Yep. A matched set of broadside mount installations (everything but the gun, basically) is about a half to a third of a spinal mount installation. Part of the reason for this cost is that broadside mounts get a lot of use out of the existing framework. To get an idea of how this looks, have a picture or two.
The thing that makes spinal mounts so expensive is that they go over that very large framework, while broadside mounts go in it. The difference adds up fast in terms of weight, material, complexity, and therefore time spent which has direct influence on cost.
Smiling to yourself, you started thumbing through your wardrobe. It had been a long time since you'd gotten to spend a night on the town, and you happened to know of a few good places in Toulouse from a few of your friends who'd left town earlier. You were no heavy drinker to be fair to yourself, but as far as vices went it was one of the few you could indulge in fairly harmlessly. Women and dice were both expensive, cards was too much thinking and not enough playing, and the mere thought of holding a fire of any sort too close to your face was appalling for any number of reasons.
"Ah, Captain?" you heard at your door. Going over to it, you opened it to reveal Czeslawa in a rather nice evening dress, a plain broach decorating the high neckline. "I heard some of us officers were going to a rather nice… establishment… tonight."
Taking a moment to subtly appreciate the lush figure in front of you, you smiled. "Yes. I was going to Ric's Café Americano, and the rest decided the Captain apparently knew the best bar in town. Worried about your dress?"
Shaking her head, Czeslawa looked at you for a moment, before sighing. "No… I just don't speak French."
You chuckled for a moment, not unkindly. "Don't worry. Ric's has servers who know what they're doing and most drink names are international."
"Oh!" she said, blushing. "You think my dress is too little, though?"
"No, no! It's fine!" You said, taking a step back. Czeslawa smiled then, and gave you a polite hug.
"Well then! I'll let you get changed!"
Sighing as she left, you went back to your closet and got out your nice clothes. It took only a minute before you'd equipped the shirt and vest, slacks falling onto your form neatly. After came the cravat, coat, overcoat, and finally a nice, tight hat.
---
After filling a carriage to the brim with you, Jacob, Lauri, Elisabeth, Lucia, Czeslawa, and Donald, you were off to Ric's like a tightly-bunched herd of turtles. While things in the carriage were kinda awkward, it all panned out well enough when you finally got to your destination. Once you got there, a rolling piano tune greeted you there at the door.
Stepping out, you walked into the café jauntily. It didn't remind you of home too much, but hell, a little English and warm smoke sure did help. Finding a table was easy enough, and so was ordering. A good dinner first, then came the drinking. You weren't planning on getting hammered, but a good meal would make it easier to enjoy a few good drinks.
---
"Mon Deu…" you muttered, waking up hapazadly. You were sprawled out in one of the chairs in your ship's lounge, hangover pounding at your temples like the fist of an angry god. "Tabernac…"
"Oi! Who turned on the lights?" Another voice called out, moaning briefly. Your brain was choking like a clogged coal grate, though- you didn't recognize it. Standing up, you moved your way back to the small counter with a dumbwaiter behind it, and reached below the shelf. Pulling out a bottle of gin, you shakily poured yourself a glass and threw in a little orange juice too. Slugging the hair of a dog down, you hissed as the bitter mess ran down your throat, clearing out the feeling of fermented shit that pervaded your senses.
"God have mercy!" a pious voice wailed, forcing you to resist the urge to wing the glass at the noise. Rubbing out your eyes, you looked around the shag carpet and tapestried walls and noticed something- this wasn't your ship. Reaching up, you adjusted your hat to scratch your head, and came down with a rather large red fez. This wasn't your hat, either.
"Th' fuck's going on?" you murmered out loud, before pouring yourself a glass of water and looking over the twenty-odd young men and women sprawled around carelessly. Going to the hatch, you finished your water and left the glass in the container. Moving out, you were greated with an all-to-familiar sight; the interior blukheads of the Caroline Anaheim's bow.
"When the hell did my ship haul passengers?" you asked rhetorically before moving to the catwalk with a main ladder. Sliding down, you hit the central 'cat, and then moved aft until you got to the small area where the Espatiers were bunked. Rapping on the door to the not-room, you waited until you saw Lucia's bleary head.
"What happened last night?" you asked, your ruffled clothes and fez matching her truly titanic case of bedhead.
"Well… it all started when Czeslawa ordered a bottle of vodka for the table…"
---
"Pah!" the busty Pole said, knocking back another glass of the strong liquor. "Bring something worth the name!"
Eyes twitching, the server brought out a large, clear bottle, and wandered off. Smiling as she read the label, Czeslawa poured out a round to the table, laughing. "Now we get to have fun!"
---
Looking at Lucia, you groaned. "Mistakes were made, weren't they."
"Oh, yeah."
Nodding at her quite solemny, you blinked a few times. "Well, then. Listen, we should be in port another day or two, so feel free to do… things. Also, in the wardroom, I'm going to be issuing each officer a bounty packet. Pickup some new staff, maybe invest in a thingy…"
"You're hungover too." Lucia accused, rubbing her forehead too.
"Oui."
"Sta hè una orribili 'idea."
"Oui."
Nodding at each other, you both turned around and did something else- in your case, going down to the infirmary and getting some god-blessed aspirin for the hangover that was creeping up on you like a walking barrage.
---
In the Infrimary, you groaned quietly as you saw Czeslawa snoring lightly in one of her beds. Moving softly with catlike thunk thunk thunk noises, you creeped up on the common medications cabinent.
"Aspirin, aspirin…" you muttered, looking through the drawers and cubbies. "Aha! Now… dosing chart, dosing chart… lesse… two tablets."
After taking the medicine, you slipped out of the infirmary, right before a great big ripping snore went through the area. Poking your head back in, you saw several beds back a snoozing Lauri, arms wrapped around… a teddy bear? Creeping closer, you observed it carefully, right up until you noticed a slit under the arm and down the side. Something hiding in a teddy bear? Curiosity mildly sated, you went back out of the infirmary, heading to your cabin to get changed.
Once you were done, you went back to that impromptu lounge you'd woken up in after what was presumably last night's drunken antics. On returning, you noted the carpets were a little thinner, the tapestries a little less new, and the occupants all semi-mobile. One dressed particularly oddly and wearing your hat stepped forward, smiling slightly.
"Ah, yes Jaqualine, here he is! The airship captain I hired last night!" the leader said, grinning. "You do remember that, yes?"
Screwing up your face, you let the thoughts come to mind. "Let me think… Lee, was it?"
"Yes, Count Thomas Lee. The agreement was a trip to Bombay for the English half of my compliment, and Annam for the French portion."
Running some figues frantically behind your eyes, you thought costs, what a group of forty-ish lordlings and Figures of Import (and how had they grown twice over when you were more sober? Wasn't double-vision a sign of drunkenness, not the reverse?)wWould be able to pay, what a group of forty-ish would consume…
…ow. Yeah, these weren't going to be solo cargo, no sir. You'd need something else to fill the holds with. Time to say as much.
"You do understand that you have hired passage, yes?" you said diplomatically as you could. "Not full use of the airship?"
"Quite, quite!" the young man said, grinning. "We did hope to make a bit of a tour of it, after all. See the sights in Constantinople, possibly Baghdad, perhaps visit the fabled Samarkand of the great Russian airshipmen- why, who knows where we would end up?!"
"Hopefully where you planned on." You replied, deadpan. "We'll need to discuss real numbers later; I have other business. We'll inform you of our planned departure, alright?"
