The Heavens
By Le Chupacabra
The timing was so perfect one would assume it was intentional. The second I walked into Alphonse's workshop, I heard something like an engine backfiring and suddenly everything (me included) was engulfed in black smoke. Failure #138, I assumed.
As the smoke dissipated I found myself face-to-face with the grinning, soot-covered face of Alphonse Steinbach, 45 - a genius and certifiable nutcase: the typical combination. I shifted aside some documents, placed my briefcase on his table and drew myself a chair. Alphonse nodded and turned back to what I guessed was the cause of the explosion. It was a small, shiny (although it was pretty sooty now) engine chassis connected with a number of black, flexible pipes that vibrated slightly. The pipes were connected to a clear pump through which a dark, brown viscous liquid churned and flowed.
"Hey, that's the new model isn't it?" I asked him excitedly.
"Yup! The RP-SF18... the latest in primary thrust dynamics money can buy! And trust me, it cost me quite a bit, this thing!" Both his eyes were sparkling with absolute delight.
Ever since I could remember, Alphonse had been tinkering with machinery and you know what? He had a real talent for being able to take apart even the most complicated of mechanisms and put it back instantly, as good as new. He probably saved his family thousands of dollars in mechanical repairs since he could fix just about anything with wheels and screws. Although, for the Steinbachs, saving money was a matter of shame; they were one of the richest in the 12th Prefecture. When his father, a shipping magnate, passed away he had left his only son Alphonse about 4/5ths of the family fortune (which added up to a rather enormous amount). While his mother (also deceased) had constantly nagged him to run the family business, Alphonse decided to listen to his father's advice to follow his own dreams. Years later here was the heir to the Steinbach legacy, whiling away the hours (and the cash) by doing what he always loved: messing around with machines.
"So, do you think you got it this time?" I asked without being able to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
He wheeled around and began:
"You still think I'm crazy, eh? Can't blame ya, either. To be honest, I have no idea. Everything's been done so far, I mean. The body work, the modified fuel tank and I've readjusted the cockpit for those kinds of atmospheric conditions so many times; I could take this baby to outer space. But... the thrust engine can only do so much with the limited fuel supply. You know all this... I mean, it's what the... uh... hundredth time I told ya right? Anyhow, the thing is, this new gizmo: the RP-SF18 is designed to truly boost the performance of conventional thrust engines. This is the first consumer machine of its kind. I could have tried to wing some favours from the Air Force, but I guess for a normal guy buying an old F22, it was already overkill, eh? So this'll have to do. No more fusing stuff to make my own enhancer... this little thing does exactly what I want!" His eye had a glazed, faraway look to them but I knew what he was thinking.
Alphonse had one dream: to be able to fly as high as possible without going beyond into territory where you needed a space suit; he wished to touch the stars without actually entering the eerie void of space. He had spent his years in the Zentra Tech Institute accumulating as much knowledge as he could on flying beyond the conventional altitudes of consumer aircraft. He made many a contact while in the Air Force and everyone he met was infected by his manic energy and desire to carry out his dreams. When he left, they allowed him to purchase an old modified F22 so he could actually make his flights of fancy a reality. It had been a long, difficult road since he refused to take let anyone help with the finer points of his design and despite all his money, it wasn’t exactly making development any faster. However, the guy refused to give up. His designs had failed miserably each time till now, but every time he had laughed it off and just begun from scratch. His desire to never give up was rather inspirational, but this habit of his had its gruesome sides as well.
I gulped and asked him about it finally, “Al… about your legs... I didn’t ever consider asking you but… why don’t you get cybernetic extensions? I mean that way… you could… you know… work more easily rather than rolling around in that wheelchair all day?”
Alphonse turned around again, his face covered with what looked like pity. “You don’t get it do you? See, I’ve lived my entire life for all things made of metal and plastic. But, despite all that, I don’t want to become a part of one, become a real machine that is. Whatever I do, however I do it, will be with these two hands made of flesh and blood. The same goes for these little guys… I’d rather use whatever god gave me.” He ended by wriggling the two stumps which had once been his legs; they had been burnt and damaged beyond medical help during an explosion six years back. He turned his wheelchair around again.
I watched him go back to his work and as he turned his torch on I caught the light flash off the stencilled letters on my briefcase: ‘Pathway to Heaven’ Corp. My construction company’s aim had been to build as high as possible so we could try to reach the home of the gods in the skies above. However for Alphonse, the goal was different: he was a maniac who desired to become a god and fly through the heavens themselves. I realised that one day our skyscrapers, no matter how well they were built, would crumble and fall - diminishing the motto the company tried so hard to maintain. Alphonse, on the other hand might never reach the skies, but his desire to keep toiling away for his passion: that was something that would never falter and that in itself had a worth far beyond heavens themselves.
