"Avarice, the spur of industry."
–David Hume
The red disk of the sun had not passed yet the horizon, and the city was already in motion.
The smokestacks had begun to erupt their columns of smoke that make the air thick and heavy, blinding the blue sky.
Factories and steel mills were fed with tons of coal, just arrived by trains and shoveled by machines and dozens of workers.
Who was outside wore heavy coats and scarves against the cold, envying their colleagues who worked inside, kept warm by the high temperatures of the furnaces where the metal was melted.
The streets and squares were empty, shops were closed and an unreal silence dominated everything.
Only the sweepers trailed around, trying to clean the sidewalks by the ashes thrown from factories, although they knew was pointless.
A cold gust of wind beat down upon my face. I sealed my lips and cursed myself for have forgotten the scarf.
Clenching my raincoat with one hand and my suitcase with the other, I continued to walk straight, although wind forced me to carry my top hat by myself, as I could not afford another one.
The cold was normal in this part of the year and, instead of stay sitted on the sofa in my appartment, drinking a hot coffee, I was walking in the middle of a boulevard with a raincoat, which didn't protect me in any possible way, and a heavy suitcase. Also, my allergy began to bite.
Meanwhile, a sharp smell of tar and fuel had invaded the air, forcing me to put a handkerchief over my nose in order to keep walking.
It was unbelievable! Victoria had one of the most widespread underground network in the entire world, but no exits near the aerodrome!
Once reached the end of an dusty asphalt road, I raised my sight and sighed for relief, as I saw finally my destination.
Over my head, five airship were flying over dark clouds, shining their metallic trim with the small amount of available light. Their white balloons made them perfectly visible in the orange heaven, while their engines emitted a continuous but not annoying hum.
Old models.
Four of them were simple cargo airship, as anyone could have deduced from their squat shape and the flat bottom, used for the transport of goods from one place to another.
Their appearance was not well maintained: their hull was consumed by the weather, being made largely of wood, while the rusty engines emitted clouds of black smoke.
The last one was an Air-Fortress, evolution of the common battleship: as his predecessor, the shape was incredibly long and the entire structure consisted of a cylindrical floating aerostatic baloon, completely armored.
His appearance made her look as an ordinary warship: four slively turrets with eight twelve-inch cannons, twelve small turrets with three-inch cannons and an overall length of about one hundred and sixty meters, while powerful engines and an internal structure made with Aetherium allowed it to fly. On his left side there was written its name: HMS Dreadnought.
Despite this beautifull sight, I turned my head on left and right, searching for my airship: aerodrome's platforms were all empty, except for one. There, surrounded by a small crowd of curious onlookers, was placed the vehicle that would have been my home for two weeks.
The corvette, not big but incredibly well manteined, was a old rigid airship with a long red gondola, placed betwen two covered iron walkways.
Usually this type of airship were able to carry just ten passengers, namely the entire crew, but with the introduction of Aetherium and the elimination of hydrogen, made possible to have more rooms in the aerostatic ballon. On its left, the name HMS Agamemnon.
As I said before, a great number on people were around the airship, some as workers who were loading some supplies, others instead as reporters looking for a scoop, but most of them as simply curious timewaster.
Then I heard the roar of a voice, which seemed to make his way through the crowd in order to separate and scatter it. In that moment I ignored the booming sound and approached to the airship to embark.
It was cold and I longed to sit in front of a stove, as I notice the presence of two gattling cannon on the walkways and of several dents on a side of the gondola. While I was wondering about the reasons of that armament, the voice I had heard before came up at my shoulders.
“Nice view, ah?”
I whirled and found myself in front of a white curled beard; betwen that and a wrinkled forehead, two eyes, actually just one, as the other was clearly a glass-eye, were studying me with a hardener gaze. This, and a wool cap on his head, made him looking as an old salt.
“Are you talking about the airship or the armament, Sir?” I asked.
I thought I had said something wrong, as he kept staring me disturbingly with his one good eye, which hardened even more. His gray eyebrows piled, forming one indistinct figure over his forehead.
His breathing, noisy and heavy as a combustion engine, was steeped of strong tobacco.
That imposing figure reminded me to hasten my departure. But when I was about to leave him, he burst out laughing so loudly I thought for a second that the air-fortress had opened fire, whilst his chest rose and fell like pistons of an industrial machine.
“Oh man! You should have seen your face!” he slammed his calloused hand on my right shoulder “I'm Captain Roland, but you can call me Francis if you like. And this” -he pointed the airship with one finger- “is my boy. Maybe he's not advanced as many other airship, but during the siege of Sevastoone, he was the best corvette ever made! ”
I blinked for surprise hearing those words “Sevastoone? You were there too?”
