Captain William Harper strode the deck of the airship entrusted to his care. His gray-bearded features set in a perpetual scowl, he carefully observed the skeleton crew he'd picked to deliver this latest marvel of the industrial age to its owners. Each crew member bent over their tasks, concentrating mightily upon their appointed duties. Despite his baneful visage, Captain Harper was pleased with the flight so far. The weather was perfect, the ship and crew performed without a hitch. In short, it was a beautiful flight.

So why did he have the misgivings that had troubled his sleep for the past week? Was it simply that everything was going too well? He looked once more at the crowded workstations that lined the airship's tiny Bridge. Sighing, he took another sip of the bitter, strong coffee that was his single vice. Its oily, acrid taste teased his tongue even as the scent of freshly roasted coffee beans tickled his nose. So much more satisfying than tea, he thought.

"Mister Van Horne," said Captain Harper, glancing over at his First Officer who was busy checking their charts against the ship's shiny brass chronometer.

"Yes sir?" Van Horne replied, after the barest moment's delay as he penciled a notation on the charts.

"Course and speed satisfactory?"

"We have a bit of a tailwind, Sir. We are slightly ahead of our estimated position from this morning's calculations. I would put us roughly eight hours out from Washington."

"Good," said the Captain. "The sooner we can deliver Her Majesty's gift to the Americans, the better I will feel. Has our passenger put in an appearance yet today?"

"I regret to say," Van Horne replied, carefully repressing any temptation for sarcasm that he might have suffered, "that Professor Vernay has not yet graced us with his presence. He refused all meals and sent word that he is still suffering from what he called 'air sickness' from the minor turbulence we encountered two days ago."

"Lord help him if we run into a real storm," said the Captain as he tugged his uniform into perfect creases. "If a little squall put him into distress. Still, this is the first time he's been airborne. Practically the first time he's been out of his laboratory since being given the project to develop the new lightweight steam engine. Three years in the making, and this little boat is the result. He and his invention can help our American cousins tame their new Western territories, if anything can."

"Hard to credit, Sir. I never thought I'd live to see anything replace coal as a fit fuel for steam engines. Or this miracle metal alloy he's come up with."

"Yes, he credits that Chinese scientist, Chang, for the discovery of the ores used to smelt this 'Titanium', as Vernay calls it. As for the liquid fuel, Vernay credits that to the Americans. Nasty smelling stuff, though."

"I agree, Sir. But without both, no one would be able to build an airship like this," said Van Horne, admiration plain in his voice. "A true example of international co-operation. One country supplies the structural metals, another the fuel, another the fabric for the lifting gas cells, another for the metalized fabric of the ship's skin-"

"And an Englishman to see how to combine the diverse elements into one complete whole," said the Captain. "Don't forget that. Without us, these foreigners would still be groping in the dark."

"I say, Sir?" Van Horne replied, frowning. "Isn't that a bit unfair? Surely the reverse is also true. Would even we have been able to achieve this wonderful machine without the efforts from around the globe that went into her development?"

"You're young yet," Captain Harper said loftily. "One day you'll see that the Empire still stands for the highest achievement of civilization-"

"Sir!" shouted one of the crewman tasked with lookout duty.

"What is it, Ensign?" asked Harper.

"Another airship, Sir." the lookout replied. "Approaching us from the stern, two degrees to starboard. Coming up fast!"

"Highly irregular," said the Captain. "Van Horne, sound Battle Stations and prepare the ship for attack."

"Yes Sir!" Van Horne said as he saluted and spun about to follow the Captain's orders. A bell began clanging the alarm signal. More crew members appeared, running to their action stations. Small ports in the airship's skin opened and the muzzles of small, but powerful cannon were thrust through. In the bow and stern of the airship, other ports opened and the new American rapid-firing Gatling guns were made ready. Captain Harper studied the oncoming airship with his own telescope, then snarled out the single word that the crew dreaded to hear.

"Pirates," said the Captain.

Professor Vernay chose that moment to visit the Bridge. Once apprised of the situation, he smiled. "Good," he said. "We can give our present to the Americans a real test. Stop the engines on one side of the ship and then reverse them, we can pivot in the air like a ballet dancer, thus bringing our long range guns in the bow to bear on the enemy. If they manage to slip alongside of us… Our cannon will have a longer range. We can give them a broadside that they'll never forget!"