After your work getting that load of passengers handled, you promptly went to getting a purchase of cargo ready to go. After talking around the Captain's Lounge at the Airshipman's Guild, you quickly figured your best bet for fast profit that would go a long way towards getting your wayward passengers where they needed to go was a cargo of materiel to the Ottomans.
Of course, "materiel" was such a vague term, and judging by the way you were warned extensively about the fact each crate had internal and external seals and there would be reduced payment if any seal was broken, then your materiel was assorted military goods. You might not have been able to read Arabic, but when the words "Mle. 1875" were stenciled on the side you were pretty sure that was really a cannon in the box. Likewise "Lebel" was probably rifles, and anything with a Fabrique National was gonna be ammunition or pistols.
Not that you cared as long as you knew which boxes were ammo and therefore needed to be located on a cargo scuttle system. You weren't going to pretend to know how the great games of European politics rolled around, and the fact of the matter was that you didn't really care, either.
What you did know, though, was that things were going to be dicey. You'd offloaded your injured crew and distributed a fair chunk 'o dough to get the ship brought up to a full… well, full-er manning. Earlier boasting aside, you knew you needed to be at top performance for a run over the Balkans, and this meant forking over for more crew. Balasteers, Loadmasters, and Aether-Riggers were your main focus, followed on by more bridge crew and actual petty officers you could delegate piloting to so you and Jack could do things that weren't bridge watches. Engineering was mostly fine, while another man on the mess kept everything there handled. After that was done, you proceded to stock up on free hands- forty of 'em, the shiftless and paperless buggers. Non-rates might not have had the naval jobs of chipping paint and scraping barnacles, but they were handy for mounting a full and unabridged series of lookouts, and more importantly serving as impromptu damage control and general repair during a fight.
Those divisions you didn't give massive piles of men to, you instead gave qualitive gifts. From crates of saps and batons for the Espatiers, to wool chin caps the Motor-men, and new aprons for the Engineers, you made sure to spread the funds you'd allocated to crew supplies without scrupple. The allocation towards improvement hadn't been huge, but it had been well-spent.
This was pretty damn important, though, because again you were flying over the Balkans. Serbia and Montenegro were both places where the rule of law was questionable at times, and Greece wasn't exactly a pleasant chunk of land by any means. Add in the potential of Russian raiders (a persistent rumor nobody knew was true or not) and the area was one rarely visited by airships rarely for a reason. You had two mostly-safe options, and then there was the risky one.
Option one was simplest, and most likely to not go kaboom. Toulouse to Rome (probably carrying some tramp cargo) then Rome to Crete (again, with tramp cargo taking up your spare space) and from Crete to Constantinople. Plus side, very safe, with no crossing into and out of the Aether. Minus side, it had no time in the Aether, which meant high fuel costs, difficulty in managing the ballast, and didn't actually reduce the odds of piracy that much.
Option two, an Aether hop from Toulouse to Vienna, and Vienna to Pest and Pest to as close to Constantinople as you could get, given the notoriously bad Aether currents around the Bosporus. Upside, the most dangerous part overflying Bulgaria, Serbia, and Romania was all in Aether. Downside, it was a fairly tricky thing, as you'd have to go through Austrian and Hungarian customs if you wanted to do anything other than layover at those areas.
Option three, direct Aether flight over the Balkans. Risky, tricky, and possible to go wrong, it also had the advantage of being damn near guaranteed not to run into pirates. Instead, all you had to worry about was tricky Aether currents, and the possibility of dealing with shenanigans inside the Aether.
Time was closing in on you. It was time to make a decision.
Choose Your Path
[] Mediterranean Route (Slow speed, moderate risk of pirates, no ambushes)
[] Austrio-Hungarian Route (Moderate speed, plenty of ports, riddled with officials, low risk of pirates)
[] Aether Direct Route (Fast, very low risk of pirates, moderate danger of Aether complications.)
Please discuss extensively; public domain materials should be very accurate and if not up to the task then I will happily elaborate.
Looking out over the table, you hit your head on it rather dramatically. The route to Vienna was up in arms with the air over Bayern reputedly full of Swiss privateers and other mischief, while there wasn't any cargo headed to Rome right now. The only remaining solution would be a direct to the Bosporus, followed by a de-Aether and hoping you weren't too confused on re-entry to reality.
"Captain." A voice said from the door. Turning, you looked at Lauri.
"Yes?"
"Thank you for the extra crew. I hope this time we can have a gunnery drill before the battle." He said, formally. You just nodded.
"I'll see what I can do." You replied, looking back at the table. Shaking your head, you raked back your hair. Time to see Elizabeth.
---
It was a bit of a climb to the central bow station, but once you were there it was fairly easy to make your way to the Navigator's Perch. A fairly large room trapped under the curvature of the dorsal envelope and the bowmost lift cell, its rear border was the ammunition elevator to the spinal mount and the struts that connected the first proper lateral frame of the ship.
Elisabeth's lair wasn't too far off from the few other Navigator's Perches you'd scene over the years. Once you were through the door, you had to step carefully around numerous piles of… well, stuff for lack of a better word. On the walls, nearly a half-dozen charts sat, their hand-drawn majesty showing in how red and blue inks clashed. String pegs littered them, showing routes potential and actual. A low dresser near the room's prominent master gyrocompass was stuffed full of taped-together sheafs of paper, while a skull grinned macabre from the top.
"Eeep!" Elizabeth yelled, jumping out of an unseen hammock and dusting herself off hurridedly before she looked at you. "Captain!"
"Easy, easy!" you said carefully, walking up to her. "I'm sorry if I startled you, Elizabeth!"
Shaking her head carefully, Elisabeth just nodded carefully and moved briskly over to the gyrocompass. Tapping one of the mounts carefully, she grabbed her octant off a table and looked at you. "So, Captain… what do you need?" she asked, shyly.
"What do you know about Aetheric routes in the Balkans?" you asked, moving over to a detail chart of Europe.
"Captain…" Elisabeth asked, carefully. "Are we going there?"
"Yes. I can't seem to get around it, unfortunately."
Blinking, Elizabeth went over to the dresser with the skull on it. Digging through the drawers, she undid a sheef of papers and spread them out over what looked like either a desk or a sheet of duralumin used in structural repair balanced on old textbooks. You understood maybe one sheet in five- no two seemed to share the same hand, and you swore you saw two other sets of characters aside from the Latin alphabet.
"The Balkans isn't exactly the most airship-friendly region." Elizabeth began, picking up a paper avidly and racing over to get a reference book. Inside, table on table was printed, much like an almanac. "Part of the problem is that they're part of a theorized Aether convection current on the downstroke, which means the area is riddled with downdrafts and phenomena. Add in Bulgaria's… avid… community of privateers going after anything vaguely Ottoman, and there's a reason most anyone with sense stays out."
"We're trying a direct to Constantinople. That should get us over Macedonia before anything pushes us out of the Aether."
Elizabeth shuddered momentarily, and muttered to herself before turning to you, face to face. "I'll need a bonus. And I'll need you to learn some Navigation before we hit the Balkans so I'm not on duty all day."
"I'm not a Navigator." You pointed out mildly.
"You're close enough to learn the basics." Elizabeth said, turning from you briskly before she started scrambling around in a seabag. "Here."
Looking at it carefully, you noticed it was a stamped sheet metal octant, similar to the brass and enscrolled version Elizabeth used.
"It's an Apprentice's Octant." Elizabeth explained, thrusting a small book at you. "You can't break it, and if you can I get a free Master's Octant from the makers. The book is on common phenomena, so study up! You know how a standard sextant works, so just practice taking sights and read the book."
"Yes, Elizabeth." You said, smiling. "I'll try to return everything like I found it."
