Riding the Wind

Lucas Larch Adventures: Chapter 1

The idea struck Lucas during his eleventh birthday dinner, as he watched his father review some manufacturing reports between bites of cake. Every day, his father went to a place where airships - the very vessels that ruled the skies - were born piece by piece. And Lucas had never seen it.

“Father,” he said suddenly, setting down his fork, “I want to see where you work. I want to see how airship parts are made.”

Mr. Larch looked up from his papers, pleasantly surprised. “The factory? Well, I suppose you're old enough now. Would you like to come with me tomorrow?”

Lucas's face lit up. “Really? Could Temp and Greasy come too?”

The two short automatons, who had been serving dessert, had very different reactions. Temp's optical sensors spun with excitement while Greasy nearly dropped the cake server.

“A factory tour!” Temp whispered to his friend. “Think of the business opportunities! The technological innovations! The potential for revolutionary new cleaning methodologies!”

“Think of all the machinery we could accidentally activate,” Greasy muttered back. “All the expensive equipment we could damage. All the moving parts that could catch certain overenthusiastic automatons...”

The next morning found them all in Mr. Larch's steamcar, heading toward the sprawling Skyhawk Aeronautical factory on the edge of town. The massive brick building stretched for nearly three blocks, white steam rising from multiple chimneys while the rhythmic whir and thump of machinery could be heard even from outside. Railroad tracks led directly to one side of the building, where a freight car was currently being unloaded.

They had barely stepped inside when a clerk hurried up to Mr. Larch, waving a telegram. “Sir, there's an urgent issue with the shipment to California. The railway company is claiming their new rate structure affects our contract and—”

“Ah, business calls,” Mr. Larch sighed. He turned to the automatons. “You can show Lucas around, but stay out of the workers' way and don't touch any equipment. Understood?”

“Of course, sir!” Temp saluted enthusiastically. “I shall personally ensure young master Lucas receives the most comprehensive tour of industrial innovation ever conducted! We shall examine every gear, catalogue every process, analyze every—”

“Just keep him safe,” Mr. Larch interrupted, already being led away by the anxious clerk. “And Temp? No 'improving' any of the machinery.”

“Would I do such a thing?” Temp asked innocently.

“Yes,” Greasy replied flatly.

“Yes,” Called Mr. Larch over his shoulder.

They had only taken a few steps into the main workshop when they met Vernon Hodgkins, the factory foreman. He was a round-faced man with bristling white whiskers and eyes that twinkled behind wire-rimmed spectacles. His waistcoat was adorned with a magnificent gold watch chain, and various tools protruded from his many pockets.

“Young Master Larch!” he boomed cheerfully. “Come to see how we make the sky stay up, have you?”

Lucas nodded eagerly. “Father always talks about quality control and manufacturing processes, but I've never actually seen them.”

Hodgkins's smile grew even wider. “Well then, let's start at the beginning! Follow me to the receiving dock — that's where everything begins.”

The receiving area was a hive of activity. Workers were unloading raw materials from the railway car: ingots of copper and brass, sheets of aluminum, coils of wire, barrels of specialized oils and chemicals, and huge spools of the hemp fabric used in levium cell construction.

“Every piece we make starts here,” Hodgkins explained, picking up a copper ingot. “Pure materials, carefully tested and certified. See these markings? They tell us exactly where this copper came from, when it was smelted, even which batch it belongs to. In our business, we need to know the history of every piece of metal that goes into our components.”

Lucas examined the stamped markings with fascination. “So you can trace problems back to their source?”

“Exactly!” Hodgkins beamed. “Sharp lad! Yes, if there's ever an issue with a component, we can track it right back to the raw materials. Now, let's follow this copper on its journey...”

Their first stop was the foundry, where raw metals were transformed into rough component shapes. The heat hit them like a wall as they entered. Massive electric furnaces glowed orange-hot, while workers in protective gear operated crucibles of molten metal. The rhythmic clang of drop hammers punctuated the air as rough castings were shaped.

“Watch this,” Hodgkins said, leading them to a safe observation position. They arrived just as workers began pouring molten brass into a complex mold. “This will become the housing for a levium pump. See how they control the flow? Too fast and you get air bubbles. Too slow and the metal starts cooling before the mold is filled.”

Lucas watched, entranced, as the glowing metal flowed like water. His mind was already racing with questions about metallurgy and casting techniques.

“Remarkable!” Temp declared. “Greasy, are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Please say no...”

“We could cast our own replacement parts! Think of it — 'Temp's Terrestrial Temperature-Resistant Technological Treasures'! We'll revolutionize the domestic automaton maintenance industry!”

“We are not building a foundry in the garden,” Greasy stated firmly.

