Flynn looked at the odd contraption that Hank and Ann had cobbled together. It looked . . . flimsy, despite the assurances from both that it would fly.
“Trying to save on materials where we can, sir,” Hank replied.
“It’s better with the wind in your face, Flynn,” Ann said.
Flynn appreciated both answers. Since the makeshift plane was cobbled together from parts and systems on Calypso that were damaged beyond their ability to repair, and the farmers’ own wreck, Flynn appreciated Hank not wanting to strip more from the ship.
What Ann said also resonated with him. He remembered sailing on a ship, an old wooden ship, his great grandfather had built. It was an authentic recreation of the wooden sailing ships used on Earth during the golden age of sail.
The feel of the wind while at sail is one of my best memories, along with fishing with Great Grandpa John.
“Got room for a passenger, care to join me?” Ann taunted.
“No,” Flynn answered firmly, then walked away from her further taunts.
He did watch, though, as the plane took off, its flimsy gravnet sputtering a few times, causing it to dip perilously low to the ground, then kick back on in time for the propeller to keep it aloft. That seemed to iron out the kinks, and Ann was flying away.
She put the plane through its paces, including some basic aerobatics, finishing up with an authentic barnstorm to the amazement of the farmers and the startlement of the pigs and cows.
Maybe . . . no, better not.