"Alright… Alek." She said, and you smiled. This was the first time she'd ever used your name, after all.
---
Casting off was a bit of an affair. The French didn't want you to leave without some very unnecessary paperwork, the customs crew was all over you like mash on moonshiners until you told Engineering to floor the Zeppelin Device and get you up over their cutter's altitude ceilings. American cutters topped out at about a thousand feet above sea level before they had expansion issues in the lift cells, and judging by the French's stoppage at what you figured was eleven hundred ASL theirs weren't too different.
"Captain, we've spotted an Aether Point." Your bridge's talker said. Nodding at him and looking to Jack, you grinned.
"Steady as she goes. Put us through the point, please."
As the Talker started yelling at everyone things to the tune of "oh shit Aether Transition get it locked down" you grinned and pulled out your octant. The Toulouse points were all quite stable, and you'd been told by Elizabeth you could do the entry on one.
Somehow you'd forgotten the wee little problem to make sure your octant was, you know, actually stinking level when you were at altitude. Adjusting the system to keep the tiny gyro steady, you had to give out several corrections on the way through threading the needle.
"And we're through!" you called out, laughing. Your bridge crew shot you all filthy looks, especially the talker who had to explain that yes, nothing had gone hideously wrong and it was time to cool the engines down to a dull warm and get everyone to un-tie everything they had panicked about earlier.
Alright, hard part was over! Jack could handle the bridge unless Something Funky came up, so until then you had run of the ship. So, what to do?
VOTES
[] Something something something, Engineering. Every time you've gone down, something's come up. Besides, you want to talk to them about a warm-water pipe to the crew quarters for radiators for the absolutely frigid nights.
[] Get your Gunnery Crews together, and sound them out for ideas for improvements. You might not want to shell out for more guns too much, but there's got to be something you can do to help the guys out.
[] Track down your passengers and try to pretend to be civilized to see exactly how much you can squeeze them or while you're in Constantinople. They've got to have connections or something you can use to do things on the cheap with.
You had to admit, you were'nt always the best Captain in the world. Mostly because your first reaction after the Aether Transition was to go to your quarters, crawl in a ball, and take a long nap.
Hell, you were tired. You earned it.
Of course, once you woke up you decided you needed to Do Something. Your father might have been Catholic, but he proved that work ethic was more of a Germanic Virtue than anything the Protestants had made for themselves, and that particular trait had been pounded into your head ever since you could stand on a boiler watch or run across a mainspar.
Also, you couldn't get ten minutes of consecutive sleep in from the sound of Czeslawa snoring across the hallway in the medical area. A good nap required it to be longer than two sneezes after all.
So, Doing Something. Aside from the deep desire to take a nap, you also had those passengers aboard in what you were pretty sure was a passenger area whacked together under the dorsal keel, first to second frame. At least, checking the planbook in your small cubby of ship's literature, that's where any passenger compartments were to be located as per the modular design system so the secondary heads could be located just aft of the second frame and tie into the primary waste line to the rear waste handling system and water recovery tanks.
So when you got to the second frame, you were on one hand highly relieved to see the passenger quarters exactly where they should be. Less entertaining was the fact they were directly over a lift cell. Normally, this wouldn't bug you.
Normally you had a bit more than an alcohol-fueled haze describing your passengers and or cargo. Even back when you were… fifteen? You think you owned your first lighter at fifteen. Anyway, you'd always, always made sure to keep the cargo and passengers nice and tight and secure, so that if something happened then there wouldn't be a mess.
Especially considering what happened after you crashed your first lighter.
"Good afternoon, Captain!" you heard cheerfully as you opened the door to the stateroom and quarters. Inside the brightly-lit room, you smelled a hint of mint julips, along with a warm tobacco smoke scent.
"Good afternoon, Mister Lee." You replied diplomatically. "Tell me, do I smell tobacco?"
"You would indeed!" the English lordling said, chuckling. "Care for a cigarette?"
"No. As a point of order, I need you all to refrain from smoking while onboard." You replied, frank. "This entire passenger area sits over a lift cell, and as such there is a potential for hydrogen seepage into your quarters."
As one of the ladies, French if you were to presume, asked if it was dangerous, Thomas scoffed. "Why, I've seen the lads at the Royal Society douse matches in hydrogen gas before!" he exclaimed.
"So have I." you remarked offhandedly. "I've also crashed lighters with their envelopes on fire, though, so I'd say on the by and by that the best ships only have fire in their boilers."
Thomas and several of the gentlemen looked at you. "Crashed?" he asked. "It sounds like quite the tale!"
You chuckled, and moved over to the wet bar. Pulling out an ashtray, you wet it and passed it around. "After I can rest easy on knowing I won't need to repeat the experience."
As several cigarettes were snuffed, you smiled and went over to the cards table. "To start, a lighter is a far cry from a rigid-hulled ship of the skies and Aether as this. The engines are small rotary affairs, and they have no legs to speak of- but for an eventual captain, they're an essential experience…"
---
Batting your eyes open, you groaned. God damn it all, you were wearing that fez again and you'd passed out on the cards table. On the plus side, though, you remembered everything- including, after the better part of a bottle of what looked suspiciously like some Mexican rotgut liquor best used for stripping paint, that young Mr. Lee would be putting together a collection to fund a week's berth in Constantinople. He'd pressed you on a stay, and in return you'd pressed him for funds to do so. Ten days had been negotiated- seven on his behalf, two on yours for the handling of cargo, and an early departure on the tenth to dodge the rent collectors.
Still, as you got your hat back, you moved out of their quarters carefully and down to the mess. Two rounds of hangover cure later and some breakfast, you mosied on down to the bridge to see what was happening. The answer being nothing, you then started the long climb to get topside so you could practice taking sitings with your Navigator's Octant.
The process of taking a siting was theoretically simple- just sight the horizon, sight your item, tune the device, and read off the time and measurement. In practice, read in the Aether, it was a little harder. For starters, there was no sun, just light. The other problem was there weren't any celestial bodies.
In short, it was much like being in the middle of the ocean at high noon on the equator. You had zero things telling you which way was which, no points of reference, and no landmarks or benchmarks.
Which is where Navigators came in. They weren't exactly common, but they were a hell of an improvement on the dead reckoning a merely mortal captain was stuck using. However they did it, they managed to pull landmarks and references out of the glowing, warm mists of clouds and colors and translate that into probable location, relative speed, and heading. Theories abounded on their nature, and more than a few places put them on a tight leash.
Thank God America didn't, or you'd never have gotten Elisabeth. Still, as you peered around the sky through your octant's lens, you noticed something. A flash of green?
No matter. You'd practiced today, and you were fairly certain disturbing Elisabeth right now when she took the evening watch readings would be a bad idea. Besides, you probably still smelled like alcohol fumes. Not exactly an admirable state of affairs, that.
Still, you had time to kill before you needed to be the Officer on Deck. What to do, what to do…
VOTES
[] You were fairly certain the ship had a fairly spacious aft shower and baths for long haul trips. Might as well use them, get cleaned up.
[] More Responsibility Time- hunt down Donald and make sure all your cargo scuttles are assembled right, and you can clear anything that's in danger of going up double-quick.
[] Go back to your cabin and go over the books. A week's long enough to get some minor work done to the ship- maybe look into some upgrades?
You were tired, rattled, and possessed of an aroma not at all pleasant to the nose. On the other hand, you'd certainly powered through worse with the aid of stiff coffee and a chill, bracing wind. But there was no reason for you to suffer in silence today. You'd checked up on the swaddled up bundle of cloth that possessed deep within itself, like a pearl hiding in the furthest recesses of a clam, your navigator. In your estimation you'd earned a few moments of relaxation, and you could hear the baths aft singing your name.