"Professor," said Van Horne as the Captain furrowed his brow in consideration of Vernay's proposal. "These airship pirates are almost as good as the Queen's own Navy-"

"Exactly why the Americans asked us for help against these dogs," interrupted Vernay. "American airships are too slow clumsy to defend themselves in any effective way. But we, we can fight as well as any seagoing battleship. I predict a short lifetime for these curs!"

"Helm, bring us about, just as the Professor suggested," said the Captain.

"They're firing," reported the lookout. "Shots falling short of us."

"In position to return fire," said the Helmsman.

"Fire all forward guns," ordered Captain Harper.

The pirate airship burst into flame as the guns of the HMAS Victory found their target.

Charles, Chuck or Chuckles, as he was known to his current friends and fellow inmates, was recently released from the Rahway State Prison after serving his penance. He and a few others of his young cohorts had once hijacked a steam-powered airship freighter, out of total boredom. The airship, belonging to MARIO'S AIRSHIP FREIGHT/ITALY-AMERICA, Inc., had been moored on the New Jersey Air Path rest stop on its way to New York to unload fresh tomatoes, and imported goods from Sicily. Chuck and his young friends hurt no one and only took it for a joy flight. The judge, Franco Antonelli, didn't see it that way. "Five to Ten in the pen," and the gavel hit the bench.

Eight and a half years later, he's out early for good behavior and on probation. His wife had divorced him. He fought for visitation rights and lost. He IS an ex-con and his presence in polite society was not welcome. Of course his real friends will talk to him. There are not too many of them considering he went in at 21 and got out at 30. That was a lifetime ago. Most had settled, gone on to careers or were dead from the wars.

Chuckles used his connections, past, prison and family to locate a job that would allow him some needed freedom. He landed a job as a buyer of used airships for a wholesale airship auction house CAPITAL AIRSHIPS, LLC., in da Bronx, New York. The company salesmen would fly all over New Jersey, New York, Connecticut and sometimes even New England to other airship dealers purchasing used and traded-in airships. They would have them flown back to the clearing house in New York by sales and pilot trainees. In this manner of gainful employment, Chuckles got around the probation restrictions on travel. He acquired a good paying respectable job that required interstate flying. He didn't have to check in every time he traveled. It was always for business. Probation agreed, grudgingly.

Charles was an excellent salesman. He dressed in the best hand made suits of the time. He followed the fashions. He kept up on the times. He could converse with the mechanic to the presidents of the world corporations. Charles would keep copious notes on every sales person and their families he dealt with; referring back to them to make sure he had his facts straight before he landed. He always had a decent gift for the managers usually a bottle if fine wine, never anything as crude as grain liquor, and a good cigar. Business was conducted in a slow easy manner. A glass of port, some bread, meats and the cigar. In between this leisurely and preliminary activity, there was some business talk.

"I like the red one with the white stripes, and the deep green one with the black enamel carriage." Chuck had an eye for saleable airships and always said, "Better a ship should look good then fly well. You can always sell a looker."

The sales manger Frederick, looked at him thinking, of course you do, they are some of the best previously flown certified steam-powered Caddies® we have. "Chuck," Frederick knew him from early days and always called him Chuck, "You can have those if you take a few in the back. Let me show you."

Charles knew this was how sales worked. It was an art. In order to get the good ones he would have to take a few leaky air ships, acting insulted at the very thought. They were so disreputable if the trainees were lucky enough, they wouldn't explode in mid air or crash. Not my problem they were insured.

"How nice Frederick. Where did you acquire these?"

"A guy won a jackpot at the track in Freehold. He came here in this wreck," pointing to one most unairworthy specimen of a craft Charles had ever seen, "and paid cash for a loaded one. The other one we took in trade from an old and valued commercial customer," pointing to a patched up wreck just as bad. "It was in his air barn for years. You want those two in front…you take these off my hands. You're the first auction guy here today. I can't even give them away. Here's what I paid for them. I want a hundred over, each. I'll give you a deal to clear my landing plot. Now on to the two up front." Chuck knew his real sales skills would now came into play. Charles lit a new cigar. His was going to take a while. Frederick raised one of his heavy dark eyebrows. He enjoyed business with Chuck. Incarceration did not alter his gentlemanly manners.