He took off some tobacco from his pockett and tried to kindle his old worn pipe “Of course I was there! In the 3rd Air Wing. Those bastards took me an eye and I took out three of their corvettes! As you can see, the signs of the battle are still on the gondola. What was your regiment?”
I took some moment before anwer, as remember that period was an hard work for me.
“5th Regiment on Foot. I was a Sergeant Major in the 11th battalion under Lord MacMahon's command. ”
Captain Roland nodded with his pipe, held by teeth still strong for the age but with a clear problem of tartar “ Well, it's seems we have another veteran with us! I hope you'll have a pleasant journey on my ship, Mr...”
“Prescott. William Prescott.” I tried to shake his hand, but he grabbed mine and shocked it with an impressive force.
“Nice to meet you Mr. Prescott!” he blew out the pipe to quench it and began to move towards the footbridge. “Now, come aboard! We will leave any second now! After all, Equestria is not around the corner.”
Few minutes later, a deafening noise pervaded the air, as the engines went into operation. In the boilers coal started to burn producing a great amount of energy. After beeing converted into electricity, the Aetherium structure was charged by electrons, and rose up from the concrete platform.
At an height, the two propellers, placed on both side of the airship, started to rotate wildly, giving us enough speed to proceed.
As a whale emerges from the sea and rises, majestic and invincible, in the same way we rose into the unknown. All that we had with us, was our will and the technology given to us by progress. But otherwise it, we would be alone in an ocean of air.
Peoples on the platform started to shake their hands in the air for us, until they seemed indistinguishable from a stain on the asphalt.
Districts became small islands surrounded by the sea of streets, large smokestacks a little bigger than fireplaces and cruise ships appeared more similar to paper boats.
As I left my home town, I could not feel regret or other similar sentiments for that place.
Home! No, that was not my home, even if I had though for years it was. My home took away from me the only thing that mattered.
I spent my best years fighting, killing and colonizing for them, only for be repaid in such way.
My home was a voracious and selfish beast, a plague, a flock of locusts which destroys the work and lives of others. Nothing more. Science and progress should not authorize genocides of entire populations. And for what? For the prosperity? For our superiority?
How many times did I shoot for the Victorian Empire? How many times did I bersmirch my uniform with blood? How many time did I lead bayonet charges, slaying enemy platoons? So many deaths and broken lives were nothing for a herd of fat capitalists.
Ours was a deserved decline.
The Agamemnon was an old three-decker air-corvette of the Eagle-class, with two engines powered by four boilers and a single Aetherium Vertical Magnetic Generator. The armour of four-inch metal plates and an armament consisting of four gattling machine gun and two three-inch breech-loading gun placed in two lateral pillboxes made the Eagle class one of the best choice of the Royal Air Navy.
At least when there was still an Air Navy. Or a Navy.
The entire structure used no helium for the flight, as the Aetherium allowed it.
The power given by burning coal was not totaly directed to steam engines, but part of it were converted into electricity and used to power the V.M.G.. The Aetherium had the incredible ability, once charged with electrons, to overcome the force of gravity and allowing the flight even to a big steam-ship.
Obviously it came at a cost: bigger the mass was, more electricity was required to raise it in the air. That's why they were not use anymore.
Airships were divided into three groups: in the first those which used hydrogen and helium to fly, whatever they were blimps, rigid, semi-rigid airship or old vessel with baloons. Cheaper and reliable, they were commonly found in the Southern continents where the lack of efficent artillery gave them a remarkable longevity. Pirates from the Barbary Coast could lift whole fleets of those things and strike anywhere they wanted.
In the Nothern continents rifled cannons, industry and Aetherium joined together to create a new kind of airships: the Leviathan class.
A Leviathan was namely a ship equipped with one or more V.M.G.. That's what they were, flying ships with a steel armour focused on the hull to deflect volleys from Armstrong rifled-guns. They exceeded their southern cousins in all aspects, and the simple projected shadows on the ground instilled fear in soldiers' hearts. But Leviathans were also more expensive as they required regular maintenance and insane ammounts of coals. Now they have become very uncommon: while ten years ago the Victorian Empire had fifteen Leviathans in the Royal Air Fleet, after The War they could afford just two.
The third type was a cross-over between a rigid airship and a Leviathan, keeping their recognizable shape, replacing helium and hydrogen with one or two V.M.G.
