Fly, Envious Time: Zeppelin flight in 2055

 Another chapter from Book II of "Fianchetto." Victor is off to Switzerland play AI FORT for the unofficial chess championship of the world. I really nerd out here, with dreams and speculation about the future of air travel. My first (only?) blog post of 2022.

Fly, Envious Time

            When Lufthansa revived the long-dormant Zeppelin passenger service to America, they chose not to use the historic airship field at Lakehurst, New Jersey. Ostensibly this was to avoid overflying the dangerous concrete canyons of New York City, but most people believed the airline wanted to avoid any reminder of the 1937 Hindenburg disaster. Whatever the reason, a new, state of the art airship landing field was built at Republic Airport, near Farmingdale on Long Island. The site was amply served by rail and highway, and it kept the giant ships of the new 400 class well away from the city's skyscrapers. Dubbed das Lufthansa-Neue-Welt-Luftschiffhafen, the facility could house and service two LZ-400 class ships at one time, or four 200-class ships like Yves Rossy.

            Victor caught a redeye softjet from Norfolk to New York. He took the high-speed train line to the Luftschiffhafen after landing at LaGuardia airport. The HST line passed directly through the terminal where Victor disembarked. After only a minor delay to transfer his luggage, he was soon hurtling down the line to Farmingdale.

            It was 4:45 AM and still dark. The high-speed train was full, and Victor felt completely out of his element. His fellow passengers were the beautiful, the powerful, and the rich. He spotted two major vee-vee actors, Toronto Your/World Live talking head Alvis McLean, and Mexican football star Marco 'Hurakan' Caminante, and that was just in his car. Teams of security agents filtered back and forth through the length of the train like a shoal of gray-suited sharks. Watching them, Victor wondered how many were on board.

            "Twenty."

            A woman in a smoke-gray leather Ike jacket sank into the seat next to him. Her moiré sunglasses were unmoving in the muted light of the train car. Hints of Caron Poivre arrived with her.

            "Simone!"

            "Hiya."

            She was supposed to join him for the flight to Frankfurt, but he'd had no word from her in over a week, so he didn't know when and where she meant to meet him.

            He said, "You look amazing."

            Normally given to jeans, t-shirts, or military cut clothes, Simone was wearing an Isibis designer fractal dress (he knew this only because she told him). The chromographic effect of the colors running through the cloth was accomplished by dipping normal liquid crystal fabric in an acid solution. When low voltage was applied to the cloth, the rippling color change began, creeping from the positive pole to the negative. He watched the pattern crawl over her.

            "Eyes ahead," she said coolly. "I'm on duty, and you're not a footloose bachelor anymore." Sighing, he agreed.

            "You're looking special yourself," she added. He'd bought three new suits before leaving for New York. He was wearing the dark blue one, Lufthansa blue in fact. "Polished shoes, too."

            "Shh, don't let them know we're faking it." She smiled faintly.

            "Lots of competition on this bus," she said, eyeing the security men and women patrolling the aisles. Theirs was a peculiar dance, trying to be inconspicuous and a potent visual deterrent at the same time.

            "You could handle these guys," he said loyally.

            "I dunno. We've got the RCMP, CISEN, and the Secret Service here this morning. No lightweights."

            He dropped to a whisper. "How do you know who's who?"

            "Little ways. The cut of a suit, brand of shoes. Haircuts." He saw none of this himself, but he trusted her instincts.

            The train flashed down its elevated track at 220 KPH. Beneath, suburbs and older small towns passed in a blur of white clapboards and LED streetlights. Victor noticed a matte green helicopter pacing the train at a discrete distance.

            "Wonder who that's for?"

            Simone consulted the new micro PDL dangling from her wrist by a strand of gold braid. Her usual device was far too un-chic for this trip.

            "According to Your/World Live!, Vice-President Scott-Hill is traveling with us on the Lilienthal."

            "I thought the Air Force flies her where she needs to go?"

            "She's having a conference on board with several west African government ministers before attending a summit in Dakar."

