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.