They were cheaper than a Leviathan and used by a large ammount of minor armies who could not afford expensive weapons.
The Agamemnon was one of them, built in the Latin Kingdoom seven years ago and sold soon after. When the war ended it would have been scrapped as many others, if were not for the love of Captain Francis Roland who bought the old airship and improved it.
I had spent the first travel day in my cabin, lying on the bed and reading both notes and books, when that night Francis came in my room, asking me to enjoy him and the other passenger for a chat in his office.
Captain Roland's office was on airship's rear, divided by small door from the deck.
The timber-floored room was higly decorated with cimels of Captain's adventure: two door-fastened narwhal horn remembered when he used to work on ships in the cold water of the Nothern Seas. Narwhals are fast but they had not been fast enough to avoid his harpoons.
All walls covered by life jackets, ropes, plates of old ships and photos of old comrades and even a small silver anchor with some words engraved: To Captain Francis Roland, member of the Royal Sea Society.
On the shelves attached to the walls, books of all sorts of topics were piled: geography, history, mythology and mechanic. He read probably just for hobby.
The wall behind the wooden desk hosted a range of rusty plates with various ships' names: the Ark, the Commonwealth and the Monitor were just some witnesses of his carrer. He had been trained to be a ship captain and became an airship captain.
But was not a problem: drive an airship was similar to drive a normal ship, and many famous airship captain had started their carrer on the water.
In the left corner were storaged Captain Roland personal weapon, a buckshot-loaded blunderbuss. Despite its age, that weapon was extremelly usefull a the fight's beginning, as it could decapitate two man in sequence and injure the others with one shot.
Sitted at his chair, he smoked the pipe near a curious lamp made out from an old shell.
As I entered he widellly grinned with his white teeth and pointed the sofa with his pipe.
“Good to see you Mr. Prescott! Please sit there.”
Roland offered a brown cigar to me and one to middle-heighted, black curled-mustached man sitted on his left, wearing a red army's jacket with two white empty bandoliers and a pair of shiny-black pants.
An unelegant dressing style,a scar near his black-sharp mustaches and a missing piece of the left ear made clear, as me, he was not a common passenger. A veteran officer not very modest who loved to showed his wounds and medal likewise.
Instead, the captain had left his heavy-brown coat on the neariest chair, chosing a more formal blue uniform, relic of his time in the army. On it's white collar, the 3rd Royal Air Wing's motto: One foot above clouds.
“When we will arrive at New Yorktown, Captain?” the officer asked smooking his brown cigar.
“Twelve days from now. Perhaps more.“ he aswered.
“Twelve days!?“ he gasped “So long? Or it's just your airship that's outdated?“
“If you don't like my airship, then you can easily go down. I'm sure that some old fishing boat will be glad to welcome you, Mr Lock!“ Roland chuckled and inhaled the fumes of the cigar. “It's not my fault if we are taking the long way.“
“Are you mentioning the last incidents of the Western Airship Company?“ I asked.
The captain grimaced “One or two airships are an incident. But when four airships decide to fall over the same place, or the Company have the worst existing captains, or they really need to repair some of their vehicles.“
The officer shocked the head “You should discard the second hypothesy as the last one was the air-liner Calipso, which had three V.M.G. It's unlikely that all of them had stopped working in the same time.“
“And the first too. I know many mates who work for the Company and some have even more experience of me.“
I nodded in agreement “Whatever the reason is we should remember that we are talking about a dangerous air-way, located over Griffonia. As we know, they are in the middle of a civil war and skies are their battlefields. It's not a good idea to fly in the middle of a war-zone.“
“Is not the Admiralty's duty to protect the air-ways?“ the officer demanded.
“Teorically yes, but our goverment cannot afford military expenditure any more“ I said.
“Oh, don't tell me! I'd found myself with no occupation for that. Luckily seems that the New Yorktown's militia is looking for some military advisers. They are good guys, but with no experience.“
“So you are an officer, aren't you?“
“Lieutenant, Mr. Prescott. From the 19th Infantry Regiment.“ he smiled proudly and pointed to an hanging golden medal on his chest “Did I tell you how I got this?“
From then he started to talk about his carrer and personal achievements. He talked about when he'd took part in the battle of Assaye and in the Delhi's siege, when he had led his battalion under the enemy fire and took back the Kalazov's fortress and about his participation in a operation against pirates. But soon both me and Roland had enough.
“Mr. Prescott why did you decide to go to New Yorktown?“ Roland demanded glancing to me.
