Chapter 101: The Volatile Spirit
With the Imperial Sovereign sitting silent and gutted in the Oakhaven yards, the era of steam had reached its political zenith. But Deacon knew the gritty limitations of external combustion. Boilers were inherently heavy, they required massive amounts of water, and they were prone to catastrophic failure under fire. To truly outpace the Empire, he needed a power source that was compact, self-contained, and significantly more violent in its energy release.
He turned his attention to the waste-oil from the Oryn bitumens—a foul-smelling, highly flammable distillate that the traditionalists used only for torches. To Deacon, it was liquid potential. He began work on the Oakhaven Internal Combustion Engine.
"The problem isn't the fuel, Miller," Deacon explained in the high-security Spark-Lab. "The problem is the Atomization. We can't just burn the oil; we have to mist it with air and then ignite it with a high-tension spark at the exact moment the piston reaches the top of its stroke."
The gritty realism of early engine development was a sequence of small, localized explosions. Unlike the steady, predictable groan of a steam piston, the Spirit-Engine was temperamental. Deacon had to design a primitive Surface Carburetor—a heated chamber where air was drawn over the fuel to create a combustible vapor—and a Magneto-Ignition system that utilized the rotational energy of the flywheel to generate the spark.
The prototype, dubbed the "Thunder-Box," was a two-cylinder vertical engine cast from Oakhaven's highest-grade nickel-steel. During the first full-power test, the vibration was so intense it sheared the mounting bolts and shattered every glass window in the lab. The exhaust was a blinding, acrid blue smoke that stung the eyes and scorched the lungs.
"It's too fast, David!" Miller shouted, ducking behind a lead-lined shield as the engine hit four hundred revolutions per minute. "The valves can't keep up! The heat is going to melt the cylinder walls!"
"It needs a Water-Jacket," Deacon commanded, his Logistical Insight already sketching the cooling veins. "We wrap the cylinders in a sleeve of circulating water and a copper radiator. We treat it like a fever that we have to manage."
As they refined the "Thunder-Box," the strategic value became clear. The engine weighed one-fifth of a comparable steam plant but produced nearly the same torque. It didn't need a coal-tender or a water-tank. It was the heart of the Oakhaven Air-Corps.
Deacon's design for the "Air-Skiff" was not a balloon. He utilized the aerodynamic lift principles he had studied, constructing a rigid frame of light-weight spruce and doped silk. It was a primitive biplane, powered by a rear-mounted Thunder-Box driving a hand-carved mahogany propeller.
"You're going to put a man in a kite and strap a bomb to his back," Julian said, staring at the fragile structure in the hangar. "The Church will call this 'Heaven-Trespass.' The Empire will call it an act of war."
"The Empire is already building a fleet of steam-barges to blockade the estuary," Deacon said, tightening the tension-wires on the wing. "The only way over a blockade is through the sky. This isn't a kite, Julian. It's the Standardization of Flight."
The first flight was conducted at dawn over the Oakhaven landing-strip. The pilot was a young, fearless Line-Rider named Kael, who had spent months learning the controls of the "Vindicator-Flyer." As the Thunder-Box roared to life, coughing blue fire and shaking the earth, the Flyer began its run.
The gritty reality of flight was a battle against gravity and wind-shear. The Flyer bounced violently over the uneven grass, its silk wings trembling. Then, at exactly forty miles per hour, the vibration smoothed out. The ground fell away. For the first time, a citizen of the North was looking down at the Oakhaven smoke-stacks from the clouds.
The flight lasted only five minutes. The cooling jacket on the engine leaked, spraying scalding water over Kael's boots, and the primitive carburetor nearly froze in the high-altitude air. But as the Flyer touched back down, sliding to a halt in the mud, the world had changed.
"We saw the Imperial ridge," Kael panted, his face blackened by oil-mist but his eyes wide with triumph. "We saw their hidden artillery batteries behind the High Cleft. They're positioning for a night-assault, David. They thought they were invisible."
Deacon looked at the Flyer, then at the distant, silent peaks. He had broken the "Vertical Monopoly" of the Empire. He wasn't just defending a valley anymore; he was mapping a continent from above.
"The Air-Corps is officially active," Deacon announced to the gathered engineers. "Miller, start production on five more frames. We need to install Aerial Reconnaissance Cameras—the silver-nitrate plates we used for the badges. If the Empire wants a war, we're going to give them a view of it they never imagined."