The sheer thought of it made me laugh… “Precious Cargo”. We were sent to the shipyard, set at our normal duties, and have no questions asked.
Mind me asking, but is the president “Precious Cargo”?
Just this morning, I had been assigned to serve on a mailing airship, a rather large, old beauty by the name of Viv Marie that was set out for DC from Bosca Shipyard from Wisconsin. The whole process and order was quite customary and would be a nice, short trip asking of not much and being rather painless. Normally, I would serve passengers helping their every need, cooking, serving, and getting them situated, but occasionally I would help around in preparations of the ship and checking that everything was top-notch and reliable. On this particular airship, she rarely carried passengers after a few years ago when she retired as a transportation vessel and now chugged mail in her belly where otherwise would have been a banquet hail. From the conditions, I had proceeded to think I merely would make a few rounds here and there checking her stipulation, yet my thoughts were sure intercepted in boarding!
Dressed in my typical working outfit, a buttoned, laced white short sleeved shirt and a dainty black skirt and flats topped with a precise bun, I had stood hands touching finger to finger next to the lead-out stairs where my fellow crew-members would enter. Our routine was heading conventionally with Sanders, Wilson, and Cromley had so far entered, when I had glanced a tender look to my left. What I had seen I had probably not meant to, but what met my gaze was rather out of the blue, and stuck out like a sore thumb.
To my left, on the faultless grey road lot that hummed gently with the slight whistle in the wind, were two rather large, manifest black limousines with four perfect billowing mini American flags. Six men in black suites, all rather large and brawny, gathered in a rather tight oval around a back seat where one of the men glanced once, twice to his sides before opening the tinted door. It was particularly hard to tell precisely who was in the car, and what the big deal was until the man in the lead went slightly out of step, and I was able to steal a look into their fortified circle. I almost let a slight gasp slip from my lips, but I bit it back knowing surely one of the men would be on me in a moment if I even muttered a sound.
The man inside of the oval was, to my astonishment, our own president, Jackson F. Forbes. It truly wasn’t hard to tell it was him, by his slightly scruffy dirty-blonde hair and perceptible blue eyes and the ever so faint wrinkles carved into his face. He was slightly tanned [not too surprised, he commonly vacationed in Florida] yet looked rather pleasingly in the new, dark navy, gold-buttoned tux he wore in an artifice fashion.
Just in front of him I noticed our captain, Ronald Whittingham strolling casually up to the stairway where, gawking, I stood. As he passed me, a few words escaped my pressed lips.
“Is that Forbes?” I breathed. Whittingham stopped, and turned to face me as the president began to catch up.
“Yeah. No questions asked. Carry on normal duties. Serve them, dare not speak out of term. If you, or anyone does, expect to be dismissed immediately. Carry on.” Whittingham grumbled with a brisk nod as he continued up the stairway, followed by the oval of the guards and Forbes.
I continued to stand still, my young face heating slightly with the stalwart sun. As the guards passed me up the stairs and into the giant airship, I noticed one glance faintly in my direction, then mumble something to the security in front of him. I couldn’t help but wonder what they were talking about.
Once they had nestled themselves inside of the ship, I breathed out acutely and widened my eyes, stretching once as I took a step from my rather stiff position. I craned my neck up toward a window rather high above me, and I barely made out the shape of Sanders by the pilot’s room giving me a thumbs up.
I hastily stepped up onto the folding stairs myself, murmuring to myself about the “precious cargo” as I got to the top. As I reached the door into the entrance, which was a little hall with a few dining tables, I pressed a large, orange button in which allowed the stairs to gradually stir into Viv Marie’s belly. Once done, I swiped my palm across my forehead, clearing away a dribble of sweat as I clicked on my headset.
“All ready when you are, Captain.” I delicately said into the earpiece, disguised partially by my lush, curly locks of brown hair.
“Locke. Victoria… Tory? Are you there?” I heard Whittingham on the other line, his voice fuzzy from the receiver.
“This is Tory, sir.” I replied, biting my lip as I gently slid onto one of the booth seats at a table. “Do you need something?”
“Yes, yes as a matter of fact I do. Once we reach a straight level, take out Donald’s menu and serve our guests… No, no. Once we begin take-off enter the champion’s suite, room 209 I have them in, carry out their every need, no! Just serve them, I’ll ask questions. Report in the birdhouse for now, I need to speak with you. Carry on, Victoria, carry on.” Whittingham stammered. I raised a brow.
“On my way.” I simply spoke into the piece, shaking my head slightly at the task that followed.
Sliding out of the booth, I felt a sudden roar under my feet where the hydrogen and engineers were working to get the airship going, but I carried on. On these airships, you hardly noticed you were taking off, as they were ever so lofty and smooth, almost as if you were on a cloud.
