{"sf1_id":1349885,"sf2_id":"XnrQRJ0m","title":"Silver Lining (Chapter 3)","author":"DecoFox","words":2176,"posted_at":"2018-07-10T01:13:00.000Z","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/1349885-silver-lining-chapter-3","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/XnrQRJ0m","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/27/23/2723ca68-2b0c-4ece-b821-4a910b6013d1","description":"#3 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":"Chapter III, The White Zone is for Loading and Unloading Only  \n  \n\\\u003eIt's late afternoon, and the sun stoops low over the Grand Norfolk Aerodrome, staining the fresh-cut grass a dry, dusty yellow.  \n\\\u003eYou've been back for hours now, the bulk of them spent wrenching on your airplane. The jackscrew had turned out to be the tip of the iceberg.  \n\\\u003eShe'd said it would be easy. Loosen up the tension on the wire, hold the crank in place, lubricate the screw a bit, crank it down where it ought to be, tighten everything back up. It sure sounded easy.  \n\\\u003eOnly somewhere along the line the turnbuckle on the cable managed to work its way onto the wrong side of the aft bulkhead, and the two of you had spent the better part of four hours and your collective vulgarity vocabularies unfucking it.  \n\\\u003eTurns out anthros have a library of curses all their own. Your favorite so far is \"flea breedin'\", which seems to be an approximation of \"motherfucking\", but with a visual you like a little better.  \n\\\u003eBut you'd finally gotten that squared away about an hour ago, and even managed to sneak a shower while Whitney was moving herself in.  \n\\\u003eYou share a cabin now, evidently, which is great, because you're pretty sure you're allergic.  \n\\\u003eOne way or another, she's made short work of what little there is of the narrow, gray-walled room.  \n  \n\\\u003eYou weren't a huge fan at first, but you have to admit her handiwork brings a lot of life to the place.  \n\\\u003ePictures and postcards clutter her side like a scrapbook page, beating back the cold, dull iron and pinning it behind a net of colorful paper and cellophane tape.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eA little brass spyglass sits on the end table under the porthole window, and from the ceiling a trio of paper airplanes sway from lengths of fishing line.  \n\\\u003eA pair of flashy posters hang over her cot, crowning the rest of the collage:  \n\\\u003eOne looks to be a record cover of some kind, and features a rough-looking coyote leaning in the shade of his stetson hat, six-gun on his hip and a notch out of an ear.  \n\\\u003eJosey Robins, it reads  \n\\\u003eYou're about fifty percent sure you've come across that name, but not a lot of anthro music makes it across the wilderness and ocean that separate the Eastern Union from the place they call Avalon.  \n\\\u003eThe second is a travel poster for somewhere called Tora Renaki. It's drawn in blocky Art Deco, and depicts a modest city built up around a cove of warm-looking water.  \n\\\u003eYou've never heard of it.  \n\\\u003eThe cot itself is spread with an old, but brightly colored quilt decorated with images of seabirds and sailing ships, and atop it a leather-bound journal sits open beneath the weight of a slender pen.  \n\\\u003eYou'd never really been the kind to snoop, but the longer you listen to the shower run, the more your eyes wander to the pages.  \n  \n\\\u003eHer handwriting is fast, and just a little better than sloppy. You can't make out much from where you are, but you think you recognize your name somewhere on the left page. The right seems to have something drawn in it, but before you can work out what, you're startled back to reality as she snaps the cover shut.  \n\\\u003e \"How's about you mind your own fuckin' business, huh, Cap'n?\"  \n\\\u003eHer words are backed by an uneasy glare that's somehow a little effective, even though she's dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003e \"Sorry.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Bullshit y'are. Now are you 'gunna look away, or are you meanin' to watch me change too?\"  \n\\\u003eIt honestly hadn't occurred to you, but the way she says it makes you feel like a fucking degenerate anyway. You obey as casually as you can.  \n\\\u003eHer towel drops to the floor with a muted thud, but before you can come up with anything witty to say, a set of zippers sound and she taps you on the shoulder.  \n\\\u003e \"Thanks, Cap'n.\"  \n\\\u003eYou turn back to find her wearing a pair of faded jeans and another flannel shirt. It's red this time, and missing the grease and oil stains that decorate the one she'd worn flying. She's rolled the sleeves to her elbows and left the collar and top button undone, revealing quite a bit more fur.  \n\\\u003eYou don't have the balls to try and touch her, but fresh out of the shower it looks almost profoundly soft, and smells faintly of the ocean.  \n\\\u003eYou notice a few other things too.  \n\\\u003eA silver chain dangles around her neck where the bandanna was, bearing a spent rifle casing and a wooden charm carved in the shape of an eagle.  \n\\\u003eAround her left wrist a chrome-rimmed watch ticks quietly.  \n\\\u003eAlso her chest. You definitely notice her chest. Nothing unusual, but quite a bit shaplier without the heavy jacket.  \n\\\u003eYou set right to pretending nothing caught your attention, which she makes a little easier on you by flopping noisily into her bunk and cupping her head in her paws. She seems to consider something on the ceiling, then glances over to you.  \n\\\u003e \"Hey, I didn't mean to get snippy right then. It's just that I ain't ever had to share a room before is all.\"  \n\\\u003eFucking rich kids. Back in the factory you'd slept four to a barrack.  \n\\\u003e \"You'll get used to it.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Yeah, well I might need a few pointers here and there.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Like what?\"  \n\\\u003eHer whiskers quiver uneasily.  \n\\\u003e \"Well, like how the fuck do you get dressed in the morning?\"  \n\\\u003e \"Get over yourself and don't stare.\"  \n\\\u003eShe grimaces.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003e \"I'll make it work. I knew what I was signing up for. It's just weird not having my own space, especially if I'm sharing it with, you know, a human.\"  \n\\\u003eThat actually stings a little.  \n\\\u003e \"The hell's that supposed to mean?\"  \n\\\u003eYou meant to come off annoyed, but you're pretty sure you sounded more than a little hurt in spite of yourself. She flicks an ear nervously.  \n\\\u003e \"It's nothing. I- I didn't mean that.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Yeah? Well, your rack is your own space.\"  \n\\\u003eShe nods and retrieves the journal, making furtive corrections to keep the pages out of your line of sight. Now and again she glances up like a nervous meerkat.  \n\\\u003e \"Hey kid, you know this is an even deal, right? I ain't here to spy on you any more than you are on me.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Yeah, I get'cha..., wait, I ain't intruding, am I? You, uh, you don't mind the pictures 'n shit I put up, right?\"  \n\\\u003eYou shake your head. She seems to relax, though she gives the album cover a glance that suggests it embarrasses her a little.  \n\\\u003eThe silence gets awkward fast. You can tell she's keeping an eye on you, and her latent discomfort isn't doing your own any good. You actually find yourself missing the jackscrew work, and the easy camaraderie that came from the two of you cursing at the airplane together.  \n\\\u003eIt doesn't help that she's who she is, either.  \n\\\u003eThe guys you'd shared the factory barrack with were just work buddies. Good for drinking and playing cards with, but you didn't really give a damn what they thought of you.  \n\\\u003eThis doesn't feel quite like that. You need her to trust you, and trust you even though she's\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;technically more experienced on the stick than you are.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eEven though you're a \"human\", like she said.  \n\\\u003eYou're going to spend hours and hours cooped up with her in that little cockpit, and at any point it might become a foxhole you share in a fight for your lives.  \n\\\u003eThat's not a job for a work buddy. That's a job for a brother in arms.  \n\\\u003eAnd besides, while you can't quite put your finger on why, you had a pretty good time with her today.  \n\\\u003eEven with all the jackscrew fuckery.  \n\\\u003eYou feel a little more confident with her around, and find you catch passing glimpses in yourself of the sort of man you think you ought to be.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eA little of what you imagined you'd feel when you became the real deal.  \n\\\u003eAnd you feel like you're in it together.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eLike if things really went south, it'd be her you back up against rather than a cold, solid wall.  \n\\\u003eAll this from a five hour flight. You didn't have a reason really, but you felt those things and you want to keep feeling them.  \n\\\u003eYou've got to break the ice again.  \n\\\u003eShould you ask her what she's working on?  \n\\\u003eProbably not.  \n  \n\\\u003e \"You know, I didn't take you to be the shy sort.\"  \n\\\u003eHer whiskers relax again and she hauls herself up to sitting, back propped against the wall. She flips the journal over and sets it over a knee.  \n\\\u003e \"I ain't, normally.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Something to do with my being a filthy human?\"  \n\\\u003eShe shakes her head.  \n\\\u003e \"Forget it, okay? I shouldn't have said that. What I said on the wing stands: I appreciate you taking me on.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Even if you've been flying longer?\"  \n\\\u003eShe considers that a moment, then cocks her head skeptically and raises a sharp white eyebrow.  \n\\\u003e \"This some kind of a test or somethin'?\"  \n\\\u003e \"No test.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Good. Then I told 'ya: She's your airplane, and that's fair.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Then what's the matter?\"  \n\\\u003e \"Nothin'.\"  \n\\\u003e \"Bullshit. You weren't like this in the airplane.\"  \n\\\u003eShe sighs and stands again, making her way to the porthole and leaning on the table there. She seems to study the advancing dusk for answers.  \n\\\u003e \"I don't know. It's just..., I've got a real weird feeling about this whole operation, don't you?\"  \n\\\u003eYou hadn't, but the tone of her voice is giving you one.  \n\\\u003e \"...I mean, we've been here how long? I don't see a single truck or parcel of cargo out there, Cap'n. Not one. And they still ain't told us where we're going.\"  \n\\\u003e \"They're probably just hung up on something administrative. What makes you think that ain't normal anyway?\"  \n\\\u003e \"Hung up on every piece of cargo from every supplier? I've seen airships load, Anon. My brother and I used to bike out ot the aerodrome and see them off. It ain't like this, at least not back in Avalon.\"  \n\\\u003eShe pauses and scans the field again.  \n\\\u003e \"N' not telling your escort pilots where you're going? That's just crazy. How are we supposed to know what to expect? What weather, let alone what opposition?\"  \n\\\u003e \"I 'dunno. Reckon they'll tell us once we're underway. Relax.\"  \n\\\u003eYou wish you were half as certain of that as you'd managed to sound. You'd been telling yourself you just didn't know the ropes whenever something struck you off, but you had to admit it was getting hard to keep believing that.  \n\\\u003eWhitney rocks on her heels and flops back into her cot.  \n\\\u003e \"It doesn't strike you odd at all? Really? Shit, Cap'n, I swear this place even smells off.\"  \n\\\u003eShe draws a sleek, silver flask from a bag left at the head of her bunk, and in a slow, single motion pops the top, takes a gulp from it, and screws it shut again. A shiver runs up from the base of her tail and makes her ears and whiskers droop a little.\u0026nbsp;  \n\\\u003eShe reaches it to you then, as if to shake your hand. The bittersweet bite of scotch whiskey washes through the room like a draft.  \n\\\u003e \"To sketchy first times?\"  \n  \n\\\u003eYou almost second guess yourself, but it's been awhile since you've had anything to drink.  \n\\\u003eAnd the two of you need to trust each other.  \n\\\u003eAnd the more she goes on about the cargo, the more your nerves could use it.  \n\\\u003eBesides, this is the beginning of your very first voyage.  \n\\\u003eIt's supposed to be good luck or something, right?  \n  \n\\\u003e \"To sketchy first times.\"  \n\\\u003eYou take a swig and hand it back to her. She smiles weakly as she takes it.  \n\\\u003e \"...and maybe a little adventure,\" she adds.  \n\\\u003e \"And maybe a little adventure.\"  \n\\\u003eYou settle back against the wall as the gust of warmth from the liquor works its way up from your stomach and into your scalp. Whitney flops onto her back and shuts her eyes.  \n\\\u003e \"Wake me for supper, won't 'cha Cap'n?\"  \n\\\u003e \"Yeah.\"  \n\\\u003eSetting your watch for seven o'clock, you slump over onto your side. Your cot creaks beneath your shifting weight and settles with a taught, belt-like snap.  \n\\\u003eNot nearly as comfy as what you had when you were staying in the guest house at Ol' Steve's, but a damn sight better than the factory bunkhouse.  \n\\\u003eEspecially with Whitney around.  \n\\\u003eAs much as her drawing your attention to it doesn't help, you can't help thinking the weird, anxious feeling in the base of your heart would be scarier if she wasn't there.  \n\\\u003eYou like your privacy, but you have to admit that it feels good having someone in the other bunk right about now.  \n  \n\n","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1349884-silver-lining-chapter-2.json"}