From the foundry, they moved to the machine shop. Here, rough castings were transformed into precision components through an array of fascinating machinery. Belt-driven lathes shaped metal with hair's-breadth accuracy. Massive drill presses created perfectly placed holes. Milling machines carved complex shapes with methodical precision.

“This is where art meets science,” Hodgkins explained, showing Lucas how a worker measured a part with fine calipers. “Every piece has to be exactly right — no margin for error. That propeller blade they're working on? It has to match its design to within a few thousandths of an inch across its entire surface.”

Lucas watched as a craftsman carefully shaped a propeller blade, periodically checking it against a master template. “How do they know when it's perfect?”

“Ah, that's where these come in!” Hodgkins led them to a measuring station equipped with an array of sophisticated gauges. “We check every critical dimension. Angle, thickness, curve, everything has to be just right. One wrong measurement and the whole piece gets rejected.”

“But surely small variations don't matter that much?” Lucas asked.

“Let me show you something.” Hodgkins picked up two seemingly identical propeller blades. “This one passed inspection. This one was off by just two degrees in its curve. Seem like a small difference?”

Lucas nodded.

“Well, when that propeller is spinning at full speed, that tiny difference could tear an engine apart. In our business, young man, there's no such thing as 'close enough.' Lives depend on every piece being perfect.”

As they moved through the machine shop, Lucas's eyes were drawn to every process. He watched a craftsman hand-finishing a bearing race, feeling the surface with practiced fingers that could detect imperfections too small to see. He saw how complex components were assembled piece by precise piece, each junction checked and rechecked before moving forward.

“The precision!” Temp exclaimed. “The attention to detail! Greasy, we've been thinking far too small with our cleaning operations. We need quality control procedures! Inspection protocols! Statistical analysis of dust particle accumulation!”

“We need to finish this tour without you attempting to 'improve' any industrial machinery,” Greasy replied.

The levium cell manufacturing area was particularly fascinating. Here, in a specially ventilated room, workers carefully layered the specialized hemp fabric that could hold the lighter-than-air gas. Each seam was double-stitched and then sealed with a special compound.

“The fabric itself comes pre-treated,” Hodgkins explained, “but the real skill is in the construction. One leak, one weak seam, and the whole cell is useless. Our stitchers train for years before we trust them with actual production.”

Lucas watched as a worker carefully tested a complete and inflated cell, using a special instrument to detect any leaks. “How many cells does an airship need?”

“Depends on the size and purpose,” Hodgkins replied. “A small cargo ship might have six or eight. The big passenger liners can have thirty or more. And every single one has to be perfect.”

Next came the control system assembly area. Here, workers built the complex mechanisms that allowed airship crews to manage their vessels. Cables, pulleys, and hydraulic systems were assembled with meticulous care.

“These cable assemblies control the levium valves,” Hodgkins demonstrated. “When the captain pulls this lever in the bridge, it has to operate smoothly, instantly, and reliably. No sticking, no binding, no hesitation.”

Lucas examined the clever arrangement of pulleys and counterweights. His mind was already working on ways the system might be improved, made more efficient...

“I sense a kindred spirit of innovation!” Temp declared. “Young master, have you considered the applications of such control systems to domestic maintenance? Picture it: a single lever in the parlor that controls an entire network of automated cleaning devices throughout the house!”

“We are the automated cleaning devices,” Greasy muttered.

The testing area proved particularly exciting. Here, completed components were put through their paces before being approved for shipping. Levium pumps whirred in sealed chambers, their output carefully measured. Control systems were cycled thousands of times to ensure reliability. Propeller assemblies were spin-tested at speeds that made their tips virtually disappear.

“Every piece gets tested well beyond normal operating conditions,” Hodgkins explained. “We need to know they'll perform perfectly even in emergency situations.”

Finally, they reached the quality control room — Hodgkins's pride and joy. Here, inspectors made their final examinations of completed components before they were approved for shipping.

“This is where we separate the good from the almost-good,” he said. “And almost-good isn't good enough for Skyhawk.”

“And this,” Hodgkins said, unlocking a heavy door, “is where we keep the pieces that didn't quite make the grade.”

The rejection room was larger than Lucas expected, filled with rows of shelving holding brand-new equipment that was just slightly imperfect. He walked slowly down the aisles, examining each piece with growing fascination.

“Here's a propeller blade where the curve is off by just one degree,” Hodgkins explained, lifting a gleaming piece. “Looks perfect to the naked eye, doesn't it? But at full speed, that tiny difference would create vibrations that could shake an engine apart.”

“What about this?” Lucas pointed to a control panel where all the gauges seemed properly aligned.

“Ah, good eye! The needle on that pressure gauge sticks slightly when it passes the midpoint. Might not seem important, but imagine you're flying through a storm, need to make a split-second decision, and your gauge hesitates...”

Lucas nodded thoughtfully. “So what happens to all these parts?”