I opened the sleek wooden door at the end of the hall where the tables were, and I reached an intersection carrying on to more tables, yet there was a spiraling staircase to my left. In order to get to the birdhouse, I needed to walk all the way up to the top floor then take the metal walkway across into the viewing canopy.
The “birdhouse” we called was the lookout and observatory, but for security reasons, we called it the birdhouse based off of the bird’s eye view it seemed to grant who was watching out. Originally, Whittingham, our captain, started as a cabin boy on transportation and cruise vessels where, for safekeeping, they gave each location a specific name when they announced it over the intercom, and he carried some of his original customs over to his crew now.
After somewhere around seven minutes of walking across the vast ship, I made it to a window in the metal walkway and noticed we were already in the air. Smiling once at the feeling of being airborne, I picked up the pace and keyed into the birdhouse where Whittingham was assisting a new cabin boy, who I hadn’t seen before. He had oily, scruffy black hair and particularly large eyebrows, and had sort of a mean look to him.
“Right, now, anything, any little detail at all that seems out of space, report it over your radio, and…” Whittingham was speaking to the cabin boy, but I cleared my throat and he glanced in my direction.
“Victoria.” He nodded in my direction. He rested a hand on the cabin boy’s shoulder. “Sorry Eric, this has to wait. Important buisness.”
The cabin boy, Eric, nodded and set to the controls, and Whittingham slid down next to me. He motioned for me to walk back down, which I did, and he sighed once.
Not unerringly knowing where I was going, I set off at an aimless pace, slowly putting my feet out in front of me and glancing to my sides casually as I brought my feet slowly back down. I repeatedly looked to my right where Whittingham, clad in his medal-strewn lieutenant’s outfit, as casual as myself strolled beside me. I knew he had served before, but never once did he show up in uniform. I suppose he wanted to be “fit for the occasion”.
Almost as sudden as we had begun, Whittingham spoke out. “You know how I said no questions asked? Well, ask away.”
Thank God! I blurted, “Why are we… you know… carrying the president?”
“Oh, of all questions.” Whittingham shook his head and rubbed his aged brow. “The most reasonable yet most difficult. Tory, I am not advised to say, but we can just say Forbes is on a special mission and needs… disguise on his way home today. What better way then to ride on a simple mail aircraft, of most lovely artistry, with a lovely crew of great demure…”
“Alright, alright.” I said, nodding my head in a sense of hurry. “My other question, why are you having me, a girl of only 17 years serve the president, of all men on the ship?”
I believe I had caught Whittingham on that one, for he had furrowed his brow and pushed up his nose with his palm and itched invisible, forming sweat. He took a misstep, probably from my question taking him off-guard, but he managed to get himself back together, and he turned to face me as we came to a stop.
“I mean, truly…” I said, shaking my head. “I’m probably the only girl of that matter who has even worked the faintest bit on a flying craft…”
“Okay, I get it!” Whittingham threw his hands up. “I know, I know… Women don’t work on airships, or fly planes for that matter… But your father, he-”
I cut him short. “Yes, yes my father. Manages airships, your old boss, he got his daughter a job from y0u because Whittingham doesn’t want to dissapoint and upset his boss…”
“No, that’s not it!” Whittingham gritted his teeth. “I’m sure, even without your father-”
I rolled my eyes and began talking without letting him finish. “Without my father I would have gotten work here? I don’t think so, Whittingham. You know captains don’t hire women. You wouldn’t have gotten me if it weren’t for my father, and you know its true. But captain, I know I don’t dissapoint. I know you think of me as one of your best, and I know its true.”
Whittingham sighed and adjusted his hat. “I do know it, and by far Victoria you are one of my best. And I’m sure you follow politics, and you would know Forbes is for all rights, a man of peace and defense. What better way then to show to him we resemble what he likes, then to have someone like you serve him?”
I sniggered, adjusting my bun. “So, your using me now? To show the president we are the almighty airship of equality?”
“No! No, Victoria, its not like that…” Whittingham stammered.
“Oh?”
I’d never seen the captain so uncomfortable. By this point, he had taken off his liutenant’s cap and was rubbing his half-bald, grey hair that was now slightly slick with sweat.
“Look, Locke, its complicated, and I’m not advised to say what this is all about. But trust me, girl, You’re my finest.” I gently grinned as Whittingham carried on. “We are level enough, so, if all feels well for you, Tory, you may continue on and serve the president.”
“Yes, sir.” I grinned wider as Whittingham turned around back to the birdhouse. I felt I had triumphed that argument. “Will do.”
I ran my hand down my soft locks of hair once, straightened to look proper, and I swiftly walked down the metal aisle, daring not to be late for the president. Whittingham would have off with my head If I disappointed, but that word was not in my vocabulary.