of hardy, quiet, respectful folk; they rarely complained about their assigned lot. Oh, they work and they socialise and they party - Dios Mio, do they ever party - but despite their shared attributes with the other peoples of the world, they are still more reserved and inward-looking than any others you have met. Even the icy-boned Varnmarkians were more sentimental than this Oriental breed.
That served as an even more apt point of comparison than you'd intended. When you'd last spent time with friends in Varnmark, complaints about the recent civil war had been as constant as the serving of foul vodka. Here in Akitsukini? Not a single murmer. Oh, it wasn't as if everyone simply pretended there had been no war with Caspia, but to the average onlooker, Akitsukini was as peaceful now as it had been during its decades as the hermit kingdom of the far east.
Both nations had suffered, but where the Europans grumbled and fussed about the devastation of their favourite restaurant in Polyapavlosk, the locals simply… went on with their lives.
Of course, what people said out loud was only part of the story. Although you've hardly wasted your free time wandering the streets of Kanagawa like some benighted tourist, you haven't let your mind or eyes be idle either. Even in the more well-developed parts of the city, the signs of conflict were still all around you. The walls of council buildings and police stations still bore the remnants of worn recruitment posters, beautiful monochrome depictions of brave Akitsukini soldiers rushing across no-mans-land, or the stylish lines of Ohara aircraft soaring across open skies. The weather's brutalizations were clear; raindrops had left long trails down the artwork and smeared the poorly printed ink. It seemed at a glance as though the brave soldiers were crying.
The posters were hardly the only evidence of the conflict. The government's rationing program was still in effect, although you were hardly poor enough for its impact to register. Occasionally, you would pass a veteran on the street, maimed by the war and quietly hoping for the charity of a passer-by. People - though not your sort of people - were still suffering the effects of the war with Caspia, and the occasional sign of that only made it more intolerable to be around them.
The nation's pride was unthreatened, and so was its dignity - indeed, their victory over Europa's poorest cousin had bolstered both in the eyes of the world. But the people of Akitsukini were wounded both physically and spiritually. What could you do to change that? Nothing, really. You weren't a member of the aristocracy here, hell, you barely were back home. You held no sway over politics, no patrician's right to dinner invitations or consultations on policy. All you could do was design aircraft.
But designing aircraft was hardly nothing. The C.5, both the one that remained back home in Hesperia and the one you'd constructed here, were simply prototypes, proofs of concept that had no real bearing on reality. Or, in more practical terms, they had no chance of being sold as anything but a novelty. But Mr. Asano is a businessman; he didn't hire you to create novelties, he wants production lines and purchasing contracts, something that could rival those Akibara people he was always going on about. Therefore, if you wanted to remain in his employ, you needed to identify a need and produce a design that somebody would want to buy.
You pull out a notepad and start scratching out ideas with a sharp pencil. An autogyro isn't going to be a dogfighter on par with the Dragonfly, and it's equally unlikely the Navy will take a risk on a float-'gyro when they have the whole ocean as a landing strip. You have to focus on your aircraft's particular strengths and weaknesses if you're going to have any success in this business. A low stall speed, the shortest take-off or landing run ever seen and incredibly safe failure modes - these are the things that make an autogyro unique. These are the things to draw upon in creating something new.
You raise your pencil from the paper and look at what you've drawn, seeing it properly for the first time. You've got it!
- - -
"Good afternoon team." You say to the gathered group, though "team" might be a tad grand. You have a secretary, two actual employees, and a nominal translator who seems to be around mostly out of curiosity rather than an ongoing need for their presence. By now, you'd picked up enough of the language to communicate with your subordinates, even if you were still unsure of your ability to carry on a casual conversation with them. Still, the translator's presence provided comfort, in the knowledge that any miscommunications would be swiftly resolved.
Tomomi smiles at your glance, and you wonder for a moment whether they can hear your thoughts. "The C.5 was a success, I'm very pleased with our work, so let's keep it up going into the C.6."
You lay down a slightly neater sketch on the workbench you're gathered around. On it is a half-finished drawing of an aircraft significantly larger than the C.5. A pilot and a co-pilot sit in the forward section, while rather than the narrow wings of its predecessor, it has a long, low structure extending a couple of feet out on either side. You had helpfully labeled those sections with 'Stretcher', although you'd had to do it in Hesperian. Your understanding of the written form of Akitsukini's language was still woefully childish, and hardly up to the task of a technical diagram.
"You want… a transport plane? A scout? I'm not sure what I'm looking at." Ichiro, the engine expert, folds his arms across his neatly pressed shirt and squints. "I thought we were planning to take things slowly, develop a trainer before more specialized models. We can't rely on you to fly everything we produce."
"A trainer wouldn't sell. It'd be useful, sure, but who are we going to sell them to? No, the Navy is always on the lookout for new aircraft." Michi taps on the bench, leaning in to get a better look at the drawing, before glancing back up at you. "This is a naval scout, yes?"
"No. And before you ask, it's not for the Army either." You snap, a little more harshly than you had intended. Michi recoils and you offer a gesture of apology. Something about selling this 'gyro to the military has your hackles up. Maybe it was spending all morning thinking about the wounded.
"No, this, ladies and gentlemen… and others," you make sure to add, hoping your correction was quick enough that Tomomi didn't glare at you, "This is a hospital transport 'gyro."
This proclamation is met with a beat of silence. Then another. You had hoped for a positive noise, a word of appreciation. Instead, the four of them are staring at the drawing. Ichiro strokes his chin, Tomomi clutches a folder to their chest. Nothing is forthcoming until finally Kiko looks up and meets your eye. She smiles warmly and it births a tiny flutter in your chest.
"I like it!"
That was good enough for you.
Choose your initial priorities for the design (choose two):
[ ] Power. It needs to be able to everything it needs and more.
[ ] Safety. It needs to be secure if anything goes wrong.
[ ] Sturdy. It needs to be able to land anywhere.
[ ] Multi-purpose. It needs to be able to land anywhere.