I bit my lips and tried to elaborate an convincing answer “For...businesses.“
Feeling my unwillingness, he smiled and nodded in comprehension “You don't want to tell me why, but it's fine: sailors always respect the privacy.“
He raised from the chair and glanced to both “Now I have to ask you to return in your cabin, gentleman. I've an airship to pilot.“
Once said that, he headed to the door firmly,the pipe held by his teeth.
I could not sleep even if my bed was confortale. First I tried a common remedy as counting sheeps, then I paced up and down nervously in the small cabin. I even took in consideration some of my book, but I have already read everything I had.
With a sigh I decided to take a break, so I wore a jacket and a pair of trousers and got up. There, the crew had arranged an elegant canteen for guests.
I said elegant in comparison with the canteen of other airships.
Five round tables were scattered in a restricted space, covered by a low ceiling, without any decoration that make it more pleasant. One crew's member, a sikh ,behind a long-old counter, occupied the role of barman in front of a countless collection of bottles.
Not exactly a cafe in Victoria's central district, but better than nothing.
The corridors were dark and the light came only from the external headlights. The airship was probably somewhere over the ocean, at two hundred miles west from the Western Continent. Grey clouds covered the portholes, eliminating our visual range. I wondered how the helmsman could be able to drive so confidently in such environment.
As I walked into the room, I blinked as I realized that there was someone else there.
A group of white dressed crew's members, some dark-faced for the coal, had gathered around one of the tables, looking in silence to a sitted man who holded an empty bottle in his hand. A candle lighted room with difficulty but I was still able to see his features: deep creases crossed his forehead and cheekbones, wide nose, dry grey hair and a messy beard.
Ten man was around him, looking with interest and apprehension, waiting for something. Some drummed fingers on the table, others stirring the brandy in their glass with a toothpick.
One of them left the group and leaded on the bar counter. I took the opportunity to gain information about the strange occurrence.
“Who is him?” I asked.
He glanced to me amused. “He's John Long Black, the oldest we have here. He knows thousands of old sea-stories but he always takes too much time to chose which one to tell. You should listen, they are real.”
“Real?”
“Well...most of all,” he giggled.
“I found it!”
The old man had jumped from the chair on his leg with more energy I could immagine, his brown eyes wide, a grinn on his mouth.
“I found it!” he repeated hopping cheerfully.
Everybody in the room leaned toward him, their eyes twinkling in excitement. I got close following the reaction of all trying to tollerate a smell of sweat, coal and rum.
“Well?” someone asked with trembling voice.
He sunk on his chair smirking with satisfaction “Do you want to listen?”
As everyone nodded, he took a huge breath and started “As you well know, seven years ago the city of New Yorktown declared its indipendence from the Company. While Equestria received the news favorably, the Western Airship Company's reaction was furious. They needed that city as the perfect landfall for their airships.
All the exotic goods and extraordinary incomes which came from there had vanished.”
“As first, they asked for a military campaign of the Victorian Empire, denouncing serious violations of signed treaties. Unfortunatelly, The War was in full swing and all available troops had to be sent on the frontline. When they understood that victorians would not help them, the Company made another decision: take back the city by themselves.”
“It was not as hard as it seemed: those vultures had many contacts and commercial basis in both Nothern and Southern continents, thus hired a mercenary army and a small flotilla. The objective was to invade the city by sea, annihilate any local resistence, murder the Major and the city council in the shortest possible time.”
“I knew a mate who were aboard in one of their ship, the Siren, as sailor. The fleet consisted of twenty modified steam-liner, armed with light artillery and some smoothbore muzzle-loading guns.”
“Hey! We already know that story!” someone shouted over my shoulder. He was a young mechanic, a large number of oils strains on his suit. That explained the smell.
“Oh, really? And what had newspaper said about, ah boy? What I'm gonna tell you, no journalist had the courage to write about!” he shouted.
“Well, maybe because it's never happened?” someone objected.
He narrowed his eyes, glaring to everyone sitted at the table “Two weeks after their departure, the small flotilla anchored at fifteen miles east from the city, preparing to launch their attack the next day. While mercenary captains had gathered on the flagship, an old ironclad, both sailors and soldiers were on the deck enjoying that beutiful night, daydreaming about treasures that looting would have earned them and drinking every kind of bottle they had brought.”
“Oh, come on!” a tall sailor exlaimed “Are you really going to tell that story again? That's ridicolus even for you!”
Many giggles, but the old sailor seemed no perturbed. He put some rum in his glass and grinned Are you get tired of my stories? Fine, you won't hear them anymore.
