Preparation for Takeoff

Fog. Quonset huts. To the west, formless darkness. To the east, a glimmer of light on the horizon makes the fog glow slightly.

A man in a khaki uniform shivers in the cold. He marches back and forth to stay warm. As the sun rises, he can see more and more details. The metal panels of the Quonsets. The branches of the trees behind them. And in the other direction, the growing light begins to limn a shape like a small moon, thought narrowing at the ends. At first, its underbelly is obscured, but gradually the soldier begins to distinguish the dark shape of the gondola from the dark shape of the airship above it.

A puttering sound draws his attention away and he turns to see a motorcar pullint onto the airstrip. He lets out a small exasperated sigh, then arranges his face into a mild, noncommittal smile.

Well, he thinks. The Professor. Here goes nothing.