            They were certainly traveling in exalted company. The Zeppelin had a passenger complement of seven hundred, including all the staffers and security agents required. With so many VIPs on board, Victor was confident no one would bother with him.

            The track ran straight as a laser line to the airship field. Ahead, the eastern sky lightened with every kilometer of track the train consumed. They began to see ads alongside the track, thrown into the sky by buried projectors: Cadillac. Hôtels à Patel Étoiles. Yangtze Market. Tesla. Your/World Trends. Ford. Brillianty Yedinoroga. Porsche. Abejas Reales Farma. Sang-eo. Your/World Elegance. Your/World Live!

            In spite of her warning, Victor firmly took hold of Simone's hand, anticipation making his palms sweat and his heart quicken. Behind her sunglasses, she kept her gaze on the way ahead, but she didn't evade his grip.

            The elongated domes of the Zeppelin hangars appeared first as brilliant white eggs overtopping the trees. Searchlights played on them, and they glowed from within as well. The helicopter ghosting the train fell away, prohibited from the airspace around the landing field.

            Victor leaned forward, peering ahead.

            "You're trembling," Simone said, squeezing his hand. "Calm down."

            The first bit of LZ-402 he could see was the Zeppelin's vertical tail fin. According to Your/World Facts, the Otto Lilienthal's tail stood sixty meters high, bottom to top. The entire airship was skinned in Teflarc, another electrochromatic composite like Diafan. The Zeppelin's crew could alter the shade of the ship's envelope at will. In the morning, to warm the helium lifting gas and add to the overall lightness of the ship, the Zeppelin's skin could be clarified to absorb more sunlight. In the heat of the day, level altitude was maintained by mirroring the covering to reflect excess solar heat. The vast upper surface of the Zeppelin also sported photovoltaic panels, generating electricity for the ship's internal DC systems.

            Airships did not fly in the stratosphere like softjets, but below their pressure height, the altitude at which their lifting gas expanded beyond the capacity of the internal gas cells. This height varied according to weather, load, and what gas the airship used. The old LZ-129 Hindenburg often flew just 200 meters off the ground. Lilienthal's technology was far more sophisticated. Using rapid compressors and advanced gas-proof materials, the LZ-402 normally cruised between 1,000 to 1,400 meters, and under the right conditions could comfortably fly even higher. The ship was not pressurized however, and could not safely exceed 3,000 meters.

            Before dawn, the Zeppelin's skin was bright, neutral white. Victor could just make out the Lufthansa crane logo on the distant fin. It was barely legible at this distance, even though the image was ten meters across.

            He slid forward on the seat. The other passengers, famous, wealthy, or beautiful all, gradually fell silent as the enormous craft rushed into view.

            "Holy shit," Simone said under her breath.

            "Do you see it?"

            "How could I not? It's bigger than Philadelphia."

            The 400-class Zeppelins were the largest aircraft ever built, 305 meters from tail cone to nose. There were only two in service, the LZ-401 Hugo Eckener and the Lilienthal. A third was under construction, reportedly to be named Graf Zeppelin.

            Victor unsnapped his seat belt and stood. Simone tugged vainly at him to sit. The train was still under way at over 200 KPH. Talk died all through the car as everyone looked on in awe at their destination.

            The 400 series airships were not cigar-shaped, like the old Hindenburg. Lilienthal was rectangular in cross section, with radiused corners and a tapered nose and tail. The revised shape allowed maximum internal space and made the hull an airfoil section, greatly improving lift and maneuverability.

            Looking like a great whale cast in milky glass, the LZ-402 bulked larger and larger as the train hurtled onward. Air traffic control blimps buzzing around the perimeter of the field were like toys compared to their monster brother. The train decelerated, entering a long, wide curve designed to bring them into the terminal alongside the giant. The vast hangers, even bigger than the airship, were sited to shield the waiting Zeppelin from wind on two sides.

            The horizon began to brighten. Sunrise was not until 5:30. Even so, the Zeppelin's hull changed color from eggshell to bone, to better receive the new day's rays.

            Chimes rang through the train cars.