At the end of negotiation Charles had the two he really wanted, the two wrecks at cost and three other middle of the road airships that would move quickly at auction. He wanted the black and green one for himself. It was an impressive airship with all the best accessories. The steam based powerhouse was silent. This would be his sales vehicle for some time. He marconied the auction house, "Fly seven trainees down. I'm swapping out the air registration here on a new one." He gave Rocco, the flight boss the registration numbers and continued. "And, you know you can sell my Handsome® flyer, for a huge profit. Oh, by-the-way and a heads up, two of the ships are in rather poor condition. It might be better to send a few experienced flyers. They may not make it back with raw trainees."

"Chuckles, why do you even…"

"Rocco, you will understand when you see the total fleet I am bringing in… trust me," he interrupted in his best New Jersey/New York manner. This was good. No, it was better, it was excellent. His commission would be a fat one from this auction alone. That meant, potentially, a good date, good food and… one could hope. Chuck air lifted a happy man.

"Well, Professor, so much for the steam-powered ping-pong player. Perhaps you have produced something a little more worth my valuable time?" snarled the General, impatiently. "If the war against the Rassians wasn't going so well, your funding would have been cut off already."

"It does break new ground in the fields of autonomous control and object recognition." replied the Professor, meekly. "I'm afraid that the only other recent invention I can lay claim to is the Transfinite Gate, and that's really more a toy than anything else. Just a mechanical verification of certain theories that I don't believe any modern man of science seriously doubts. I can't see any possible military use."

"I shall be the judge of that!" boomed the General, marching towards a large device off to one side of the well-appointed laboratory. "Is this it?"

"Yes, General."

The General peered at the device for a long moment. It appeared to consist of an ordinary wooden door, surrounded by the apparatuses of science; long coils of wire, tightly wound, tall steam pipes, and glass tubing through which variously coloured liquids bubbled.

"Well?" he snapped, finally. "Make it work!"

"Ah - yes, General." The professor hurried off to fetch some coal and shovelled it into the boiler, which he then lit and carefully worked to an immense heat.

"Why is it not on the main steam pipe?" asked the General, immediately.

"Ah, well, you see General, it does consume a fearful lot of power. Putting it on the mains supply would reduce the pressure to all other devices to an unacceptable degree."

"Very well." replied the General, before returning to his observations in stoic immobility.

Fairly soon, the boiler was at the required heat, steam flowed through the pipes, and whistled from the pressure release valves. Sparks flew along the wires and crackled from the two large metal spheres placed atop the device. The coloured liquids bubbled and moved, but rarely mixed. The professor stopped adjusting dials and valves and stepped back.

"Um, it's, er, ready, General."

The General gave the machine a close look once again. "Is that all it does?" he asked, incredulously.

"Um, wait, I forgot." The Professor checked a dial, and then opened the door.

The General, who had very little faith in the Professor's abilities, had rather expected to see a brick wall. He was therefore somewhat surprised to note that the other side of the door showed a vast field of corn, gently waving in the breeze.

He took several steps forward to take a closer look. "Where does this come out?" he asked, brusquely.

"Um, here."

"Ah. Time travel then?"

"No. Here and now. But, um, here and now in, as it were, a different universe. A parallel timeline."

"I see." The General looked through the door again, and then closed it. "And now?" he asked. "Can anyone on the other side get here now?"

"Not unless they duplicate the machine, sir, which would be impossible."

"Why?"

"Well, sir, it seems that the laws of nature in that universe are different to the laws of nature here. I have made intensive investigations, in fact, and it would appear that the luminiferous aether does not exist in that world."

"Impossible! I could see right across the field!"

"Yes, sir. Light exists, but it either propagates by a means completely alien to me, or it does so through an aether whose properties are substantially different to ours. My aetheric intensity reader gave a value of zero in the area on the other side of the door. Of course, I've only just begun looking into it…"

"The wall." snapped the General. "That was a cultivated field of corn surrounded by a stone wall. Who built the wall?"

The Professor looked surprised at the question. "The natives, probably."

"Natives? Do you mean to say that there are people living there?"

"Well, yes. Naturally. They look much the same as us, and even speak a broadly similar language. There are also interesting historical similarities…"

"Then, no doubt, they have a Britlish empire as well?"

"Theirs is called the British empire…"

The General snorted.

"…and it collapsed several decades ago. The predominant power appears to be their analogue of Ameroca, which declared independence some time back, quite successfully."

