Touring the Caroline; Narrative
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
VOTES NOT CALLED; BONUS MATERIAL
Pushing around the dorsal keel of my ship, I sighed to myself absentmindedly. Elizabeth had been secure in her office, the dark draperies hiding the sun as she did things that were most definitely Navigator-y. Or napping. With her, I'd never been able to tell the difference, really. As cute as it was, though, I couldn't handle cute so well right now. I had to be awake in about tomorrow about this time, which meant I couldn't go to sleep, so I needed to do something.
Something about Elizabeth always drew me towards sleep, and it was always something I'd meant to figure out later. Later would continue to be later, though: I had to keep moving. A walking tour of the ship would serve well enough in this regard, letting me keep a clear head and explore my purchase.
The first thing to note was the hull's rather pronounced ellipsis, Most airships attempted to a spherical cross-section, the better to flow through the air gracefully. The Caronline Anahiem's experimental nature went down to her bones, though, in her skeleton trading aerodynamics for dynamic lift, letting her engines take up more of the task to lift the ship as she flew, rather than lifting cells. This design also gave her broad, shallow cargo areas, an ideal that many cargo ships strided towards. Her breakback design didn't help this, though, the decks separated at the bulkheads rather than one longitudinal design. It was nominally for strength, but I had enough design to know the ship wouldn't need it if it was twin-keeled and reinforced as her designer has claimed.
It wasn't as if I'd come into this unprepared. Perhaps the yards had been short material, perhaps the designer had been short money. Perhaps the ship would fall from the sky. 'Perhaps' did nothing but garner fears for later- right now, I had found nothing out of the ordinary, nor anything that would raise concern. No matter what a landlubber said, those two categories were not mutually inclusive. For example, hydrogen leaks could be very ordinary.
Of course, that ship crashed and burned shortly after, but that had nothing to do with my time aboard. I'd just been there to pick up cargo the first time; and rescue whoever I could the second.
As my walk took me forward, I smiled faintly. The ship had a fairly smooth transition from her underslung gondala to the hull, and as I passed above the medical area, mounted to the starboard of the ship. I had gotten close to the bow, and the majority of the ship's living quarters. Looping around in the nose, I looked up and fore to the Navigator's Office, before sighing and making my way back to the stern along the port side. Below me now were the officer's quarters, while inbound of me was the mess and enlisted quarters. It was a mildly cramped bunkroom, while the mess was slightly better. Neither were miracles of design, and I had to crimp my nose a little as I passed the flow lines to the toilets. Putting the heads up half a deck wasn't a bad move, per say, since it let an element of gravity fall into the plumbing, but making people walk up to the heads was almost cruel. If I found suspicious stains on the sides of the ship that needed washing off, I wouldn't be terribly surprised. Good heads were the hallmark of a good ship.
Continuing aft, past the cargo bays and the widest point, I started to smell the hot air of the machinery spaces, and the wet air of the condensation area. The boilers sucked air in from all over the ship, no matter how much engineers tried to vent them clean outside air. In return, they spat back out pure heat, pushing hard on my skin and leaving dry air their remains. The condensers, meanwhile, sucked cool air in through vents on the top of the hull to cool pipes of steam into usable water again, the frequent seep and leak of the pipes exposed to permanent thermal shock making the air there wet and thick, often very heavy. Below and slightly to the fore were the ship's baths, equipped with a handful of tubs. Even further below (it felt humorous to say that about a two-foot difference in distance) were the showers, and then the heads; all were designed to feed gray water to run them to save on total fresh water use.
Below, in the engine room proper, there was a lethargic energy as oilers supplied the lubricants to one of the three engines, it's slow thumping telling of the turboelectric drive's utility. Thanks to the bus bar and electricity lines, I could run the ship's four drive pods off one engine, while other ships needed all engines on, at all times. It was a heady feeling- until I took into account what must have been a titanic cost and weight for the system. The entire ship had been built around these engines, and as Thomas waved to me I scrubbed my chin in thought. I couldn't guess the weight of a drive shaft nor the cables, but I could guess that the result didn't favor the new technology yet. It might eventually- but who knew?
Coming back to the cargo bays, I snorted lightly. Lucia was working out on a thin stringer, pulling herself up with her usual vim and vigor. I could sympathize with exercise in odd places, as her long body made it hard to fit in some spots. She had always been rather vulpine, though I'd only admit under duress it made her look boyish. It had been the subject of more than a few jokes when we were younger, and a rather… formative… incident on my own part.
