Sexy Steampunk Babes: Chapter Seventy Six

“How was it this time?” Alden Whitemorrow asked excitedly as William stepped off the wing of the experimental shard.

Around them, the Jellyfish’s flight crew had also swarmed forward, ropes and dollies ready to tow the ugly machine back into the carrier’s hangar for post-flight checks.

“I’m still getting a bit of control stiffening when I get up to full speed,” William replied, as he pulled up his goggles. “The new rear mounted stabilizers definitely help though.”

“Told you they would,” the other man said happily. “Honestly, I still don’t know why you didn’t add them in the first draft?”

Because on the original design they would have melted, William thought. Fortunately, this new variant of the shard doesn’t have that issue.

Instead of saying that though, he just shrugged. Which his future father-in-law took in the spirit he intended it as he glanced back at the retreating machine.

“Though if you’re still having trouble in spite of that change, well, I’ve got some ideas, but I don’t know how much more we can do.”

William sighed and nodded. The duel was tomorrow. At this point it was probably better not to make any sweeping alterations that might change its flight performance anymore than they already had.

 “Something to look into after the match,” he said. “I doubt I’ll actually need to get up to the kind of speed where the stiffening becomes a factor tomorrow.”

At least, not while manoeuvring at the same time.

“No, probably not.” Alden chuckled, the sound perhaps a little manic. “I’ll get her back below and make sure our bird is ready for tomorrow.”

William nodded and watched as the older man strode off toward the deck elevator where the shard was getting ready to be lowered down into the Jellyfish’s internal hangars.

Ideally, they’d have been doing this final stage of testing on solid ground instead of on a warship – even one as well stocked as the Jellyfish – but with secrecy being such a big factor in their coming fight, they’d spent the last three days of testing hovering at the border between the Summerfield’s personal demesne and that of his betrothed.

There wasn’t so much as an outhouse for three miles from where they were, which hopefully meant the only witnesses to their test flights had been squirrels and trees.

Three days, he thought. Four to build it. Three for testing – and updates.

Honestly, that was an incredibly impressive turnaround time to build an entirely new ‘prototype’ craft – even with magic shortcutting the process. And yet he wished they had more time to test and tweak. Sure, he might have cheated by using the original blueprints for the craft that were in his head, but the machine they now had deviated from those blueprints substantially.

And so much the better, he thought, because I wouldn’t have been comfortable even standing next to the original design – let alone flying it.

However, even if the changes they’d made were for the better and the new craft was a substantial upgrade over the original, there was no denying that even small changes in an aircraft could massively change its flight performance. And they had not made small changes.

He glanced out at the slowly setting sun and wondered if it would be worth calling Alden back for one final test flight. He dismissed the idea though as he watched two other shards land.

There’d be more time for testing the as of yet unnamed prototype before they moved into full production. For the moment, he was familiar enough with its altered flight performance that he wasn’t unduly worried about tomorrow.

He watched as the twins climbed out of their own shards – conventional fighters they’d borrowed from their family rather than the Basilisk – and walked over to him, pulling off their own goggles as they did.

He definitely didn’t smirk at the many wax splotches splattered across the two machines – that a member of the Jellyfish’s flight crew was even now hurrying to clean off prior to taking the two craft below deck.

“That thing is bullshit!” Clarice spat the moment she was in speaking range.

William just grinned at the normally more taciturn twin’s irritation. “That’s the idea.”

While he would handily admit that he’d not exactly always stood by the mantra, he was a firm believer in the idea that a man should never go into any kind of fight in which the outcome was even slightly in doubt.

To that end, their new shard was certainly ‘bullshit’.

“I agree,” Marcille muttered. “Which is why it’s doubly bullshit you’re the one who gets to fly it tomorrow instead of one of us. We’re not exactly traditionalists or anything, but people are going to talk if we let a man fly for us.”