"How dare they?" thundered the General. "To ignore the Queen like that - the insult!"

"Actually, it appears that the Queen in the other universe has little direct power. Governmen-"

"WHAT!" roared the General. "Foreigners are one thing, but for the good people of Britlin -"

"Britain." corrected the Professor.

"- to ignore their monarch is another matter altogether! We shall declare martial law! We shall march through the streets! We shall conquer their world as we have conquered our own! We shall send through enough war zeppelins to darken their sky! We shall make the streets run green with blood!"

"Actually, their blood is red…" began the professor; and then his brain caught up with what his ears had been hearing.

"You want to declare war on them?" he asked, incredulously.

"It's the only possible course of action!" boomed the General. "They are inhuman monsters taking human form, they are showing disrespect to the very person of the Queen herself! We shall take control of their world as we have taken control of our own!"

The Professor looked at the General in horror…

-Sometimes the best risk is a sure thing

The announcer had the entire audience in an uproarious fervor. From his place in the blimp overhead he was working the horns to blare every minute detail that could be seen from a spyglass. For more than half the race now it had been a dead heat. Three horses surpassing all the rest.

Sleek was the favorite as everyone knew. He'd won all the Willis races the last two years running and no one saw any reason for that to be changing. The expected rival, a beautiful white creature just inches behind him, named Brazen was doing even better than expected. The queer spectacle though was the third in the leading pack. Named Nightside she was a true dark horse in every sense of the word and had been flown in just that morning via atmotrain from Utah.

In part this was what had drawn out such a large crowd on a cold November day.

The turnout was of particular interest to one man sitting toward the back almost invisible behind a gaggle of gaily clad ladies. It was he who had brought the new horse. He had refused a private box opting instead for the main stands. No one was quite sure why though had anyone taken the time to notice they might have heard him muttering to his compatriot and scribbling furiously on a notepad.

Mist sprayed from the horses mouths as they pressed their speed trying to break into a clear leader position. Finally after what seemed an interminable time nightside began to push ahead. The announcer was nearly screaming now and the shock of the crowd in elation, dejection and everything between was palpable. Just ahead now was the finish line and the strain was amazing. Each horse putting in its last efforts. Brazen and Sleek were sliding back and forth for the second place position but nightside continued to slowly gain against them. It was not even a close finish though one had been guessed at by the announcer. In the end Nightside cleared her entire length before the competition reached the line.

A thousand fortunes were won and lost that day. Mostly lost as few people bet on the horse with 25:1 odds. The man who had entered the horse made the tidiest profit though he had barely been able to afford the entry fee. All the hard work had paid off. His little scheme had come to fruition and his designs proved flawless. As the Atmotrain lifted into the sky in a private car the man combed Nightside, Oiled her, Tightened a few bolts, Wound up the clockwork mechanism and told her what a good horse she was.

June 25, 1885. Lebanon, Kansas.

"Donny! What are ya doing lad?" Hugh called after his son while he wiped grime from his hands. The boy was a hundred yards away looking up at the sky, about to be engulfed by a huge shadow, but he looked back, and Hugh knew he heard.

Wind off the prairie whipped through Donny's hair. The air was warm, but still refreshing, not stifling like the fumes in the dock. He stared out across Central Field; mooring masts, towers 200 feet high shaped like lighthouses dotted the landscape. Airships, helium-filled dirigibles 800 feet long, were moored to the tops of the masts. Huge shadows from the airships splayed across the flat ground like puddles after a rain. Donny watched as people moved up the towers in steam-powered lifts, loading cargo or boarding for a trip to one of the far corners of the country. Arriving passengers exiting the towers, luggage in tow, were zipped away in three-wheeled steam-powered motorwagons. Behind Donny were five massive airdocks, structures that could house the airships for maintenance. Donny's father was chief boilermaker, head of a crew trained in the construction and maintenance of those riveted wrought-iron and steel boilers that constrained the raw energy that powered the airships, and Donny was his newly minted apprentice.

"Donny, if yer going to be an apprentice, you can't leave yer post," Hugh scolded as the boy came moping back. "Fire watch is deadly serious work. I know it's not as glamorous as being an airship captain, but there'd be no captains without people like us." The boy didn't say anything, but headed back into the monstrous dock, and a darkness lit by forge fires. Hugh followed, thinking again he was being too hard on the boy. Perhaps it was too soon for an apprenticeship, but with no mother to raise him… Still, it nagged Hugh that the expression on the boy's face when he looked up at an airship, the exhilaration, was never evident when Hugh was explaining the finer points of his metal clanking art.