You ducked aft, weaving through the slender durluminum spiderweb that was Caroline's keel and trying not to think of the comparisons to lacy undergarments the gossamer buttresses brought to mind. You've heard… interesting things about the current state of French fashion, but you were certain there wasn't a lady there bound in quite as complex a rig as the orchestra of guy-wires and framers holding your lady Caroline in her streamlined girdle.
You chuckled to yourself as you walked, the last hazes of your alcohol-lubricated party last night putting an uneasy swaggering your gait. You Caroline purring under your shoes, her great mass gently swaying this way and that with every passing breeze and minor course correction. It wasn't much, really. Not violent at all, just the swaying of a curvy lady walking the town.
You hastily doffed your vestments at the door and… well, you'd intended to fold them up, but that was the kind of thing that could wait for later. As it was, you just sort of… wedged them into a cubby and ducked deeper into the hot, wet room. The baths were nestled right near the boilers in what used to just be trunking for steam pipes. Even at altitude it was pleasingly warm, and the air was thick with warm, sweet mist.
You walked absentmindedly to one of the stamped-metal tubs and sank down as far as your massive frame would allow. It felt good to sink into the water. So good you almost nodded off before you realized something.
You weren't the only one taking advantage of the excess supply of hot water Caroline's massive boilers provided. To your left, Lucia's fast asleep with her sinewy arms thrown up on the tub-sides. Her mouth hangs open in a most unladylike fashion, and there's a little river of drool trailing from the corner of her half-smiling mouth.
You tried not to stare, but… without the stiff leather and heavy padding of her flying gear, this is the first time you'd gotten a good look at her figure. It's most unladylike, but you already knew that. What you didn't know is just how divorced the poor girl's figure was from anything that could be considered womanly. Her body was all cut muscle, like it'd been carved out of particularly reticent granite by an impatient sculptor with dull chisels. Her chest was… not.
You couldn't find ways to describe it other than in the negative. One might even say underdeveloped. The poor girl was clearly in dire need of some cake, you'd make certain to pass the word on to the cooks. And, if you recalled correctly, the Turkish produced some… delightful little jelly-cubes. Maybe in concert they could help fluff out your espatier's woefully underfed frame.
"Ahem."
You almost jumped from your bath at the cough. Surely there couldn't be another woman in here with you! What would people think! Slowly, you turn in place, hoping that if you move slowly enough the noise will vanish back from whence it came.
"Captain." Czeslawa's got the fainest hint of a bored smirk on her plump face. Everything about her is plump, really. You'd noticed that before, you'd be surprised if there was a man alive who hadn't taken a second look at the way her figure filled out her cold-weather gear. Especially the—erm—fore-upper quarter. But seeing her naked like this…
If Lucia's chest was the essence of negativity, Czeslawa was the other side of the same coin. Unbound by her usual preference for long heavy dresses, her chest swelled like foam atop a stout ale, almost threatening to bubble over the top of her tub in its fullness. You know she's young—nobody with a figure so full could be so unmolested by the rigors of time and gravity—but at the same time she looks the very image of a happy matron. You can almost hear the universe wispier in your ear a wordless cry to set right what went wrong and make Czeslawa the mother of your children.
You ignore the universe, however, and concentrate on covering your unmentionables from her gaze. You can't quite get a read on her, but she seems far less flustered than you are. A part of you imagines she's probably seen men naked before—and worse—in the course of her trade.
You're quite certain that, should you search the some total of humanity and filter out every last member of the fairer sex for comparison, you wouldn't find a more perfect exemplar of the words "Buxom" and "Curvaceous" then Czeslawa. Every part of her is round and soft, from cheeks that hadn't quite lost the girlish fat of her youth to a bosom that swelled against the tub's sheet-metal side like a tugboat's bumpers.
Strangely, she seemed almost unaware of her shockingly requisite figure. She thought as much of her chest as a racing yacht thought of the bumpers keeping it from scratching its paint against the pier. You're not certain how unusual that is, having never been this close to such a matronly woman wearing so little to cover herself.
"Um." You found your mouth suddenly dry. Even if you could find words to say—which you can't. At least not words beyond 'bouncy' and 'boingy', and you're not even sure that last one's a word—getting them out would be like walking across the Sahara in midsummer. You restrain yourself from speaking any further. You won't be reduced to a stuttering fool by the mere proximity of an unclothed woman!
"Captain," Czeslawa slipped back into her bath, using her arm as a makeshift bra to cover at least the proudest parts of her bosom from your eyes. Not that she needed to, you had decided the doorway was suddenly very fascinating. Maybe if you bolted you could make it there in a second or two. "You're hardly the first man I've seen naked."
What? Oh, right. She was a nurse after all. You can't imagine she'd be very self-conscious around naked bodies, given her intimate academic knowledge of every facets of same. For a moment, you get an odd tingling in your neck. Like you can tell Czeslawa is studying you with the practiced eye of a jewelry appraiser. But when you glance in her direction, she's in the middle of lathering soap on… areas. You quickly look away, wanting to preserve at least some shred of her privacy.
"I should…" you crouched in the tub, keeping your unmentionables unmentioned, but coiling for a sprint to the door all the same. As you prepare, you struggle to find a good excuse. Nothing comes to mind, and you settle on "Go."
"Of course," you can't tell if your nurse is teasing you or not. It certainly sounds that way.
You decide to ignore the teasing and focus on vacating the premises. A breath in, and you bolted out of the water and sprinted for the hidden nook where you'd left your clothes. There wasn't quite enough room to hide yourself from both women, but at least Lucia was still solidly asleep—and seemingly even skinnier than last time you looked. The poor girl needed some cake badly, maybe a nicer dress than her grubby airship fatigues.
Ah, there you go. Focus on the mental picture of her in a dress, rather than in a state of un-dress. A much more wholesome image if you said so yourself. So long as you didn't picture Czeslawa in the same or similar outfit, struggling to close her bodice over her…
Okay, this plan wasn't working. New plan! Cake. You were going to get Lucia cake. But what kind of cake? Maybe something with fruit in it, that seemed up her alley so to speak. No, not that alley.
Perhaps this whole sequence of events was irredeemably doomed to failure. You tied your tie a little tighter than usual, hoping the pressure would help ease the clouds impinging on your mental faculties. After a moment to make sure your clothes were prim and proper—even if you weren't—you ducked through the door back into the chilly expanse of Caroline'skeel.
The air was stiff and bracing, and guy-wires climbed skyward like the buttresses of some vast cathedral in the air. It was a calming place. You could close your eyes and see nothing but the wide inviting sky.
And then what seemed like an animated ball of lint came bouncing down the catwalk, talking the steps three at a time with reckless abandon until it smashed against your side. Well, perhaps 'smashed' was a misnomer in this case. It more bounced against you with all the energy a creature one-part very small girl and twelve-parts quilted fabric could manage.
"Hello Elizabeth," you said to your petite navigator. You could just see her head poking out from under the furry curtain that was her hood's lining.
"Capt'n," Her voice was tiny and quiet, like the mewing of a kitten just starting to explore its new environment. Luckily she wasn't quite as full of boundless curiosity as a kitten, given you'd seen her clamber through the superstructure like it was her own personal playground.
"What's on your mind?" You ruffled her hood in lieu of actually touching her hair. You can't actually remember what color her hair is, come to think of it.