As the smoke dissipated I found myself face-to-face with the grinning, soot-covered face of Alphonse Steinbach, 45 - a genius and certifiable nutcase: the typical combination. I shifted aside some documents, placed my briefcase on his table and drew myself a chair. Alphonse nodded and turned back to what I guessed was the cause of the explosion. It was a small, shiny (although it was pretty sooty now) engine chassis connected with a number of black, flexible pipes that vibrated slightly. The pipes were connected to a clear pump through which a dark, brown viscous liquid churned and flowed.
"Hey, that's the new model isn't it?" I asked him excitedly.
"Yup! The RP-SF18... the latest in primary thrust dynamics money can buy! And trust me, it cost me quite a bit, this thing!" Both his eyes were sparkling with absolute delight.
Ever since I could remember, Alphonse had been tinkering with machinery and you know what? He had a real talent for being able to take apart even the most complicated of mechanisms and put it back instantly, as good as new. He probably saved his family thousands of dollars in mechanical repairs since he could fix just about anything with wheels and screws. Although, for the Steinbachs, saving money was a matter of shame; they were one of the richest in the 12th Prefecture. When his father, a shipping magnate, passed away he had left his only son Alphonse about 4/5ths of the family fortune (which added up to a rather enormous amount). While his mother (also deceased) had constantly nagged him to run the family business, Alphonse decided to listen to his father's advice to follow his own dreams. Years later here was the heir to the Steinbach legacy, whiling away the hours (and the cash) by doing what he always loved: messing around with machines.
"So, do you think you got it this time?" I asked without being able to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
He wheeled around and began:
"You still think I'm crazy, eh? Can't blame ya, either. To be honest, I have no idea. Everything's been done so far, I mean. The body work, the modified fuel tank and I've readjusted the cockpit for those kinds of atmospheric conditions so many times; I could take this baby to outer space. But... the thrust engine can only do so much with the limited fuel supply. You know all this... I mean, it's what the... uh... hundredth time I told ya right? Anyhow, the thing is, this new gizmo: the RP-SF18 is designed to truly boost the performance of conventional thrust engines. This is the first consumer machine of its kind. I could have tried to wing some favours from the Air Force, but I guess for a normal guy buying an old F22, it was already overkill, eh? So this'll have to do. No more fusing stuff to make my own enhancer... this little thing does exactly what I want!" His eye had a glazed, faraway look to them but I knew what he was thinking.
Alphonse had one dream: to be able to fly as high as possible without going beyond into territory where you needed a space suit; he wished to touch the stars without actually entering the eerie void of space. He had spent his years in the Zentra Tech Institute accumulating as much knowledge as he could on flying beyond the conventional altitudes of consumer aircraft. He made many a contact while in the Air Force and everyone he met was infected by his manic energy and desire to carry out his dreams. When he left, they allowed him to purchase an old modified F22 so he could actually make his flights of fancy a reality. It had been a long, difficult road since he refused to take let anyone help with the finer points of his design and despite all his money, it wasn’t exactly making development any faster. However, the guy refused to give up. His designs had failed miserably each time till now, but every time he had laughed it off and just begun from scratch. His desire to never give up was rather inspirational, but this habit of his had its gruesome sides as well.
I gulped and asked him about it finally, “Al… about your legs... I didn’t ever consider asking you but… why don’t you get cybernetic extensions? I mean that way… you could… you know… work more easily rather than rolling around in that wheelchair all day?”
Alphonse turned around again, his face covered with what looked like pity. “You don’t get it do you? See, I’ve lived my entire life for all things made of metal and plastic. But, despite all that, I don’t want to become a part of one, become a real machine that is. Whatever I do, however I do it, will be with these two hands made of flesh and blood. The same goes for these little guys… I’d rather use whatever god gave me.” He ended by wriggling the two stumps which had once been his legs; they had been burnt and damaged beyond medical help during an explosion six years back. He turned his wheelchair around again.
I watched him go back to his work and as he turned his torch on I caught the light flash off the stencilled letters on my briefcase: ‘Pathway to Heaven’ Corp. My construction company’s aim had been to build as high as possible so we could try to reach the home of the gods in the skies above. However for Alphonse, the goal was different: he was a maniac who desired to become a god and fly through the heavens themselves. I realised that one day our skyscrapers, no matter how well they were built, would crumble and fall - diminishing the motto the company tried so hard to maintain. Alphonse, on the other hand might never reach the skies, but his desire to keep toiling away for his passion: that was something that would never falter and that in itself had a worth far beyond heavens themselves.
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