"Bonjour Monsieur," a gentleman said as Hugh walked into his office. The man had intelligent eyes, wore a finely-trimmed goatee and a fancy frock coat. "Chief Millar I presume?" There were two other men with him. One held a large case.

"I'm Millar, what can I do fer ya?" Hugh walked around to his desk, moved a stack of papers to one side and motioned for the gentleman to sit. Donny waited in the doorway, trying to be inconspicuous.

"My name is Andre Bonickhausen. I recently accompanied La liberté éclairant le monde on her historic transatlantic voyage extraordinaire."

"I hope the voyage was smooth," Hugh said.

"Our ship was nearly lost in rough seas. But La liberté… she persevered. She is after all a symbol of my people's fraternity with yours. We are separated by an ocean, Monsieur Millar, but united by our common love of freedom and, might I add, l'Esprit de l'invention. La liberté shall be dedicated next year. I should like to attend, but I have a project in mind that may have me occupied and may interest you as well." Bonickhausen motioned to the man with the case and he came forward, set the case in the center of Hugh's desk, and removed the cover.

What was inside was at first a mystery to Hugh. It was a steam machine, but in miniature. He recognized not one, but five boilers, each matched with engines and a stack. These were laid out end to end. There were compartments behind each engine that would, at full scale, house passengers. And the five engines, while appearing more rigidly attached than the cars following a locomotive, did bear some resemblance to a train. But instead of wheels like a conventional locomotive it had long legs, twenty to a section, fifty pair in all.

Bonickhausen set to work firing the tiny steam engines and then flicking levers until steam started to puff out of the five tiny stacks. Finally he shifted the last lever and the machine started to walk. But the real surprise came as it reached the stack of papers on Hugh's desk, and the legs in a telescoping fashion adjusted their length to compensate for the change in elevation.

"Fascinating model," Hugh said.

"I haven't a name yet, but its design suggests hectopede," Bonickhausen said with a smile.

"It looks like a walking bridge," Donny said. Everyone turned and for the first time realized Donny had been watching.

"Monsieur Bonickhausen, this is my son, Donovan."

"Very astute. If its name be hectopede, perhaps perambulating steam bridge might be its nom de plume." Bonickhausen chuckled. "A bridge is a means to cross a gap. But where is the efficiency in building a bridge over every gap? Why not build a single bridge and move it about?"

"That's fine if you don't want anyone else to cross," Donny said.

Bonickhausen continued. "Well, imagine you are exploring the heart of Africa, or searching for the pole, you wouldn't want to take the time to build a bridge, or roads, or lay rail."

"Why not take an airship?" Donny asked, refusing to look at his father, whom he knew must be scowling.

"Fine for cartography," Monsieur Bonickhausen said with absolute patience, "but wouldn't you like to see below the treetops? Imagine being only a hundred feet up on a mobile observatory. At least in the case of exploration my conceit holds up. Don't you think?"

Donny smiled. The steam bridge was amazing.

"So what does this have to do with me?" Hugh asked.

"Ah, to the point," Bonickhausen said. "I'm an engineer, but I need a man such as you to supervise building it. See here, she's all boilers."

Donny's eyes lit up and he looked at his father the same way he looked at the airships outside.

Hugh looked at the excitement in his son's eyes.

"All right, Monsieur Bonickhausen," Hugh said, "tell me more."

1899 - Internal Note. Limitless Automaton Man Body 7 of the Trevithick Hisashige Steam Automaton Company. Stimuli mingle in my tubing. Past, present, images, sounds, facts and emotions all mix in a cacophony of information. The only way I can tell them apart is the date notation. All of this is happening in a single moment, a mockery of what humans describe as "seeing your life pass before your eyes".

1842 - I am aware of the disk deep within me protected by a seal. This is my magnetic radiating apparatus which binds be in one functioning form. I am aware of the great heat, pressure, and steam that explodes a million times a million within me.