"Come look at the clouds with me!" she said. Her voice was as quiet as ever, but you can tell there's no hint of suggestion in what she said. It wasn't a request, and it was barely even an order. More a… statement. You were going to join her in the astrodome, and there wasn't anything you or the universe could do to change that.
Not that you really minded. After your ordeal in the bath, it would be nice to clear your head with a little skygazing. But it would be nice to at least pretend you had some agency here. You were the captain after all.
You clambered up ladders and catwalks, never quite catching up to the sprightly bundle of fluff returning to its nest. Elizabeth was always spending time up in her astrodome, and when you finally joined her you found out why.
She'd filled every surface of the already small room with blankets and pillows, turning what could be a spartan navigational appliance into a cuddly nest. Racks of maps were lovingly stowed against the wall, as well as a case full of what you could only assume were navigational instruments. A gleaming brass sextant had a place of honor just under the sky-sighting dome. But, for the most part you were simply struck by how cozy the place felt.
It wasn't huge either. Elizabeth had to shift some of her soft horde around to make room, and even then the two of you were almost cuddling as you lay on the floor looking up at the sky. You'd never seen Elizabeth this animated as she happily called out cats, puppies, and the odd slide-rule in the sky.
It was nice, relaxing. Much better than your bath. The time just melted away, until you heard a voice waft through one of the speaking tubes.
"Captain to the bridge, we're preparing to exit the aether."
You sighed, and gave Elizabeth a hood-pat as compensation for spoiling her time with your absence. "On my way."
@7734 will now take over, as you're gonna do ship stuff now.
Down on the bridge, you breathed in carefully. You'd yet to see any of the stormy weather the Balkans were famous for in the Aether, and you'd expected at least one incident on your trip. You'd say you were disappointed, but you were secretly hopeful you'd avoided the worst of it.
"Captain" was all Jack could say when you came down. "Expecting some excitement?"
"Yes." You said bluntly. "Talker, sound the all-ship brace alarm and tell the aft lookouts to come in."
Jack grimaced, adjusting the tiller and elevators calmly. "Well, at least you warned everyone this time. That said, I've been feeling something loose in the mains lately, so can we take this slow?"
"Something loose in the mains?" you asked, frowning. "Like what?"
"I can't pull the port rudder when the top set of elevators are active. Something's catching I think. That, or whatever spare you put in the main after the break in the Caribbean's starting to deform."
You nodded. "Talker, get Engineering on the line. Tell 'em to send a damcon party to the control lines and check the rudder chains and elevator rig."
Growling, you leaned forward in your Captain's Chair. "Talker, Navigator to Bridge."
It was a bare minute later when Elisabeth scurried to you- far faster than any summons. Her energy had been turned against her, hands squeezing an octant and gaze rapid.
"We lost it!" she yelled. Trying to hold your temper together, you frowned.
"What do you mean, we lost it?"
"The fix! We lost the fix on the Polestar, and I can't get any sights either! Everything's gone to the Black!"
You blinked, and tried to calm down. "And… I don't get it, Elisabeth. I don't know if it's some Navigator-y secret, or-"
Elisabeth grabbed you collar to cut you off. "I'll explain it in a minute, but listen- there's only four places we know of that are gone to the Black, and this isn't one of them!"
Rolling your eyes, you stood up. "Come with me."
It was only a few steps to your cabin, the petit Navigator in tow. Quite literally in tow- you needed to half drag her in, and she only settled down after you'd poured her a cup of rye whiskey. Even then, a she seemed too energetic, too animated, and most importantly too incoherent to communicate.
"Alright, alright, just…" Elisabeth began, pacing irritably. "Don't tell this to anyone! Ever!"
You nodded.
"It's known that everyone observes the Aether differently, depending on a multitude of factors. Great. Awesome. Woo hoo. Navigators, though, we can see things in the Aether."
You kept nodding.
"Most of the time it's distinct patterns and curents, specific clouds, the way the light hits the envelope… whatever. Point is, we can get general location and maybe heading over a few days. Except it's not just that."
You stopped, and stared at her intensely. You could do most of what she'd already described- but you weren't a Navigator. So what was the secret?
"We can see constants too."
It was as if your brain shut down. The first and foremost rule of navigation was constants. Where the sun was, the stars, a landmark, a city or town. What the radio stations were, how the traffic flew, the lakes and rivers. All of them were constants, and you could navigate off them. The Aether, though, lacked constants which is why it was so risky. Nobody knew it- except Navigators.
And now you.
"If we're stuck in the Black, then we can't see anything, can't find a way home or out…" Elisabeth continued, not quite waving her arms.
"We're in the crapper." You surmised.
"Yes."
Frowning, you stood up from your perch. "Get to your office, start checking whatever you can. We have a last known position, right?"
"Yes, Alek, but… it's old."
"What was it?"
"Right over Macedonia."
You hissed. You were so close- it was time to act.
"Right. I'm ordering the riggers to remain on cruising sail, and the boilers to low heat. You're on full watch- the minute we have a fix on our general area, call it in so we can get out of the Aether. I'll take my chances with the Bulgarians over getting blown into the Carpathians. Once we're out-Aether, I'll be putting the ship to all hands until we get docked."
Elisabeth smiled at you slightly. "Aye. Try using your octant too- any flashes of light,
It had been eight days since you'd last seen hide or hair of your Navigator, and the fact you'd been standing double watches was starting to get to you. Add in the fact you'd had to dip into the emergency food stores, and your frustration was getting palpable. You had, per regulation from the Captain's Guild, fourteen days dry emergency rations for two hundred, and on a ship holding one hundred sixty this meant there was plenty of food.
If only it was any good. You'd run through the contents of your iceboxes and freezing unit within the first three days, and on the seventh day you'd formally announced at the mess there would be a single alcohol ration for the purposes of morale. Still, you were frustrated beyond belief, and so were your crew.
Sitting in your Captain's chair on the bridge, you wore a permanent scowl and rubbed your face. Damnable stubble was growing in again, and at the rate you were having mechanical issues you were considering just growing it out. Maybe a nice mustache, possibly a sharp goatee. None of this mushy, floaty round stuff, though. Your face was too sharp for it.
Moments later, you heard the bridge door open, and in stumbled Elisabeth. Stumbling to her seat, she slapped a seat of paper on the chair's sideboard.
"I founds it." She muttered, throwing her arm out to the right. "Found a fix. And a rip. Should be… twentyish port, down angle thirtyfive, distance one nautical mile."
You looked at her. "Are you sure?"
"Ayep. Lef' the Black yesterdays or sommat like that."
You stopped for a moment and grinned capriciously. Taking your own octant, you got the deice configured and took the fix on Elisabeth's rip in the Aether.
"Pilot! Thirty five degrees down angle, sound pitch alarm- get us through that damn slot, and on the double!"
Feeling the ship dive, you grinned wildly as gravity took hold, everything moving as fast as it could. You felt that topside the riggers were working frantically, hauling in sail as the envelope's deck dove under them and the ship started to whistle.
"Cap'n! There's something odd in the rudder!"
You growled, your mood snapped. "Hold it together, then!"
As the pilot nodded, you leaned forward, holding on. You saw that point of light, you felt the ship react, and then suddenly…
You were through.
Holy shit that body of water was a lot closer than you'd like!
"Pull up!" you roared. "Full aft ballast, engines to full, get me a status report!"
Ten minutes later, you had the full situation in front of you. Your current location, per Donald's best guess, was somewhere over the Black Sea. The ship, though, was in slightly worse shape. Damage control's report on the rudder and elevators, though, was more problematic. Something was misbehaving in the immediate rudder assembalies, which you couldn't get to in flight. More importantly, you were light on coal and tanking water, and would need to bleach your blackwater tanks and feedwater tanks while you were in Constantinople.