            "Your attention, please. We will be arriving at the Lufthansa New World Airship Station in three minutes. Deceleration will begin in one minute. Please remain seated with all restraints in place." The message repeated in several languages, then started again in English.

            Victor was mesmerized by the great ship. Simone pulled him down, reaching across and snapping his seat and shoulder belts. Glancing at his entranced face she muttered, "Big boys love big toys."

            She checked her restraints and snugged the straps. The chime sounded rapidly, and the train braked. Everyone was carried forward against the harnesses. Surprised murmurs and nervous laughter all through the car.

            "Did you know the Lilienthal is the first Zeppelin equipped with softjet engines?" Victor said. "That should make it the fastest airship ever."

            "Good, we'll get to Frankfurt in a week instead of a month."

            "Twenty-six hours."

            She gave him a supremely who-gives-a-shit frown. "Lindbergh crossed the Atlantic in thirty-three hours--in 1927."

            "Yeah, but he didn't have Cordon Bleu dining, a spa, or even a bathroom on his plane."

            The high-speed train slowed to little more than 100 KPH. It rushed into a well-lit tunnel faced on both sides by a tiled concourse. The twelve-car train slowed to a walking pace. Some eager passengers were tempted to release their straps and stand, but Simone put an arm across Victor's chest and held him down. In the last twenty-five meters the train slid to a stop with a great hissing of air brakes. Those who had loosened their belts early were thrown forward in the aisles or atop the seats in front of them. No one was hurt, but a lot of dignity was lost. Light laughter and profanity filled the car.

            "You've done this before," Victor remarked.

            "No, I listen to instructions."

            The lights in the car came up and a male voice announced it was safe to undo their seat belts. All around them latches clicked. Perfume and cologne collided as passengers stood and swirled their scents together.

            Playing the gentleman, Victor gestured for Simone to precede him down the aisle. Ahead of them, a Your/World actor of some fame also stood back and also let Simone pass.

            Falling into line behind her, the actor unnecessarily introduced himself. When Simone didn't reciprocate, he said, "What is it you do?"

            "She's my bodyguard," Victor put it.

            The actor eyed the Isibis dress and tailored jacket. "Must pay well."

            "The pay's shit, but I get to shoot people," Simone said without turning around. The actor laughed. He thought it was a joke.

            Two men behind Victor conversed quietly in Mandarin. Somewhere ahead he caught a snatch of, was it Portuguese? A New York Transit Authority guide in a crisp navy blue uniform, cap, and white gloves no less, gestured for everyone to exit right. Victor wondered if NYTA employees wore white gloves at any other station.

            He stepped down onto the wide, airy concourse. Though it was August, the indoor landing was cool, even breezy. Vast convection fans kept the air moving. Simone pulled the collar of her jacket close around her throat.

            "To Customs," Victor said.

            They strolled briskly down the walkway. As they walked, Victor noticed the murals lining the concourse. Each image celebrated some event in the history of aviation. Montgolfier balloons. Sir George Cayley's ornithopter. Alberto Santos-Dumont's box kite airplane. When he saw one particular painting he stopped.

            Simone doubled back to him. "What is it?"

            He pointed. "Otto Lilienthal."

            "The guy they named the blimp after?"

            He glared. Her microscopic smile came and went.

            The painting showed an intense, middle-aged, bearded man standing on a high, conical hill with a pair of cloth and willow wings around his waist.

            "Is that him?"

            "Yep."

            "He invented the hang glider?"

            "Yeah, in 1891. He was killed five years later flying one." Simone wasn't much interested but thinking about Lilienthal's untimely death gave Victor pause.

            "While he was dying of a broken neck, Lilienthal said, 'Opfer müssen gebracht warden.'" Sacrifices must be made.

            "The trick is to sacrifice the other fellow," she replied, "and not yourself."

            They reached a moving walkway. Unlike the usual jointed metal path--a flattened escalator--this walk resembled a polished, pale gray slab of marble. It moved. Victor wasn't sure how it worked. An elderly executive in a Your/World blazer was declaiming loudly to his colleagues why the pedestrian belt ought to be called a 'slidewalk.' Simone brushed by them and got on. Watching the seemingly rigid sheet roll by always made Victor uncertain. It looked too slippery to stand on, though others were managing just fine.

