{"sf1_id":1349883,"sf2_id":"rnaVRAO1","title":"Silver Lining (Chapter 1)","author":"DecoFox","words":1359,"posted_at":"2018-07-10T01:07:00.000Z","tags":["Action","Adventure","Airplane","Art deco","Border Collie","Couple","Decopunk","F/M","Female","Flight","Flying","Interwar","Love","Military","Mystery","Novel","Retro future","Sci-Fi","Science Fiction","Sky","Steam Punk","Straight","Swing","Vintage","War","Western","Western Swing","airship","combat","dieselpunk","tomboy"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1349883-silver-lining-chapter-1","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/rnaVRAO1","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/c5/71/c57193d6-35e0-48f8-8e2d-ed413c0913ac","description":"#1 of Silver Lining\n\nGreentext\nSecond Person Present\nNovel-Length, by chapter.\nWIP\nYou, a newly minted combat pilot with all the associated buckle and swash, find yourself signed up to escort an airship carrying mysterious cargo to places unknown. It feels good to be the real deal finally, just like in the books and moving pictures, even if they did assign you a border collie for a partner. And besides, the two of you aren't in over your heads or anything, right?","content":"Silver Lining  \n  \nChapter I, First Light  \n  \n\\\u003eIt's barely first light when you step into the lounge.  \n\\\u003eA dim halo of blue crowns the Eastern horizon, and shades of pink lick at the pillows of cumulus rising in the middle distance behind round, brass windows.  \n\\\u003eThere isn't much light to speak of inside though, and there wouldn't be any if it weren't for a row of amber bulbs under counter of the bar in the back of the room.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eThey leak a puddle of pale honey onto the floor, and cast long shadows from the barstools.  \n\\\u003eThe air tastes of rain, salt, and diesel. There's a hint of chill in it too, but you only feel it on your face and fingers. Your jacket hangs heavily on your shoulders, swaddling the rest of you in a mass of fleece and leather.  \n\\\u003eIt's almost enough to sweat, and you find yourself unzipping it a little.  \n\\\u003eIt's almost enough to make you feel like you're the guy you say you are in the stories you tell yourself.  \n\\\u003eAlmost enough to make you feel like a grizzled old veteran, like from the books and moving pictures, with the right to be annoyed that your partner isn't already here waiting for you.  \n  \n\\\u003eIt must be because she's young, irresponsible, and doesn't know what she signed up for.  \n\\\u003eYou know, nothing like you.  \n\\\u003eAnd you hadn't been late either, right? You hadn't overslept that five minutes, certainly not on account of being up all night mulling over today.  \n\\\u003eBecause it wasn't the first time you'd done something like this.  \n\\\u003eYou'd done it yesterday too.  \n\\\u003eYeah, you were a real old pro, weren't you?  \n\\\u003eYou zip the jacket back up, figuring it best to keep right on believing you weren't just playing dress-up.  \n\\\u003eIt was much too late for second guesses, and besides, you knew what you were doing.  \n\\\u003eYou hadn't worked your ass off in that factory half a decade for nothing.  \n\\\u003eYou'd worked your ass off to learn to fly.  \n\\\u003eAnd you had learned. You'd learned real good; better than all those chucklefucks who strapped guns to old crop dusters and called themselves combat pilots and bounty hunters.  \n\\\u003eThey'd fly out and die a week in, but you were different.  \n\\\u003eYou'd learned good and proper.  \n\\\u003eAnd Ol' Steve never would have let you fly away in that old airplane he taught you in if you hadn't, now would he?  \n\\\u003eGood Ol' Steve. You owed that man a bigger debt than you could ever hope to pay. He'd made you the real deal. Hell, he'd practically been your father.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eBut now you were the real deal.  \n\\\u003eAnd you dressed like it.  \n\\\u003eAnd you had right to.  \n\\\u003eNot like this kid they'd paired you up with for patrol this morning.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eYou'd have to set her straight.  \n\\\u003eFetching coffee and a slice of toast from behind the bar, you settle into a worn leather chair beneath one of the windows.  \n\\\u003eYou set your feet up on the table in front of you and cross them, then turn your attention to the land drifting by far below.  \n\\\u003eYou wait in silence, savoring the morning solitude.  \n  \n\\\u003eYou don't know a whole lot about this girl, other than that she's twenty-one, and thus a few years younger than you, and about as inexperienced as they come.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eRumor has it her parents helped her out a lot too, and that she didn't work for it the way you had.  \n\\\u003eSomewhat wilder rumor also holds that she's an anthro of some kind. Most of the reports say dog. A few said wolf. One said she was some kind of goddamn flamingo.  \n\\\u003eYou don't put a whole lot of stock in those though.  \n\\\u003eYou've never seen an anthro in your life.  \n\\\u003eThey kept to themselves mostly, and you'd heard that many didn't think a whole lot of humans.  \n\\\u003eBut that they had their reasons, and a lot of your sort didn't blame them so much.  \n\\\u003eOf course, there weren't many humans who could say they actually knew one.  \n\\\u003eOl' Steve had claimed he'd fucked one once, but Ol' Steve was a much better instructor than he was a lair or braggart.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eLeaning forward, you snare yesterday's copy of the ship's newspaper, The Ballonet Weekly, and thumb through it sleepily, reading around the previous morning's coffee stains.  \n\\\u003eNothing special, really.  \n\\\u003eApparently Jim, in Engineering, had married some chick who worked in Communications.  \n\\\u003eYou didn't know either of them, but wedding was going to be in the port side Grand Hall, up into the envelope a few decks from Gondola\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;#2. You figure there will probably be food and alcohol, and thus note the date for later attendance.  \n\\\u003eBesides, you're new here. You haven't been aboard more than a few days, and have yet to make any friends. It would do you good to socialize.  \n\\\u003eThe privacy was nice at first, but frankly the whole affair had so far been a little lonelier than you were expecting.  \n\\\u003ePresently you hear the snap of the door latch, and set your paper down again, careful to make it look as though you weren't reclining nearly as much as you were.  \n\\\u003eConjuring your best stern expression, you look up to meet your partner's eyes.  \n\\\u003eUnfortunately surprise overturns the look before you can make much use of it.  \n\\\u003eYou'll be damned.  \n\\\u003eShe's a fucking Border Collie.  \n\\\u003eCute too, particularly wearing that red scarf around her neck, goggles hanging loosely in her left hand.  \n\\\u003eOr paw, or whatever.  \n\\\u003eAnd you have to admit, that big suede and fleece bomber jacket looks pretty good on her too, particularly unzipped and showing the grease-stained flannel shirt she's got on underneath.  \n\\\u003eOf course, she's just a kid playing dress-up.  \n\\\u003eNothing like you.  \n\\\u003eShe grins, perhaps a little shyly.  \n\\\u003eYou hurry up and get back to looking stern.  \n  \n\\\u003e \"You're late.\"  \n\\\u003eShe nods sheepishly, ears wilting a little.  \n\\\u003e \"I didn't sleep real well last night. Big day, you know.\"  \n\\\u003eYou wish you didn't, and set to pretending you don't.  \n\\\u003e \"That's no excuse. They depend on us to keep this balloon afloat, and that means being ready to protect her at a moment's notice. If we fuck up, people die, goods are lost, and dreams are crushed. So when I say we meet at 0500, that ain't a goddamn suggestion. You got that?\"  \n\\\u003eHoly shit you'd sounded so cool! Never mind you hadn't gotten there until 5:05 yourself; she didn't know that, and it sounded just like you knew what you were doing!\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eWhich you did, right?\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eYeah.  \n\\\u003eStill, you can't help feeling a little bad when her ears wilt a little further, and she swallows conspicuously.  \n\\\u003e \"I understand. I'm sorry mister, it won't happen again.\"  \n\\\u003eShe raises her chin up as she speaks, looking confident again.  \n\\\u003eHa. She'd called you mister. That had felt pretty good. Your ego a little bolstered, you rise to greet her and extend a hand you're suddenly glad has been properly worn and scarred during your time doing factory work.  \n\\\u003e \"Now, then....\"  \n\\\u003eShe slaps her paw into your hand eagerly.  \n\\\u003e \"Whitney. Whitney Latham.\"  \n\\\u003eShit, she's got a pretty firm shake, even without the extra toe.  \n\\\u003e \"Anon.\"  \n\\\u003eShe smiles again, showing a little bit of canine tooth this time.  \n\\\u003e \"Suppose I probably shouldn't call you Annie, should I?\"  \n\\\u003e \"Reckon not.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Gotcha.\"  \n\\\u003eA big part of you expects her to ask for your pitty and enough time for breakfast, but she rocks on the heels of her boots and makes for the door again instead. She pauses there, letting you gather yourself and catch up.  \n\\\u003e \"Hangar B, right? The little blue twin engine?  \n\\\u003eBlue? It's painted in naval camouflage, thank you very much.  \n\\\u003eBut you stop yourself short of pressing your luck with the \"I'm hardcore\" game.  \n\\\u003e \"Yeah, that's it.\"  \n\\\u003eYou nod and follow her into the corridor, taking the opportunity to indulge your budding curiosity as to whether her bushy tail is routed over the waistband of or directly through her navy trousers.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eYou haven't quite figured it out by the time you sidle beside her and take the lead.  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Silver Lining (Archival Version)","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1349884-silver-lining-chapter-2.json"}}