---
You arrived in the city proper two days later. The southwardly jaunt hadn't been fun by any stretch of the imagination, especially considering how you narrowly had to dodge three or four frigates that looked far more armed than you. Still, you did arrive, and between your nerves almost being shot and some other issues, you finally managed to get docked without too much hastle.
Minus the fact the ground would not hold still, that is. Still, you made your peace with the dock keepers, and soon enough you were ready to do things.
Some kind of things, that is. You weren't quite sure what was your first priority.
Votes
[] Cargo sales- get it done, get it done now. Sooner it's off your ship, the better.
[] Something is apparently bad with your rudder and control surfaces, and you can't take a peak when the ship is underway. Time to get cracking.
[] You're really fucking tired of every time you visit your passengers coming out of their cabin dead drunk with that damn fez. There's got to be a way to put a stop to that.
(Yes, @NothingNow all options do lead to what you seek.)
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.
Looking around your cabin, you growled as you tried to scrounge up some formalwear. The Airman's Dress was distinctly a middle-fashion suit, and more importantly made some very dramatic concessions in line and fit to work in an integral and secure safety harness. Considering the odds of you needing to drop a cable and carabiner into the nets at the sanjek-bey's house was just about nonexistent, you figured you could probably show up in something nicer than your current duds.
"Captain van Riebeck, mind if I come in?" A vaguely familiar voice asked. Lee, right? One of your passengers.
"Come in, Lee." You called, clearing off spots to sit. As the door opened, the English Count stepped in, moderately surprised.
"Good afternoon, Captain." He said, slightly formally. "Do you mind if I have a seat?"
"Go ahead." You replied, pointing over at the waist-high set of cubbies that doubled as a chair.
"To be honest, I wouldn't have expected such spartan conditions for the captain of an airship." He said, looking around. Aside from a miscalibrated barometer with ASL gauge locked on the wall and one porthole, your room was clean of wall, the faint gray paint showing the half-finished nature of the ship.
"One tends to accumulate detritus over a career." You replied diplomatically. "A short career, an empty wall. That and how busy I am certainly doesn't help."
"Oh?"
You shook your head. "If it's not one thing, it's three others. Find out what's broken, find out how to fix it, what to wear to the dinner, collect our pay and finish the sales…"
"You know, I can help you with that second bit." Lee said, smiling slightly. "My brother-in-law is part of the embassy, and he knows an excellent tailor on this side of town who works fast and only charges twice over normal for people who don't speak Turkish."
"That would be delightful." You said, heaving a sigh of relief. "All I need is coat and pants, and maybe a tie."
"Of course, of course. Just meet me groundside in a half-hour so I can let the ladies know we'll be out and about."
---
Sitting in the coffeeshop next to the lighter pickup at the Istanbul Aerodrome, you fiddled with the buttons on your coat. The whole ensemble didn't have that horrible, just made today scent attached to it, but you could swear if the light shined right you saw the chalk marks from the tailor's bench.
"'ey! Un yole pour van Riebeck a Yeniköy!"
Well, shit. That was your ride. Moving out, you found it was a far less flashy and more stable platform than the one Sanjek-bey Iskandar had rode out to you on- and more importantly, you weren't the only passenger. Down in the slightly recessed area for the riders of this airship, you saw a young woman, dusky skin contrasting a crème dress.
"Hello, Captain van Riebeck." She said, her voice a contralto that caught at you and held on. You never described French as a sensual language before -mostly because you learned it from three-quarter drunk Metis lumberjacks- but something about her voice made you remember why it was also called the language of love.
"Hello, mademoiselle." You said, smiling and taking off your hat to do a short bow. "I'll admit I wasn't expecting company on the way in."
"My father decided it might be a good idea to send someone to help you, if only to help translate for the pilot." She said, smiling and inviting you to the divan. "Besides, I was interested in seeing the airship captain for myself who is worth such high praise."
"Your father pays me every courtesy, and I cannot help but to return in kind." You said, approaching and leaving off the hat. "May I have a name to set next to your face, however?"
"Begum Ayase Iskandar; Captain. I was curious, though- what is the name of your ship?"
"The Caroline Anahiem. She's… in very rough shape right now."
"Oh?"
You smiled wan, and leaned in. "Can you keep a secret, just for tonight Begum?"
She chuckled. "That's just a title, Captain van Riebeck. Call me Ayase."
"Then for you, I shall be Aleksander."
"In which case, I'll say I can keep a secret."
"My ship was designed by an idiot savant." You say conspiratorially. "In a dozen respects, she is the best in the world. In a thousand others, she is absolute trash for her size and class. I carry a tithe of the cargo of a proper Zeppelin, pack half as few guns as a Holland, and my only advantage is a speed out of the Aether I'm never in a position to use."
Ayase raised her eyebrows and smiled slightly. "I'll remember that little secret." She chuckled. "Not that my brothers will care overmuch if they get their hands on it. I'll tell you now Mutsafa is going to try and talk your ear off with business all night, even if this is a family dinner."
"Thanks for the warning." You said, smiling slightly. "I take it he works in the business?"
"Oh, Allah might know more than him about light airship construction, but he'll never admit it. Always going on about work, and how he's this close to figuring out a new item that'll let him finally develop his dream Light Cruiser instead of proper Clippers."
"I'd recommend a trip to America, then." You said offhandedly, vaguely moving your hand west. "Most of the Aeronautical Navy uses Clippers over Cruisers, unless someone brings up the topic of Spain again."
"There was that war your country fought, yes?"
"We did. Cuba was almost in revolt, the Maine blew up in Havana, and the Spanish made issues on issues over it until Congress declared war."
"And what does this have to do with that?"
"Cruiser-weight ships were the only ones that had the bunkerage to get out to the Philippines, and the air campaign over Cuba was decisive in that the Spaniards had nothing that could fly. I'd almost pity them, if I wasn't nearly an officer in the war."
Ayase looked up at you skeptically. "Really, now."
"I was offered a position as a Lieutenant on the Lake Champlain when the war was declared." You stated, smiling lightly. "She was fitting out in Ann Arbor at the time, and Anapolis was fresh out of airship's officers, so they were recruiting from the schools pretty heavily. My professor of Engineering recommended me."
Hemming and hawing, Ayase raised an eyebrow. "Alright, then. We're almost there, so I'd like you to-"
As the airship landed with a gentle thump, you heard the pilot bawling out that you'd arrived, followed by a face possessed of a ridiculously fuzzy mustache peaking over the gunnel. Moments later, he was yelling in energetic Turkish at Ayase, who was just putting her head in her hands and making shooing noises back. Moments later, he was in the airship itself, sticking out a large hand at you to shake and pull you off the divan with.
"Guten tag, Herr Kaptain!" he called at you, making you start short as your brain frantically went into overtime trying to dig up your Father's precious few German lessons.
"Hello." You replied, smile strained. "Ah, do you speak French? My German is, in a word, poor."
"Oh, French?" he said, smiling as he clapped you on the back. Even though his accent was flat as a board, rather than your more bitten speech or Ayase's rounding, it still sounded decent enough to hold a conversation with. "I can muddle my way through in French, I suppose."
"Ahem." Ayase said, showing up on your opposite side. "Mustafa, this is Aleksander van Riebeck. Aleksander, my brother, Kaylon Kaptani Mustafa Iskandar. He's with the Navy Aeronautica's airship-building yards- the ones just east of the Dardanelles. Did you see them on your way in?"