            "Get on!" Simone called. Haltingly, Victor hopped on. He moved smoothly away alongside Simone. How the hell did this thing work?

            "Rube," she chided.

            The slidewalk mystery faded away when concourse opened out into a terminal of cathedralesque proportions. It was part Buck Rogers, part Art Deco cathedral. The roof soared nine, maybe ten stories high, ribbed in cast ceramic and braced with spidery stainless steel buttresses. Through the high, vaulted glass ceiling they could see the Zeppelin floating, held fast to the earth by kilometers of white cable. 

            The inner wall of the terminal was lined with cafes, chic storefronts, and Your/World salons. All vibrated with activity even at this early hour. Dead center in the great hall was the enormous two-story circular Lufthansa operations desk. As the Zeppelin was taking off in less than two hours, they went straight to Customs & Security.

            Just outside the entrance to C&S, Simone told him to wait. She would go through first, alone. He asked why.

            "There are certain things I have to cover with C&S that you don't need to be involved with."

            Puzzled, Victor checked his PDL. His ticket code gave his berth as B Deck Achtern 23, which meant B deck, after half of the ship, berth 23. He asked Simone where her room was.

            "Better you don't know," she said. Victor said she was welcome to stay with him. She demurred.

            "Too close is too far," she remarked. He protested he would behave. "I need room to maneuver . . . s'all right. Don't worry. They've probably put me in the cargo hold."

            She made him stand in place as she went inside. Other passengers flowed around him. He counted to sixty and went in.

            U.S. Customs and TSA agents had his luggage already, duly delivered from LaGuardia by driverless truck. One agent went over his three bags with a handheld scanner while the other held a scripter. An armed, uniformed guard stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back. The agent with the scripter read questions to Victor.

            "Where are you bound?"

            "Switzerland, by way of Frankfurt."

            "Where in Switzerland?"

            "Schaffhausen."

            She showed him the screen of her scripter. "Do you have any of these prohibited items?"

            Victor glanced quickly over the list. Li-Li batteries? Volatile liquids or aerosols? Foodstuffs that required refrigeration? What year did they think this was, 2030?

            "None," he said. She made notations on the screen with stylii clipped to her fingertips. Watching her multi-finger scratching made an itch grow in the middle of Victor's back.

            They scanned his Sang-eo for banned or region-specific apps, and for malware. Satisfied it was clean, they passed him on. The guard opened the door for him.

            "Enjoy your flight, sir," he said, the first words he'd spoken.

            Outside, Victor passed through a triple ring of metal hoops made to look like part of the retro-future decor, but he knew they were induction coils designed to scan his body for dangerous implants. In 2029 a South African airliner was destroyed by explosives surgically implanted in a terrorist's abdomen. Two years later a Chinese plane was diverted to a rebel-held airfield in central Asia by a navigation jammer embedded in the thigh of a Uighur woman. The three-meter hoops could detect the tiniest amount of metal in his body, so somewhere in this vast building security agents now knew he was wearing seven gold-plated aluminum coat buttons, a zipper, a nickel belt buckle, and carried a titanium-framed eye viewer in his coat pocket.

            Beyond the induction hoops Victor paused to take in the scene. A stream of well-dressed travelers emerged from C&S and rode the slidewalk (funny name, he mused) down the terminal to the boarding gates.  There were three decks in the Lilienthal: A, B, C. Amidships were the public spaces, also on three levels: at the bottom was the restaurant. Above that was the casino, and deepest in the hull, the spa. After dark the restaurant was also home to the cabaret.

            Between the public spaces and the ship's nose were the Vorwärts staterooms.The accommodations toward the tail were the Achtern berths. First class staterooms were on A deck, with exclusive views of the world below. Second class dwelt on B deck, and everyone else had to settle for C deck, buried well inside the hull. No space on Otto Lilienthal was cheap, but C deck was where they put the secretaries, assistants, assorted flunkies, and likely the bodyguards.