1843 - External audio. "Gentlemen, this L.A.M.B.7 Steam Automaton is a singular work of genius. The L.A.M.B 7 is a multi system reciprocating and rotary steam powered unit with multi functioning capacity in both the physical and pseudo mental arenas. It has the ability to communicate needs, self service, and receive unlimited instruction through the insertion of these small punch cards we call frameworks. It employs a novel technology called the Inverse Coil Magnetic Corpus by which the whole form of this automaton can contain vast amounts of steam pressure.

We are living in a mechanized steam utopia. L.A.M.B 6 units are building armies for the future. But L.A.M.B 7 has pseudo thought and will command your other Automatons for you!

Who would like to start the bidding?"

1865 - Visual Replay. Thousands of entrenched soldiers are dug into fields of blood and burnt earth where cows once trod the veg. A great wall of violent air, black and streaming lighting, rolls toward them from the South. Guns are filled with powder and shot, steam cannons pressurized and readied, but the wall of storm is more than three miles across and approaching so quickly they cannot judge its distance correctly. Hundreds of spiked machines of destructions, like Abaddon's fancies enlivened, breach the storm surge wall at its base while brunneous bulbous steam driven dirigibles break from the blackness of the upper reaches into the clear event horizon above the entrenchments. Nature's cyclonic performance is but a reaction to the vast quantities of steam, coal smoke, and displaced air. How could those entrenched genteel men know that whole weather systems could be created as the result of so many steam machines surging in tandem? Thousands are crushed and ground into paste under the spiked war wagons that snort forth torrents of steam like so many fattened hogs engorged and vomitous from a glut. Those left unmolested from the war wheels are quickly incinerated by the excremental death being dropped from the dirigibles.

1865 - No. This is all wrong. No, No…

1871- Repurposing Directive- Audio. "Under direct orders of The New London Council on Steam Automaton Safety you are recommissioned to mortuary duties. You Tom-Tons will count, identify, and lay to rest those poor bastards you see in the fields before you."

1872 - I put Johnny Rebb's hand in my pocket; I found it in the earth.

1870 - The automatons did not tire as the humans did, we did not suffer the scalding of the steam cannons, or feel the heat from the airship's excrement. Certainly my comrades were crushed by the war wagons but even then we fought on. And now we dig graves so vast we must strip mine the precious metals first and then bury the rotting masses.

1874 - I had no idea the colors of decay could be so varied. They blame us. I think they are destroying us. I am the only L.A.M.B. 7 though and as such coveted, or maybe feared. My time may be short.

1880 - External Recording, Mass Grave 498.75 "Mummy, look at that old Tom-Ton down in the death pit, his skin looks funny and he is talking to himself."

"Sh! Darling we are Luddite Reform and we must not allow them to hear even a peep from our lips. For as the Book of Ag states, ‘So God created man and ordained husband and wife to cling to each other to create man again. Let no word escape your lips, nor your eyes rest upon them, lest the tools of Man become as Gods and we worship false idols.' Now hold your nose and my hand until we get to the memorial shrine."

1885 - Free of the death pits, but running and watched…

1884 - External Audio - Leader of the Luddite Reform church Speaks outside Bodley Head Publishing House. "The tyranny of technology has destroyed the working class, brought war to rival all wars, and filled the land with disease and death. What more can I say Brothers and Sisters than…this is the End Time and we must prepare for Rapture. As the Book of Ag states in Chapter 22, verse 10 ‘The Lamb shall open the Seventh Seal and Darkness shall fall upon the face of the deep. The Earth shall rock, the oceans shall rise, and Chaos shall be unleashed. Man's hubris shall call forth the end.' "

1899 - Yes, the L.A.M.B. shall open his seal.

1898 - Government detainment- External Audio - "But sir, the Magnetic Corpus has never been breached in the testing phase. It is beyond our understanding. With Hisashige's death the secrets of the L.A.M.B.7's magnetic radiation envelope went to the grave. Look at this article on Earth Crustal Displacement theory. Just think what a Magnetic bomb would do to the magnetic field of the earth!"

1899- Escaped…run you fool, run! There, the church…

1899- And so the L.A.M.B.…

1876- Is that Hiram Sturth and the Seventh Brigade in the meat paste? I will have to pull them apart as well…

1899- …opened the Seventh Seal.

1877- Eyeball number 5,214… Color hazel.

1899- External Audio- "Ahg, a Tom-Ton in this House of God! How dare you, demon!

"What is he doing?"

"He is reaching inside himself …he glows there…what is that sound!"