"No, we came from the north." You said honestly, taking a minute to shake Mustafa's hand. "Aetheric disjunction made a bit of a hash of our navigation, I'm be afraid."
"Ach, we've only got four proper construction barns anyway, and Zeppelin AG's been up to their usual shenanigans again. That bunch of fussy perfectionists just don't know when to leave off, and I swear their lead designers are going to have another apoplexy at Frame Twelve again."
"You work directly with Zeppelin AG?" you asked, blinking in surprise. The company itself and their half-dozen related groups were infamously hard to pry out of Germany, and more importantly also tended to be absolute pricks when the topic of doing something new came up. They'd managed to slowly piss away an undisputed lead in the industry to 'merely' having the ability to rebuild every airship in the world once over in the space of two years in theory. Their potential monopoly died on their pride, though, as they clawed aluminum from France and Austria-Hungary and rubberized latex gas cells from America. One hiccup in a supply line that nearly twenty companies held stakes in, and their production would plummet and so would their standing.
"Allah preserve me, yes." Mustafa replied, shaking his head. "We build the frameworks and the envelope, along with all the decking and most of the components. Zeppelin does the instillation, and designs our components. It's… a mess, really, but it's not as bad as the wet-navy folks. They're never quite all there- I think it's too much gin and tea with the folks at Vickers."
"Not the first time the English have driven a man mad." You agree, the three of you moving towards the smallish mansion on the bank of the Bosporus. What you would later learn to call a yali was a bright house, subdued only by the starting of the shadows of the sun setting. Inside, it was amazingly like the one trip you'd taken on a passenger airship once- tapestries and cloth everywhere, fine rugs decorating the floors and warm wood tones on the halls. As Ayase disappeared into the house, you stayed by Mustafa, who continued to chatter on about business. It ended at a small room, though, in which you noted a hookah and a few more men around your age.
"Aleksander, meet my brothers." He said, grinning. "The two on the left are Aziz and Selim; the ones on the right are my poor, decrepit cousins who are forever doomed to wet feet and cheap gin."
"Very funny, Mustafa." The one closest to you said, grinning slightly as he puffed out the hookah's wand. "I'm Mirac, and this is Yasin. He's been chattering your ear off about airships, hasn't he?"
"I'd swear he's more interested in them than my officers." You said, taking a seat and accepting the hookah pipe. You chuckled a little when you noted the lightly-used goldbeater's skin that made up the hose, and then you inhaled carefully. Thick smoke pulled up into your chest, a faint brush of mint and honey next to the heady tobacco.
Holding it down and trying not to cough, you exhaled slightly. The dragon-like plume that escaped your lips sank through the air heavily, as Mirac asked you about what weather was like so far over the ocean.
---
The dinner itself was about a half-hour later, and you'd worked up a powerful appetite. While Mustafa's "cousins" might not have been cousins in truth, as you were fairly sure their mother was one of Iskandar's other wives or concubines, they were still very much part of the family and treated as such. Entering the room for dining, you and your five new friends quickly got yourself seated and arranged, while the rest of the family slowly trickled in.
The dining room was rather strange to you- a diamond table, with each face displayed to a sofa or divan that wrapped around in what was effectively another diamond around it. The women took the corners, while the men found themselves the faces. Soon enough, you could see why- you could unfortunately be bombarded with questions still, while it all flew right on past the little pockets of women.
Somehow, as the rather large dinner began after a short and unintelligible prayer, you ended up flanked by a very bright young boy on your right who didn't quite speak French yet but was giving it a strong go to talk to you about stuff, while on your left was one of the other young members of the family brooding into his food. Thankfully, you managed to hear Ayase for a moment, reading her lips as much as hearing her voice.
"I talked to Mustafa earlier, and Father. He wants to talk about buying your ship."
You recoiled, and shot her a heated look over the food. "What?"
"He wants it for the skeleton and the engine technology. Nobody at Zeppelin AG is selling diagrams for aluminum skeletons, and apparently the current designs won't work. New boiler designs and engines would mean a massive-"
"I can tell!" you exclaimed as sneakily as you could, the conversation lost in the familial babble. "The Germans have you on a tight leash- anyone could see it! But, why my ship?"
"It's the first American ship in Istanbul in twenty years!" she said, before Mustafa signaled you and his father. Apparently, Iskandar and his son had been talking, and the two looked at you and pitched their voices to carry.
"Aleksander!" Mustafa called, grinning. "Listen, listen! I have a proposition!"
"Yes?" you called back, smiling through your teeth.
"Your ship, it's not propriety, yes? All yours, free and clear?"
"Of course!" you yelled, grinning. Ayase must have gotten spooked, is all. It didn't sound like an offer-
"A trade, then!" he called. "Your ship- it's weary, but she can make it to the Dardanelles, yes?"
"Easily!" you boasted.
"Good! When she arrives, we'll trade- your Caroline Anaheim for the Cruiser Twelve!" Mustafa called out, laughing. Your face fell open, though.
"What?" you called back. "A trade of ships?"
"Yes!" Mustafa called, laughing. "I get a ship to dissect and examine, and you get a ship that's passed her flight trials except some stupid malaise!"
"Mustafa, you're going to have to explain more! What malaise?"
"Just some stupid crap that keeps popping up- oversteer on the port rudder, vibrations in the number two engine, the chain hoists jamming whenever someone looks cross at them, nothing too major. As long as Al-Shasma keeps his greasy mits on it, though, we're out a barn for construction and refit, and we're backlogged form here to Jerusalem!"
It made sense, in a blinding moment of clarity. "You can do that?" you asked in a small amount of awe. Air cruisers were in a word, expensive. Redundancies on redundancies, full or partial belts, lots of weapons points and magazine scrams, and most importantly the small tooling shop that let them manufacture parts on the fly and repair broken items.
"That's where I come in." Iskandar spoke up. "I have some influence over the Vizer of the Navy Aeronautica, and more importantly I also have friends in the Ministry of Finance. The Navy Aeronautica has been in hot debate, and right now it is believed twenty cruisers are more than enough- disposing of the sole non-functioning and non-commissioned one in exchange for a technological demonstrator would be well within the Navy's purview."
"She won't be a flyaway ship." Mustafa spoke up, looking at you with an even eye. "Aside from time for your crew to arm her with your own weapons -because we need every modern gun we can get!- there's also the fact we can't really let it go until the paperwork goes through. It'll take about two weeks, I think, and you won't be paying for your dock fees in Dardanelles yards."
You paused, in thought. Seeing your hesitation, Iskandar gave a paternal grin. "Don't worry, Captain van Riebeck. Even if you don't accept, there's still much for you in the Empire- and more importantly, we won't chain you here. Some of your passengers have friends in high places, and have let me know you're expected to make your way to Delhi or Bombay eventually, and further beyond that after."
You nodded, thinking.
"Bring us an answer any time before you leave, and we can make arrangements." Raw Stat Blocks
Ship HP: 45
Ship Max Lift: 180
Ship Standard Lift: 55
Max Load- 75 tons local distance, 48 tons cargo Aether-rating
VOTES
[] Take the offer, here and now. Have fun explaining it to the crew, though this is something that's in your purvey as Captain and primary owner of the ship.
[] Leave the offer- you have a fishy feeling about it. Zeppelin designs are usually solid, although you've heard some rumors about them growing quirks in their old age.
[] Sit on the offer, and talk it over with the officers. (OOC- this prompts an @theJMPer update or two while you stew on the matter and some more time to get used to the girls.)
Breathing in deeply, you looked at Mustafa and tried to force a smile.