Yes, they’d already made that argument. And he’d already shot it down. Quite literally. The Jellyfish had brought along its full complement – now swapped out for conventional shards rather than Corsairs as well as Royal Naval pilots sworn to secrecy – for some ‘large scale’ tests of the new machine.

“Anyone who tries to shame you with that line of argument I more than welcome to meet me in the skies,” he said. “Because I more than think I’ve proven that I’m the best pilot we have for it.”

Every member of the Whitemorrow family had demanded to take a turn in the prototype since it became flyable three days ago. And he’d not dared refuse – even if his focus had been in getting in as much personal flight time as possible in preparation for the match.

Alas, given the looks on their faces after that first flight… well, refusing might well have caused them to start divorce proceedings… before they’d even had the wedding.

It was endearing in a way. The girls loved shards as much as their father, if not more. And they loved this one too – though not quite enough to outfly him in it. In those ‘large scale’ tests, he’d been the one to rack up the most kills by far.

Though to be fair, he had mostly managed that by cheating outrageously. This past week he had spent at least six hours each night practicing in his dreamspace on the original design.

Not that they needed to know that.

Yet, he thought with just a hint of nervousness.

The day where he needed to rip that particular band-aid off was fast approaching.

“Heh, I suppose that would be satisfying to see,” Marcille admitted, before getting serious. “I assume you’ve not changed your mind about the plan for the day?”

At her words, William glanced over to where a third shard had landed – this one in the familiar colors of his old house.

House Ashfield.

And this time he felt far less amusement at all the wax-markings covering it. Especially those stitched across the cockpit.

…He’d not been the one to put them there.

“You saw what happened when we tried to work together,” he said with equal seriousness. “The flight performances of the two craft are too different. It doesn’t work – and there’s no way we can whip up another prototype in time for the duel.”

They’d barely gotten this one ready.

He shook his head. “Even if we did have a second prototype, we all know that we can’t risk me being knocked out before her.”

He watched as his aunt Karla climbed out of the craft, the woman giving him a jaunty wave before she turned to talk to one of the flight crew.

His stomach sank. “At least this way we get some use out of her.”

The duel rules they’d agreed to specified one shard per house. And there was no doubt Apple River and Plumgarden would be teaming up to take down him and his aunt before they sought to turn on each other.

So his aunt would be going in first to try and… soften the opposing shards up before he did. Which would ensure she went down first and didn’t accidentally hand the duchy over to Olivia by ‘outliving’ him if he happened to get shot down.

It had been made explicitly clear that wouldn’t end well for anyone. As far as Yelena was concerned, even a Plumgarden or Apple River victory was preferable.

All of which would be fine by him – if they weren’t using live rounds tomorrow.

The switch from airships to shards was ostensibly to save resources for the war effort – but in certain things tradition would not be denied. So, live ammunition.

Fortunately, the contest wasn’t explicitly to the death, merely to touchdown, but with shards trading live fire, deaths were far from unlikely.

Hence my mixed feelings about sending my favorite aunt up as essentially a sacrificial pawn, he thought.

He’d always like Karla. She was the fun aunt. The vivacious fighter jock of the family. The one who tended to find more amusement than frustration in his acting out.

 And now there was a good chance she was going to die.

And she didn’t even seem upset about it. Just laughing like she always did. Honestly, he got the feeling she viewed the whole situation as some kind of… penance for plotting treason.

…She’d never been as ‘into’ the plan as his mother and other aunts. She was a simple woman, and words like treason likely rubbed her the wrong way.

So, she was offering herself up as sacrifice. And he hated it.

It’s a lot easier to talk about making sacrifices when it doesn’t affect you, isn’t it? When it’s other people’s families suffering?

It was something he’d been ruminating on. In ways he never had before.

And the traps he’d set in Redwater County. At the time he’d barely thought about them. It had been… natural to hurt the enemy. No matter the cost. Reflex almost.

Now the memory felt… disconcerting. As was the fact that he’d… not even really thought about it until now.

Perhaps I should speak to Marline, he thought.