HEDY LAMARR<br/><br/>I listened to Steele's course plan and nodded to Evans. He scribbled the altitude, bearing and speeds down on a waxed waterproof parchment with a grease pencil and passed it to me. I read the information and nodded.<br/><br/><em>"Cse NE bearing 048. Climb to 8500ft ASL, cruise spd 75kts."</em><br/><br/>The course would take us east of the Rockies above the clouds and well clear of high ground. Bighorn Mountain and the Hogsback were out that way past Harrisburg and Steele's course plotted alternative routes around them depending on the weather though I reckoned our pilots would rendezvous with us before then. Further east beyond Bridport and north of McConaughy Lake were the Badlands, miles and miles of nothing but scrub, rocks and dunes. An area best avoided, even in a ship with ten reliable engines.<br/><br/>I added a note to Steele's plot that Evans had recorded.<br/><br/><em>"Pilots. Second test. Fly off from Haven and rendezvous with Blue Ridge 180m NE Haven Field. You will fly in pairs. Organise this as you wish. Third test: Hook on and recovery by pairs at 1550h. Fourth test: Dress formal for dinner. Good luck."</em><br/><br/>The message was rolled up and put into a weighted canister and Evans slid open a side window and threw it out, the twenty foot red silken banner unfurling and marking the canister's descent. It was this message the ground crew chief read out to the assembled pilots.<br/><br/>I nodded at Steele.<br/><br/><strong>"Take her up Mister Steele, you have the conn."</strong>I sat back in my chair and with a whisper of silk, crossed my legs. A mess orderly came in and delivered hot strong coffees to all the control gondola officers. I relaxed back, feigning a nonchalant air though in fact my wits were sharp and my eyes, cat-like, watching Steele's every move. It was then that Haven Tower's radio crackled.<br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"<em>Blue Ridge</em>, have a message for you from a certain particularly large barman; appears he's willing to hire you to pick up a multi-ton delivery for him from Denver, if you're up to it."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div>I smiled.<strong>"<em>Blue Ridge</em> to Haven Tower, affirmative, we will be at Denver Field at 1630 hours tomorrow. Have Tiny's man contact us again then."</strong><em>Multi-ton? How multi-ton? My capacity is only around 75 tons now if I cram the passenger cabins too.</em><br/><br/>There was a lurch as the ship disengaged from the mooring mast and the rolling sensation caused by her shifting in the airs against her anchors ceased to be replaced by a much quieter calmer sensation – weightlessness. We were like a child's soap bubble, drifting in still air, rising gently. Modern technology was so inspiring. I sipped my dark sweet espresso and felt the calories rush to my hips and the caffeine to my brain. There was no arguing it; we Americans could make damn fine airships but for coffee, you just had to shop in Italy.<br/><br/>"All astern half."<br/><br/>"Half astern, aye."<br/><br/>"Planes up ten degrees."<br/><br/>"Up ten aye."<br/><br/>Orders were issued to manoeuvre the giant silver cigar away from the tower, each correction being repeated back by the engineer and steering crew to confirm there was no error. Down here, despite the thunderous roar of the motors outside, things were relatively quiet, the double skinned plastic panelling of the windows cutting the shattering noise of 20,000 horse power generated by the ten V16 engines to a low rumble.<br/><br/>Ahead of me the mooring mast receded, twenty feet, fifty feet, a hundred, two hundred. The ship began to rise, a small quantity of water ballast was ditched from astern and the bow and the mooring tower foreshortened as it dropped below us, the earth with it falling away. Beyond the tower the hazy purple-blue Rockies ran like an insurmountable wall ahead of us unending from south to north. I didn't like navigating the Rockies. Too high, too many shifting winds and too few passes. Fortunately we weren't going that way today.<br/><br/>Then the intercom buzzed from Cabin 3 and Mister Johnston asked to come down to the control gondola. I didn't trust the man, there was no reason he'd want to do that unless it was to observe us and take notes, though for what purpose I couldn't know. Maybe it was just his hobby. Maybe not. Either way I didn't like being spied on. I decided to play tough.<br/><br/><strong>"Negative, sir, passengers are not permitted on the bridge during manoeuvres. Though I'll gladly show you around later. If you wish to see me, I'll send a man to you ten minutes after we depart."</strong>I clicked off the channel.<br/><br/>The<em>Blue Ridge's</em>long fat nose swung about to starboard as she backed up and away from Haven, rising up towards the heavy low cloud base. Below us the earth and the ant-like people on it turned to the left as though they were spinning and we were still. As we rose Lightoller reported another ship, the<em>Silver Cloud</em>arriving in descent from the south. There were two miles between us and we were heading away from her. Plenty of room.<br/><br/>A few minutes into the flight and Steele ordered three quarters ahead and planes up fifteen to take us in a steady climb through the clouds. The world vanished in a white mist. I left our new navigator in charge with a quiet word to Joe Bell to keep an eye on him. I finished my coffee and rose from my seat, speaking to Steele in passing.<br/><br/><strong>"We shouldn't see our pilots for an hour to ninety minutes, please report to me when they show up. If any other craft come near us, man our defensive guns and send out a neutral cargo vessel signal. But if they shoot, flame 'em. If you need me, I'll be in my office."</strong>