Cameron Jon Bernhard - Flights of Fancy: The Great Atlantic Run

This book is a work of fiction. Names,characters, organizations, events, places, and incidents either arethe product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.Any resemblance to actual persons, events, locales, etc. areentirely coincidental.

Copyright 2018 by Cameron Jon Bernhard. Allrights reserved.

Smashwords Edition ISBN:9780463371947

To Theresa.

For helping me to write less like a"Kanadian"

and more like an "Amerikan."

S houting barkers andcalliope music underpinned the ebb and swell of hundreds of excitedvoices. Multitudes from all classes of society brushed elbows asthey wandered around the exhibition grounds, ogling a spectaclethat was nothing short of fantastic. The event's carnivalatmosphere was a sideshow distraction, meant to downplay thelegitimate danger involved in this perilous undertaking.

In preparation for today, organizers hadslapped posters on every pole and board for miles around. TheGreat Atlantic Run. A title designed to grab the attention ofanyone passing by. Displaying an image of brave aviatorssuperimposed over maps of the Maritime coast on one side and theBritannia coast on the other, the description that appeared abovethe date and location was as follows:

Come see off the brave flyers for the tenthannual oceanic aerobarque race from Kanada to Britannia.

From the shores of Newfoundland to thecliffs of Dover, competitors from all over the world will race toearn the prize money and prestige that comes from accomplishing theworld's fastest transatlantic airship crossing.

Their marketing efforts paid off withdividends. People from all walks of life showed up to take in thesights and sounds. The rich, the poor, families, pickpockets,locals and foreigners all walked the same roundabout circuit to thedocks, where rows of massive ships tethered to mooring postsfloated off the ground like giant toy balloons.

The ten international aerobarquesparticipating in this year's race came in all shapes and sizes,from trim, six-crew aerosloops to massive galleons as large asmansions. Each one hovered over the waters of the Newfoundlandshoreline under trapped helium clouds.

With the others boasting proud figureheadsand richly painted hulls, perhaps it was no surprise thatspectators shuffled by one of the vessels with barely a fleetingglance. To the untrained eye there seemed nothing remarkable aboutthe Persephone.

As with all aerobarques, she had the bones ofan eighteenth century seafaring vessel. Pipes and ropes extended upher masts to feed and secure the topfloat, the massive, partiallyinflated helium balloon keeping her aloft. Landing struts extendedalong the bottom of her hull, though most aerobarque captainsrarely landed on terra firma, preferring instead to hover severalinches above the ground. Maintaining some helium in the topfloat,especially when fast takeoffs were a priority, only made commonsense. Three wings, including one at the rear of the ship, providedstability in choppy weather. A lightweight fin on the topfloat alsohelped in this regard.

These accoutrements aside, the thing thatreally set aerobarques apart from their ancient seafaring ancestorswas the addition of large metal pipes feeding into a single exhaustport at the stern of the ship. Running under this from an aftopening was a long metal shaft connected to a propeller with six,twelve-foot long blades. Though their sailing predecessors werelimited to wind power, the application of steam-powered turbinesmeant that such limitations no longer applied to their airbornegrandchildren.

Absent the colorful designs wealthy ownersused to decorate their ships, every Imperial credit thrown into thePersephone was an investment in performance. Her unadorned linesprovided maximum thrust and maneuverability, angled to bleedheadwinds into her network of sails and allow her to flow acrossthe sky as if on angel's wings. She wasn't much to look at, butthat didn't matter to her crew. Once she found the wind, hercompetitors weren't apt to see her for long anyway.

The poor impression she made to theuninitiated masses below was the farthest thing on the mind offirst mate Baldrick Merryweather. He leaned his muscular frame overthe gunwale, searching the shifting river of faces flowing past hisship for one in particular.

"Where the great galloping galloops is she?"he muttered. "The race is going to start any minute."

Cookie, the ship's Scottish steam engineer,happened to be walking past at the time with an armful of suppliesintended for the boiler room. He overheard the mate's offhandedremark and sniffed. "Cap'n wull be 'ere. She's probably laying ootsome last minute bets oan us afore we git underway, ah reckon."

Baldrick sighed. "Forget inspection. At thisrate, she'll be lucky to show up for the starting pistol."

Ignorant of his foul mood, a young aristocrathad the misfortune of walking past the Persephone with a lady onhis arm. He waved up at the surly figure hanging off the deck abovethem.

"Ahoy, Captain! There's some fine competitorsin the running this year," he shouted. "Is that old tug of yours upto the challenge?"

With clenched teeth, Baldrick summarily wavedhim away. "What would you know, you foppish lackwit? You wouldn'trecognize a fast ship if one landed on you."

A dainty, yet firm hand squeezed his shoulderfrom behind. Clara Porter was more than a prominent lady of renown.She was also the ship's second mate.

"Down, tiger," she said. "Let's not declarewar on the nobility. Some of us can't help it that we come frommoney."

Baldrick grunted with displeasure, but didn'treply.

She joined him at the bulwark, emulating hisposture as he stared out over the mob filing into the exhibitiongrounds. "Still no sign of Fancy?"

"You mean Captain Fancy, don't you,mate?" he grumbled. "As long as you're aboard this ship..."

Clara deepened her voice, mimicking the grufftones of her senior officer. "I'm to behave in a professionalmanner befitting my rank at all times." She snorted with amusement."Remind me again why Fancy picked an old fussbucket like you to beher first mate, over her oldest and dearest friend?"

Baldrick glanced around. At least threenearby crewmen had heard their exchange and were stifling smirks.He harrumphed into his fist, deciding the best way to salvagedecorum meant changing tack.

"How goes the preparations?" he inquired. "Iwant to be ready to get underway as soon as she arrives."

"Everything's squared away. The steam driveis prepped and operational. Our tanks are full. The prop's greasedand spinning. Even the larder's stocked."

"Did you double check the air pockets on thesails for leaks?" he asked.

"We triple checked them." Clara smiled."Relax, Baldrick, we aren't going to embarrass you by dropping outof the sky as soon as we launch."