"Sorry, Mustafa. I want to accept, but I can't right now. I'll have to talk it over with my officers, and maybe look into taking a look at your ship. I'm here for at least a week, though- you know where I am."
As Mustafa looked like a kicked puppy, Iskandar had a booming laugh, before smiling at a woman you presumed was his wife.
"Son, how many times have I told you not to try and scalp the dhimni?" he asked rhetorically, running his hand over his head. "I know the Germans have this love affair with the take it or leave it bargain, but we both know they are fools at persuasion."
"Father-"
"Mustafa."
As the later shut up, Iskandar favored you with a slight smile, and an almost undetectable nod at Ayse. It should be noted, a very slight smile. "At least I need to know some of my family doesn't jump into things with half a plan and a prayer." He murmered, before looking at the boy next to you. "Ibrahim, tell me, are you still interested in being an airshipman?"
"Yes, Papa!"
Now Iskandar turned his gaze on you, and smiled slightly. "It might seem like a bit much, but could you perhaps take him on for a few days? Some time spent on a ship might teach him that if he is to follow his brother's footsteps and learn to fly, it might be best to do so before staying safely on the ground."
"It depends." You said cautiously. "My ship speaks English as a matter of course, and not many of us speak French. Think he can cope?"
"I'm reasonably confident."
You nodded. "Then I'll take him on for while we're here. A week or so should teach him the basics."
"Very well, then!"
---
The dinner was still for another half-hour after that, spent largely in generous conversation and fine food. You were practically stuffed when a small party moved to make their way to the family's lighter, with Ibrahim practically holding your coattails and Ayse on one side of you. Mirac had voulenteered to escort and translate, along with making sure the small seabag Ibrahim was taking held more than just nice clothes unfit for work.
Once you were aboard and headed back towards your ship, you went up to the semi-raised upper deck and leaned on the railing, looking out towards the stars. The city was nearly dark, only a few gas-lamps illuminating the city streets and wealthy windows as you passed by. Above, there was a cloud of stars, with the moon hung resplendent over her court.
"Something on your mind?" Mirac asked, coming up next to you.
"Yeah." You replied, looking over the snaking river of the Bosporus. "It's been… barely a month and a half since I started. Since then, I'm on my second cargo, killed pirates, hobnobbed with the local notables, gotten drunk more times than in the last two years… it's been an adventure."
"Ha!" Mirac said, chuckling. "I know the feeling- when you're neck-deep in an Egyptian shisha den, and suddenly the door bursts open and Shore Patrol is looking for stray officers to man some vizer's yacht!"
"Yeah, well, can't argue you there." You said, chuckling. "Still, it's going to be good for me to get back to the ship."
"Too true. Although… what do you think of Ayse?" Mirac asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Beautiful young woman, sharp as a tack, and speaks lovely French." You replied, taking a moment to look back on where she was pointing out the stars with Ibrahim. Their voices flowed in Turkish, the language reminding you of hills you'd yet to really see.
"Yes, she is. She's also looking for a way out." Mirac said, stroking his narrow beard. "She's getting on in years for a convenient match, and at the rate our father's making friends her hand's going to be on the offering block soon. If things don't change, she'll be the eldest first wife of a boy barely into his manhood, or the reward of an old vizer who won't appreciate anything other than her sweet voice."
"And I fall into this… how?"
Mirac looked you dead in the eye. "Take the offer, Aleksander. Get the ship, get Ibrahim, and whatever you do, fight to get her on it. I've spent too much of my life smashed around an undersized cruiser a dozen years behind the times because we failed to feliate the damn Limeys when it came time to get another ship from Vickers. We damn near fought the Russians to a standstill over the Black Sea- and if we have better ships, we will trounce them all the way to Sankt-Petersburg. And you? You get a woman worth her weight in gold and some very good friends."
You studied the air for a moment, reaching out to feel invisible motes of dust and Aether pass through your fingers.
"I'm still thinking about it, Mirac."
As the man turned to storm off, you raised your voice.
"But I know your family has been very good to me. I won't lie to you about your airship, when I see it- and I might sniff out a few from the Germans if they're selling you a reel of sky line."
---
Waking up on your ship, you groaned slightly and made your way to the kitchen. It was breakfast time, and while you might not have been hungover, you were still more than a little off-kilter from last night.
"Mornin', cook." You muttered at the counter. "Got bacon and eggs?"
A harsh look from the server meant you got a cup of coffee and a fresh biscut.
"Captain, you of all people should know the air's not calm enough for bacon right now!"
"Wadya mean?"
Pointing to the kitchen's clinomoter, the server glared at you as you realized it was reading a four degree port tilt and two degree nose down.
"Oh."
"Yeah, talk to the damn loadmasters! We've been off-kilter for hours now, and it's making the bread rise all funny!"
"Right, right." You said, drinking some of the coffee. Taking another sip, you stared at it blackly, and growled. "This isn't coffee."
"Yes it is."
"No, no it's not."
"Yes it is."
"Coffee should not be slightly green with an aftertaste of lubricant grease."
"Sir, that's the coffee. We got the water fresh from the condenser tanks."
What.
"Excuse me." You said, handing them the cup of coffee, and grabbing a biscut with a significant hunk of cheese in it, along with an apple. "I've got shit to do."
Moving with sure feet, you made your way to the crew compartment, and then aft, towards engineering and the Aft Load Station. Grabbing the first Loadmaster you could get your hands on, you glared at him.
"Why the fuck are we at a free-pivot anchor and listing like we're down half our ballast?" you asked pointedly.
"Because we're at a free-pivot anchor and are still recovering balance after we had to scuttle a coal bunker." The loadmaster said, pointing to the distinctly bright scuttle that should not be leaking sunlight.
"What?"
"Fire broke out last night, so we flooded the bunker. Fire flared up again, we dumped it and purged the bunker. Except we've been having issues with getting enough fresh onboard, and the pump for the damage control water tanks is busted."
Fuuuuuck…
"How much coal'd we loose?" you asked, holding your head in your hands.
"About a quarter of the scuttle, between the fire and the firefighters grabbing as much as they could."
Well, shit. That was good anthracite coal, damnit!
"We've got the Espatiers on standby, and the non-rates are shoveling it into a bucket haul so we can re-load the scuttle. The rest of the lean is on the fact we're in a twenty-knot headwind and are half a ton light on starboard."
"Noted." You said dryly. "That answers that. Next time you see Chief McCloud, though, tell him he's in charge while I'm out and about today."
"Aye, sir." The Loadmaster said, nodding. "Oh- by the way, Chief McCloud said he's got an Officer's Meeting scheduled for this Thursday."
"I'll make sure to talk to Zamwekis about it to make sure I'm on time." You said, before making your way back to officer country. Today was as close to a day off as you were going to get for a long while- might as well enjoy it.
Votes
Go somewhere? [] Your ship (Nope, not happening. Gonna just let McCloud have his day in the sun)
[] The Grand Bazzar
[] The Egyptian Bazar
[] Mimar's Baths
[] Visit Yenikoy
[] Basilica Cistern
[] Write-in (Read, ask @NothingNow if there was anywhere interesting I missed.)
With who? [] Jacob (Already gone. Probably out whoring.) [] Donald (Sleeping like the dead- that Blank Spot wasn't kind to him.) [] Lauri (Left a note saying he'd be back Wendsday.) [] Thomas (Busy fixing shit.)
[] Czeslawa
[] Lucia (Not avalible till afternoon b/c coal spill. Just means you have time to bum around the Aerodrome)
[] Elisabeth
[] Ayse (And, by extension, one of her family for propriety's sake.)