            The slidewalk ended at a broad set of tall transparent doors, fourteen panels across. There, shining in the reflected glare of enormous LED searchlights, Otto Lilienthal hovered, half-dream, half-cloud made solid. Victor slowed and stopped before he reached the doors, amazed anew. Around him a good two hundred passengers stood transfixed by the vast machine.

            A uniformed Lufthansa attendant stepped in and took his arm.

            "Your first flight?" he said. He nodded. Smiling, he continued, "The ship does strike people a certain way the first time they see it up close. This way."

            Leading Victor like a child, he guided him to the door. It swung wide, letting in a flood of humid Long Island air. This touch of reality broke the spell, and Victor looked for the ramp to Deck B.

            He fell in with a trio of Malaysian businessmen and a gaggle of men and women in royal blue Your/World blazers. The Your/Worlders, each and every one, were looking at their PDL viewers and not at the awesome craft above them. Victor was staring so hard at the row of A Deck windows above him he trod on the heels of the Your/Worlder in front of him.

            "Sorry," he said. She was a young woman with shoulder length black hair, and heavy bangs cut straight across her forehead. She just smiled at him from behind swirling moiré sunglasses.

            "No problem."

            Limping, she merged into the pack of her colleagues, and for a moment he had a fleeting impression he knew her. Victor tried to get another glimpse of her, but from behind it was hard to pick her out of the pack of identically clad Your/Worlders.

            Service vehicles were clearing out from beneath the ship. Water, sanitation, food service trucks buttoned up and rolled away. Victor wound his way to the foot of the passenger stairs.

            A web of landing lines snaked through sets of heavy clamps anchored in the pavement. Unlike the Yves Rossy, which dropped water ballast and rose statically until its engines kicked in, the far larger Otto Lilienthal relied on its engines and airfoil shape to takeoff dynamically.

            A brass band struck up a tune. Startled, Victor stretched to see who was playing. To his surprise, the United States Marine Corps Band was drawn up on the tarmac beyond the airship. It was traditional for transatlantic Zeppelins to be sent off with band music, and with Vice President Scott-Hill on board, the Marines were there to fill that role. They began by playing John Philip Sousa's "El Capitan."

             LZ-402 had four boarding ramps, two forward of the center spaces and two aft. His PDL code was checked again at the foot of the ramp. Passengers had sorted themselves into neat lines at each boarding station, but he didn't see Simone anywhere.

            "Good luck, Mr. Leventon," said the crewman checking codes at the foot of the ramp. "I hope you win."

            "Oh, thank you. Where do I go?"

            "Your cabin is near the stern end of B Deck." He indicated Victor should go left at the top of the ramp.

            Climbing the steps beneath the giant white airship was like ascending into an inverted iceberg. Victor felt his hair stirred by the ship's carried static charge. At the top of the ramp, he glanced back. A flash of fractal designer fabric crossed below. He fought back an urge to wave and shout her name. Don't be a total rube, farm boy.

            The band struck up "Manhattan Beach."

            The boarding corridor was decorated with more transportation motifs, airliners this time: early Zeppelin passengers ships, the Dornier Do.X, corrugated Junkers trimotors, Farman and Handley-Page biplanes of the 1920s and '30s, the Douglas DC-3. The farther he walked, the more modern the aircraft became. Propellers changed to turbines, and turbines to softjets.

            Other passengers filed in behind him. He came to a pair of side passages, left and right, with steps leading up. As directed, he took the left passage.

            At the top of the landing there was an observation deck, with a wide oval window and seats fixed in place facing it. Victor hurried to find his berth. It was just forward of the ship's starboard elevator. His PDL had been loaded with the code to open the door.

            His room wasn't large, about three and half meters by two, but compared to a seat on a transatlantic softjet, it was palatial. The ceiling was high and the furnishings first rate--an amply sized twin bed draped with a gray Lufthansa logo coverlet. Luggage was to be stored under the bed. The walls were covered with ribbed, sky-colored cloth. There was a fold-down ceramic wash basin with hot and cold running water, and a pocket door led to the bathroom he would share with the passenger in B-Achtern 21.