“Some we can fix and retest. The propeller blade, for instance — we can melt it down and try again. Others get broken down for their materials. That control panel? We'll salvage the brass fittings and glass, scrap the rest.”

“The inefficiency of it all!” Temp declared. “Greasy, we should establish a quality control system for our cleaning supplies! No more substandard dusters or poorly balanced mops!”

“Our mops work just fine,” Greasy sighed.

“But do they work perfectly?” Temp countered. “How do we know without proper testing protocols?”

Lucas was examining a rejected levium pump, his mind working rapidly. “Mr. Hodgkins? Why couldn't some of these parts be used for less critical applications? This pump might not be perfect enough for an airship, but surely it could work for something else?”

Hodgkins's eyes twinkled. “Now that's thinking like a businessman! And you're not wrong - some of these components could probably serve other purposes quite well. But your father's right about our standards. In this industry, 'probably' isn't good enough. Better to lose some profit than risk a single life.”

“But what if...” Lucas's expression grew thoughtful. “What if there was a way to sort the rejected pieces by their specific flaws? Then you could maybe find new uses for them, or at least better understand what's causing certain types of failures?”

“Ha!” Hodgkins clapped him on the shoulder. “You really are your father's son! That's exactly the kind of thinking that built this company. In fact, speaking of improvement...” He pulled out his pocket watch. “Let me show you something special.”

He led them to a small room off the main factory floor. Inside, a team of engineers sat at drafting tables, working on technical drawings while surrounded by prototype components in various stages of development.

“This is our development shop,” Hodgkins explained. “Where we try to improve our designs, solve problems, find better ways of doing things. Everything you've seen today? It all started as drawings on these tables.”

Lucas stared at the complex diagrams with growing excitement. Here was where ideas became reality, where problems found solutions...

“Revolutionary!” Temp exclaimed. “Greasy, we need a development shop! Think of the possibilities — automated window washers! Self-propelled dust removal systems! Mechanical carpet beaters with steam whistle attachments!”

“No steam whistles,” Greasy said firmly. “We've discussed this.”

“But the prototype already has a whistle!”

“What prototype?”

“Er... never mind.”

When Mr. Larch finally finished dealing with the shipping crisis, he found his son bubbling with excitement. The ride home was filled with Lucas's enthusiastic description of everything he'd seen, each process explained in careful detail that showed how much attention he'd paid.

“...and then the casting has to cool at exactly the right rate, or you get stress in the metal! And the levium cell stitchers can detect a bad seam just by touch! And Mr. Hodgkins showed me how they test propeller blade balance using this clever arrangement of...”

Mr. Larch listened to his son with growing pleasure, occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror at their automatons. Temp was frantically sketching what appeared to be plans for an elaborate household cleaning system, complete with pulleys, conveyor belts, and (despite Greasy's obvious disapproval) at least three steam whistles.

“Did you enjoy the visit?” Mr. Larch asked when Lucas finally paused for breath.

“It was amazing! The precision of everything, the way each process connects to the next... Mr. Hodgkins knows so much about manufacturing! He showed me how they measure tolerances to a fraction of a millimeter, and how they can trace any component back to its original materials, and...” Lucas paused, then asked hopefully, “Could I come again sometime?”

“I think that could be arranged,” Mr. Larch replied warmly. “Though perhaps we should wait until Temp finishes designing his 'Revolutionary Automated Household Management System.'“

“Version 3.7!” Temp declared proudly, holding up his notebook. “Now with improved steam whistle resonance frequencies!”

“No steam whistles in the house,” Greasy repeated wearily. “No pulleys in the parlor. No conveyor belts in the kitchen. And absolutely no automated carpet beaters anywhere.”

As they pulled into their driveway, Lucas was already planning his next visit to the factory. He had so many questions for Mr. Hodgkins about manufacturing processes, quality control, and business operations. Something had sparked in him today — not just an interest in how things were made, but in the entire process of turning ideas into reality.

That night, Lucas sat at his desk, carefully drawing his own designs. They weren't as polished as the ones he'd seen in the development shop, but they were a beginning. Next to him lay a small gear that Mr. Hodgkins had let him keep from the rejection room — a perfectly good piece of machinery that was just a tiny bit different from what was needed.

Sometimes, Lucas reflected, the most interesting things came from unexpected places. He couldn't wait to learn more.

From somewhere in the house came a loud WHOOSH followed by Greasy's exasperated voice: “TEMP! What did we say about steam whistles?”

“This isn't a steam whistle!” Temp's voice replied defensively. “It's a prototype automated dust dispersion system! The whistle is merely an auxiliary component for, er, monitoring air flow patterns!”

“Get that thing out of the parlor before you break another vase!”

Lucas barely heard the antics of the automatons, he was in another world, filled with ideas and possibilities.