Tuesday, October 9, 2007

CHAPTER 16 - ALOFT

Chris Llanfair stood on the patio near the pool at Governor Linden’s Mansion in Clementina not far from Capital City. The pool area was crowded with new citizens who had been invited for the weekly pool party. Newbees were easy to spot. The bad hair, ill fitting shoes, pasty skin, -- they were just like immigrants and refugees in every culture. Chris felt sorry for some but was thrilled for all. What a great adventure they had before them. The world was their oyster they just hadn’t learned it yet. That is if they could keep their shells about them until the learned the mores and values of Second Life.

Chris didn’t care much for the Spartan design of the Governors Mansion or its rather small size as mansion go. Chris knew that the Governor was here only for official occasions and that he lived in the Penthouse Suite of the Hotel Fronmount in Capital City with that Paris girl. The Penthouse was rumored to rent for more than $L 8000 per night, but Chris knew that the Governor owned the hotel and much of the private parcels in Capital City. It was part of a long term Linden plan to ensure quiet and decorum in Capital City and to keep the Rafs out of the city. The Rifs had proven harder to keep out since they had more money even if they lacked good taste. But Lindens were confident that in the next few hundred years they would own all but the Royal Lands of the Monforte’s.

The Governor’s Finance Committee had just taken a short break and Chris needed to clear his head. The financial crisis was looming and the M0 and M1 supply were out of control. Perfect fake Linden bank notes were flooding the economy and as soon as one of the financial reporters at the Wall Street Drag or The Times wrote an article covering the crisis the Linden would as useless as the US Dollar. The Governor had contacted Ruprecht Murdstone, media Mongol, and owner of Lupine News and The Times and had arranged for a press blackout on the matter. But it was only a matter of time thought Chris before some blogger started ranting about the slipping buying power of the Linden and that set off a financial panic. Thank the gods no one reads blogs here in Second Life. As long as they stick to the mindless stupid pet stunts and psycho babble on me-tube and the social low-cal petit foir they called me-space all would be stable. For this week at least.

Chris looked up at the rooftop garden and it looked like the Committee was reassembling. He walked past the pool and into the white stucco mansion. He paused on the ground floor and washed his face in the hallway bathroom sink. Chris was tired. It had been a long night and the day was bound to be even longer.

Chris tried to dry his hands and face with a tiny paper towel from a dispenser. Useless he thought, but he was unwilling to wait for the stingy paper towel dispenser script to produce another, so he began walking up stairs with his face and hands still damp.

At the top of the first landing of the staircase he saw The Chair of the Blimp Cartel. The Chair was waiting for someone and Chris soon realized it was he. The Chair approached and in a low tone asked, “Is she on the case?”

“Yes,” said Chris, “It was close, but Mallory started a few hours ago. My daughter is assisting her, just in case.”

The Chair nodded and they both turned and climbed the stairway to the conference room above and to the crisis impending.

Punky was thinking fast and she immediately assigned Normal to the mission commander’s seat. “Plot me a course to the Capital Aerodrome.” Punky ordered. “Get Fraley down here, she’s physically wasted. Fraley your co-pilot sit down and shut up. Washrox stay in at the engineering station. You Paxford, up top and keep the steam pressure at the edge of the red zone. Step on it.”

The crew responded quickly and they knew that they were about to start a great adventure. If they had known how difficult the adventure would be they may well have regretted even applying to the Academy of Balloons.

Punky knew that the devastation at the Academy was complete. The explosions in all the blimp hangers had probably wiped out the entire fleet. It was not safe to put down there. Since it was dinner time Punky figured that they got every Blimp stationed at the Academy including the five Blimps of the Line. But the upside would be that the students, professors, and most of the support crews would be eating at the commissary on the far side of the campus. They were probably safe there. But with this well planed attack Punky could not be certain. Punky knew she had to save this blimp and its crew.

Normal called out a compass heading and an optimal speed to conserve coal. Punky shook her head and shouted loud enough to be herd up above, “We gotta get to Capital City as fast as the Poofer can make it. Pour on the coal."

Thank the gods that Fraley was such a slacker because her laziness had left them with more than enough coal to make the flight at top speed. Punky laughed, top speed was about 10 knots with a favorable tail wind. It would take about two hours to get to the Aerodrome at this speed.

“Fraley, take control and keep the heading and course given to you by Normal. Call me immediately if any thing happens. Any thing you understand,” said Punky.

Both Normal and Fraley nodded and Washrox was already hefting a heavy pipe wrench about a dripping joint. A good crew Punky though. A good crew.

Punky watched the communications button closely. There was no traffic. Either there was a communications lock down or the saboteurs had gotten to the communications systems as well. Best to stay silent.

“Kill the running lights,” ordered Punky. Washrox looked confused. Flying without lights was a serious violation of flight rules. In a moment they ship was dark in a very dark moonless sky.

Punky went back to the rear of the gondola and jumped into the captain’s bunk. She was tired, but she was not going to sleep. She needed to think. What was happening? What actions should they take? Where should they go? The Poofer was clearly a target but why Punky could not guess. Punky needed to think and the humming and pulsing of a steam powered blimp was the perfect place for thinking through this crisis.

“Captain, err… Professor Pugilist get up here now,” shouted Fraley. Punky had dozed off but while sleeping she had worked through a process of elimination and she knew that Loopy Loo was responsible in some way. Loo had sworn vengeance on the Academy when they drummed her out of the corps. Loo had been a brilliant student, clearly genius material, but she had a dark side. Loopy was a sadist, a sociopath, and a megolomaniac. Not a good mix in Second Life or any other place for that matter.

Punky was out of her bunk in a flash and she ran to the copilot’s seat. “Whats happening,” said Punky as she glanced down on the plotting board held in Normal’s lap. They were about 5 kilometers out from the aerodrome.

“Look,” said Fraley pointing dead ahead.

In the distance there was a dull orange glow. As they approached it got brighter and brighter until it became in inferno. The Capital City Aerodrome was ablaze.

“Get us out of here,” yelled Punky. "Reverse course."

Fraley applied power and the ship began a tight banking turn. Punky grabbed the hand holds and after a few moments they leveled out.

“Where to now?” asked Normal.

Punky thought hard again. After a few moments she said, “Plot me a course to the Monforte Detached Palace. The west garden area. They have put blimps down there before.”

“Washrox, get those distress flares ready. Were going to need to see the ground when we land.” Punky was praying that the Monforte household staff would remember how to assist a blimp in landing. They had done so months ago. The enormous oaks of the Royal Parklands next to the polo field should provide an excellent tie down. But Punky suspected that by morning they would have to be off and seeking the safety of the empty skies.

‘Get me a rescue beacon carrier pigeon,” said Punky as she grabbed a pad of paper and quickly wrote a note. After a few moments the pigeon intended as a desperation beacon in a crash was winging its way to the Blimp Cartel Tower. Punky hoped that someone would be in the tower to receive their urgent message.

In a short while the Poofer slowly banked into a gentle climb and began heading due north toward the home of Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphan of Second Life, Associate Professor, famed historian, and Head of the Anti-Monarchist Party. Muffin will know what’s going on thought Punky. And the Chair of the Blimp Cartel was likely to be there as well.

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