            A mildly glowing, dome-shaped wall sconce proved to be a light-well connected to the outside. Victor opened it and clearly heard the Marine Band's rendition of "The Gladiator," also by Sousa. He quickly stowed his belongings and went back out, hoping to experience takeoff from the observation lounge.

            As the last civilian passengers entered the ship, the band struck up "National Emblem" as the nation's youngest ever Vice-President approached. With her were leading ministers of eight west African countries. Waving to well-wishers on the ground and on the Zeppelin, she climbed the forward ramp, followed by the ministers and a sizable contingent of aides and Secret Service agents.

            The ramps were withdrawn to the terminal. A bell chimed--softly--and the PA announced, "Clear and secure all exits! Ship's crew will prepare for departure!" The warning was repeated several times in different languages. Victor felt the ship sink slightly. The tail docking clamp had been released.

            He returned to the B Deck aft starboard observation platform. Other passengers were already there. Airship takeoffs were so easy, so gradual, passengers weren't required to strap in.

            Below, the Marine Band began their final selection, "The Graf Zeppelin March." As they played, auxiliary power cables and other service lines dropped from the ship and were reeled in by robots. Uniformed crew members passed through the ship checking ports, windows, and hatches.

            After the last notes of the march died away, the Marines cleared the field.

            Victor felt a distinct vibration. It wasn't strong, but anything powerful enough to resonate the big ship meant one thing: great motors were revving up. The Lilienthal carried six AEG electric motors, each rated at 3,728 kilowatts. He was still watching the ground crew disperse when a man nearby cried, "Look at that!"

            A huge five-bladed propeller, mounted on a pivoting strut the size of a windmill, swung slowly down behind the observation platform. Long titanium-carbon fiber blades unfolded from the hub like the petals of an enormous flower. When they were fully open, they began to turn.

            Victor and his fellow travelers watched, open-mouthed. Each blade was longer than a light plane's wing. The propeller completed one revolution, then another, picking up speed until it blurred into invisibility. At zero pitch the blades were not yet gripping the air. Remarkably quiet for such a huge device, it nevertheless filled the observation platform with a deep, rumbling thrum.

            The nose of the Zeppelin was anchored to a gantry athwart parallel railroad tracks. With the propellers turning, the gantry began to crawl away from the terminal, swinging the nose of the Lilienthal free of the hangar. The sense of movement was so exhilarating Victor pressed his face against the convex observation window, anxious to see everything.

            The Zeppelin's nose swung through ninety degrees. The terminal, hangars, and other buildings disappeared behind them. Above was open sky, dotted with a few puffs of cloud.

            The propeller's pitch changed, biting the air. Victor felt the massive craft strain forward against the landing lines. For a moment the Zeppelin hung there, mooring lines taut, waiting for the last order to leave the earth.

            The chime rang three ascending notes, which according to helpful scripters on the walls meant Up Ship! Some of the passengers dropped into chairs, gripping the arms as if they expected the Zeppelin to hurtle skyward. There was a chorus of loud metallic clangs as the docking clamps released. Lilienthal sank some centimeters, then water ballast was dumped. A torrent splashed on the tarmac along the length of the ship. Engines revved up, and the Zeppelin's nose lifted skyward. LZ-402 rose smoothly into the air.

            To Victor, the sensation was like riding a fast, smooth elevator. He felt the deck rise under his feet as the Lilienthal gained height. The propeller visible from the observation deck surged as more power was applied.

            "I thought the ship had jet engines?" a middle-aged man asked. He was holding the arms of his chair tightly.

            "They do, in four pods. They won't start them until we reach cruising altitude," Victor replied. "To save fuel."

            As Otto Lilienthal rose with effortless grace into the summer sky, Victor heard an unusual sound penetrating through the ship. It took him a second to recognize it: cheering, and applause. It spread to his fellow travelers around him, and he found himself grinning and shaking hands with total strangers.