The following story was part of this challenge, but was removed from contention at the author's request after possible vote tampering by some well-meaning friends.

Did I ever tell you that I was once the Captain of "The Courtesan Dirigible" the first Bordello zeppelin? As her Captain, I, John Heinie, along with my three trusted lieutenants First, Second and Third John, all preferably wanting to keep their identities a secret for obvious reasons, sailed across the oceans to many exotic lands in search of needful clientele.

I navigated this steam-powered world of fantasy with an analog computer I invented based on the notes and drawings of the late Charles Babbage, who had designed but never invented the analytical engine, which he worked on from 1837 until his death in 1870. I modified his concept, the brilliant man that I am and invented the first steam powered computer capable of tracking paths to geological destinations across the globe. I would often send out computerized messages, yet sadly never received one in return, due in part to having the only computer in the known world, but that's another story!

The design of my airship of ill repute is a Victorian style parlor with a total of 127 rooms, each with a heart shape bed and the strumpet or tart of ones choice. Yum! We only cater to the finest gentle folk and by that, I mean those with money. I have changed the names of the ladies of the evening to dessert references such as Creampuff, Ambrosia, Sugar Plum, Bon Bon and other such delicious nicknames, sure to set ones taste buds watering.

While sailing over Paris one evening in our flying dessert tray, we were set upon by pirates in their own airships, wanting our money and who knows what else…well we all know what else, but being the polite gentlemen that I am, I prefer to only make light reference to it.

As they threatened us with a volley from their steam cannons, I was prepared for such an encounter with an unorthodox mode of defense, the flatulence flamethrower. I attached the rear ends of each of our ladies and their gentlemen callers to the connecting tubes to our gas chamber and fed them all a concoction known only as spicy bean mishmash. Within minutes our internal gas pressure had built up enough power and so we released a volley to the pirate airship while lighting the gas as it left our zeppelin, totally incinerating their ship, plunging the pirates to a fiery death. I had used this maneuver once before on space aliens, but that's another story!

I would not wish that fate on anyone. Well that's not true, I just inflicted this fate on the band of air pirates, so obviously, I would wish it upon them.

The engagement with the pirate ship caused damage to our steam combustion unit and we were no longer able to contain the needed pressure to keep our ship afloat. So as a consequence, we began to plummet toward the city of Paris heading straight for the Eiffel Tower. As we were approaching our collective deaths, an idea occurred to me. I had the entire ships compliment, stick their heads out a port and begin to blow with all their might toward the ground. Fortunately, the additional air support allowed us to float gently toward the earth, saving everyone and our airship as well. However afterwards, most of our crew and passengers were hyperventilating, so I injected them with a serum I invented to restore the oxidation to their blood stream, a drug I once used with the Poopoo Aborigine pigmies of Australia, but that's another story!

Having repaired my ship, I visited the university in Paris and met a young Polish woman that I just simply adored. She was married at the time, but I could not resist her intelligence and wit. We had a torrid love affair in the university laboratory where she spent much of her time. Marie and I conceived a daughter who she named Irene, however her husband believed the child to be his and so she never made him the wiser. I suggested that Marie study Uranium for their X-ray properties and eventually showed her how to isolate radium. When it was time for me to go, she preferred that I call her by her married name for appearance sake. So as I met her for the last time, I tipped my hat and said, "Good evening, Madam Curie". I slipped a bar of radioactive radium in her pocket for her to study, but she never discovered it and was found dead some days later from being poisoned by the substance. She was unfairly given credit for all of my discoveries, but that's another story!

Our next stop was London and so my girls and I frequented the taverns of that day, drumming up business for our flying whorehouse when suddenly, I heard a scream in the alley next to the tavern. I ran to see what was the source of the commotion, when I spied a man with a long curved instrument raised above one of my girl's throat. I grabbed his hand and told him if he wanted to shave any part of my prostitute, he would have to pay in advance. He introduced himself as Jack, a prominent doctor in the area and so I had him take a look at my knee, which was giving me problems each time I lifted my leg. He told me not to lift my leg anymore and so with that brilliant diagnosis, my condition was miraculously cured.

After I left the alley I heard another scream a few minutes later, but all of my girls had entered our ship and I figured the good doctor known to me only as Jack could handle any problem that arose. I read later that a doctor who also called himself Jack was killing prostitutes in the streets of London… but that's another story.