Flynn
looked at the odd contraption that Hank and Ann had cobbled together. It looked
. . . flimsy, despite the assurances from both that it would fly.
“Trying to
save on materials where we can, sir,” Hank replied.
“It’s
better with the wind in your face, Flynn,” Ann said.
Flynn
appreciated both answers. Since the makeshift plane was cobbled together from parts
and systems on Calypso that were
damaged beyond their ability to repair, and the farmers’ own wreck, Flynn
appreciated Hank not wanting to strip more from the ship.
What Ann
said also resonated with him. He remembered sailing on a ship, an old wooden
ship, his great grandfather had built. It was an authentic recreation of the
wooden sailing ships used on Earth during the golden age of sail.
The feel of the wind while at sail is one of
my best memories, along with fishing with Great Grandpa John.
“Got room
for a passenger, care to join me?” Ann taunted.
“No,” Flynn
answered firmly, then walked away from her further taunts.
He did
watch, though, as the plane took off, its flimsy gravnet sputtering a few
times, causing it to dip perilously low to the ground, then kick back on in
time for the propeller to keep it aloft. That seemed to iron out the kinks, and
Ann was flying away.
She put the
plane through its paces, including some basic aerobatics, finishing up with an
authentic barnstorm to the amazement of the farmers and the startlement of the
pigs and cows.
Maybe . . . no, better not.