Speaking of, there was that grin as she slipped off the girder, turning to face me. "Alek." she said, warmly. "Well, Captain Aleksander now, but who's counting?"
"Most of the crew." I replied, resting my hand on the hilt of my old sabre. My father had purchased it in his youth, back in the Civil War, and I kept it now oftentimes as a reminder- and as a symbol of authority. It might whack and thwack everywhere if I wasn't careful, but it was mine.
One of the few things left of him I had.
"Pah, like you'll see them more than once or twice on this trip." Lucia bluffed, what was left of her accent slapping the words with derision. "You're still the Skipper to me."
"Then I hope you don't mind a little spar, like in the old days?" I asked, grinning. She'd won most of those, with dirty tricks and Sardinian wrestling prevailing over my ability to box well over my weight.
"Sure. Steel, or fists?"
"Steel." you mentioned, drawing the sabre. "There are pirates about."
"Fine by me- just let me see your sword."
Handing it over, I winced as she tossed it away with a snort.
"You don't want something too long down here. In between gas-bags, on the railings, in the stringers- you'll never have room to use it. Swords are expensive, too- even old wristbreakers like that one. Always have something you can afford to drop over the side- because you're going to drop it."
"Any suggestions?"
"A gun." Lucia said flatly, raising an eye at me. "Failing that, something you can use in tight, that's cheap. My old man taught me macework for a reason, but I think I have the thing for you."
Taking a hatchet from her, I inspected Lucia's gift. It was short, barely over a foot, with a light and thin head of cheap steel. Swishing it around experimentally, I listened to her continuation.
"Pick something you can fight inside with, that you won't cut your ship half to ribbons with. Make it cheap. I've got a basket of these things handy if you need more."
"Right. Are you ready?"
"Born ready." Lucia said, smirking. As we both readied ourselves, an invisible bell chimed silently, before the spar was engaged.
So, because this falls up the alley of the fine folks over at Sea Lion Press et all, I'm submitting a version of this work for Actual Publication so I can get money. Money is important, since it lets me write more. It might even become a book at some point. Anyway, check them out, send me Over There some love, see this story told from first person and after a heavy does of the Editor Stick. There might even be more waifus or something!
Pushing around the dorsal keel of my ship, I sighed to myself absentmindedly. Elizabeth had been secure in her office, the dark draperies hiding the sun as she did things that were most definitely Navigator-y. Or napping. With her, I'd never been able to tell the difference, really. As cute as it was, though, I couldn't handle cute so well right now. I had to be awake in about tomorrow about this time, which meant I couldn't go to sleep, so I needed to do something.
Something about Elizabeth always drew me towards sleep, and it was always something I'd meant to figure out later. Later would continue to be later, though: I had to keep moving. A walking tour of the ship would serve well enough in this regard, letting me keep a clear head and explore my purchase.
The first thing to note was the hull's rather pronounced ellipsis, Most airships attempted to a spherical cross-section, the better to flow through the air gracefully. The Caronline Anahiem's experimental nature went down to her bones, though, in her skeleton trading aerodynamics for dynamic lift, letting her engines take up more of the task to lift the ship as she flew, rather than lifting cells. This design also gave her broad, shallow cargo areas, an ideal that many cargo ships strided towards. Her breakback design didn't help this, though, the decks separated at the bulkheads rather than one longitudinal design. It was nominally for strength, but I had enough design to know the ship wouldn't need it if it was twin-keeled and reinforced as her designer has claimed.
It wasn't as if I'd come into this unprepared. Perhaps the yards had been short material, perhaps the designer had been short money. Perhaps the ship would fall from the sky. 'Perhaps' did nothing but garner fears for later- right now, I had found nothing out of the ordinary, nor anything that would raise concern. No matter what a landlubber said, those two categories were not mutually inclusive. For example, hydrogen leaks could be very ordinary.
Of course, that ship crashed and burned shortly after, but that had nothing to do with my time aboard. I'd just been there to pick up cargo the first time; and rescue whoever I could the second.
As my walk took me forward, I smiled faintly. The ship had a fairly smooth transition from her underslung gondala to the hull, and as I passed above the medical area, mounted to the starboard of the ship. I had gotten close to the bow, and the majority of the ship's living quarters. Looping around in the nose, I looked up and fore to the Navigator's Office, before sighing and making my way back to the stern along the port side. Below me now were the officer's quarters, while inbound of me was the mess and enlisted quarters. It was a mildly cramped bunkroom, while the mess was slightly better. Neither were miracles of design, and I had to crimp my nose a little as I passed the flow lines to the toilets. Putting the heads up half a deck wasn't a bad move, per say, since it let an element of gravity fall into the plumbing, but making people walk up to the heads was almost cruel. If I found suspicious stains on the sides of the ship that needed washing off, I wouldn't be terribly surprised. Good heads were the hallmark of a good ship.
Continuing aft, past the cargo bays and the widest point, I started to smell the hot air of the machinery spaces, and the wet air of the condensation area. The boilers sucked air in from all over the ship, no matter how much engineers tried to vent them clean outside air. In return, they spat back out pure heat, pushing hard on my skin and leaving dry air their remains. The condensers, meanwhile, sucked cool air in through vents on the top of the hull to cool pipes of steam into usable water again, the frequent seep and leak of the pipes exposed to permanent thermal shock making the air there wet and thick, often very heavy. Below and slightly to the fore were the ship's baths, equipped with a handful of tubs. Even further below (it felt humorous to say that about a two-foot difference in distance) were the showers, and then the heads; all were designed to feed gray water to run them to save on total fresh water use.
Below, in the engine room proper, there was a lethargic energy as oilers supplied the lubricants to one of the three engines, it's slow thumping telling of the turboelectric drive's utility. Thanks to the bus bar and electricity lines, I could run the ship's four drive pods off one engine, while other ships needed all engines on, at all times. It was a heady feeling- until I took into account what must have been a titanic cost and weight for the system. The entire ship had been built around these engines, and as Thomas waved to me I scrubbed my chin in thought. I couldn't guess the weight of a drive shaft nor the cables, but I could guess that the result didn't favor the new technology yet. It might eventually- but who knew?
Coming back to the cargo bays, I snorted lightly. Lucia was working out on a thin stringer, pulling herself up with her usual vim and vigor. I could sympathize with exercise in odd places, as her long body made it hard to fit in some spots. She had always been rather vulpine, though I'd only admit under duress it made her look boyish. It had been the subject of more than a few jokes when we were younger, and a rather… formative… incident on my own part.
Speaking of, there was that grin as she slipped off the girder, turning to face me. "Alek." she said, warmly. "Well, Captain Aleksander now, but who's counting?"
"Most of the crew." I replied, resting my hand on the hilt of my old sabre. My father had purchased it in his youth, back in the Civil War, and I kept it now oftentimes as a reminder- and as a symbol of authority. It might whack and thwack everywhere if I wasn't careful, but it was mine.
One of the few things left of him I had.
"Pah, like you'll see them more than once or twice on this trip." Lucia bluffed, what was left of her accent slapping the words with derision. "You're still the Skipper to me."
"Then I hope you don't mind a little spar, like in the old days?" I asked, grinning. She'd won most of those, with dirty tricks and Sardinian wrestling prevailing over my ability to box well over my weight.
"Sure. Steel, or fists?"
"Steel." you mentioned, drawing the sabre. "There are pirates about."
"Fine by me- just let me see your sword."
Handing it over, I winced as she tossed it away with a snort.
"You don't want something too long down here. In between gas-bags, on the railings, in the stringers- you'll never have room to use it. Swords are expensive, too- even old wristbreakers like that one. Always have something you can afford to drop over the side- because you're going to drop it."
"Any suggestions?"
"A gun." Lucia said flatly, raising an eye at me. "Failing that, something you can use in tight, that's cheap. My old man taught me macework for a reason, but I think I have the thing for you."
Taking a hatchet from her, I inspected Lucia's gift. It was short, barely over a foot, with a light and thin head of cheap steel. Swishing it around experimentally, I listened to her continuation.
"Pick something you can fight inside with, that you won't cut your ship half to ribbons with. Make it cheap. I've got a basket of these things handy if you need more."
"Right. Are you ready?"
"Born ready." Lucia said, smirking. As we both readied ourselves, an invisible bell chimed silently, before the spar was engaged.
So, because this falls up the alley of the fine folks over at Sea Lion Press et all, I'm submitting a version of this work for Actual Publication so I can get money. Money is important, since it lets me write more. It might even become a book at some point. Anyway, check them out, send me Over There some love, see this story told from first person and after a heavy does of the Editor Stick. There might even be more waifus or something!