Wings of Innovation

“Conar! Conar, come here!” called out a middle-aged man in a welding helmet, welding together an apparatus, some sort of machinery. Conar peeked through the door, “Yes, Master Kraf?”

“Get me the steel welding rods and two clamps,” replied the middle-aged man.

“Of course, Master!” Conar obliged and brought him the clamps and rods as requested. Then, he departed from the workshop back to his work table where a scroll with schematics lay.

He examined his drawings, took a sip of coffee, and leaned back in the chair. The schematics showed a winged structure with a human drawn beneath, hanging in a harness. He traced the weight distribution calculation formulas and sighed. “No, the wingspan needs to be wider. Also, lift…hmmm,” he pondered for a long while that night.

Only light over his table and the flashes from the welding on the other side of the door, reminiscent of lightning in a heavy thunderstorm, illuminated the otherwise dark workshop. At long last, the dawn broke, and the boy snapped back into focus when he felt his master’s hand squeeze his shoulder.

“Conar? Need a review?”

Conar glanced over his drawings; the previous one was on the floor, while the new one featured larger wings with curved tips and updated lift formulas. He smirked, “Yes, please!”

Master Kraf reviewed the drawings. “Did you unfocus while doing these?”

He shrugged. “Guess so.”

Kraf nodded. “Well, your brain truly does shine when you unfocus, my pupil.” He reviewed the formulas and calculations. “You should shift the harness primary hanging point back by 10, it’ll increase the lift and…” he continued explaining to Conar in great detail the benefits of the new placement. The boy nodded eagerly, adjusting the drawings according to Kraf’s recommendations.

“Next workday, we can bring this for approval to the committee… but…” He paused and squeezed Conar’s shoulder tighter. “It’s unlikely they’ll approve of it, boy.”

Conar looked up from his drawings. “The ban on landings, right?” Kraf nodded sadly. “Yes… which is why none of us craftsmen ever went to create a flight apparatus.” Conar shrugged. “But, aren’t you curious what’s on the ground?” Kraf chuckled – “Hah… Of course, I am! We all are! But rules are rules, my boy.”

Conar grinned, “Rules are made to be broken…” He paused and then finished the sentence, speaking in unison with his master, “Like machinery that you do not understand!” They both chuckled, and then Kraf glanced at the watch on the wall. “Well, don’t get in trouble, alright? I’ll head to the market and then the library. Care to accompany me?”

Conar shook his head. “Not today. I’ll head to a cafe for breakfast and will unfocus while I get some nutrients. Then, I’ll visit the central lift tower; they requested an inspection.”

Kraf pondered for a while. “Fair enough. Well, until evening then. Bring back the inspection report.” They parted ways, and Conar spent a few hours at the cafe, daydreaming and unfocused. He ate food that he didn’t remember what it was, nor how it tasted; he just ate it. It was a great opportunity to catch up on mental rest.

For the citizens of Sky City 7, it was essentially a tradition to unfocus during meal times. As a result, their meals became bland and boring; they cared not for the taste or texture. This allowed them to concentrate their trades with other Sky Cities on more important things, such as supplies, nutrient-rich foods, and mechanical parts, as opposed to spices that some Sky Cities cared greatly about.

The day passed in a blink, and with plenty of unfocusing, Conar found himself refreshed, energetic, and ready to start work on the flying apparatus. Although unapproved and still a day away, he figured he’d not waste any time. He dropped his bag on the shop’s floor and unpacked a roll of thick, barely breathable but lightweight fabric, composite material rods, and his schemas. That night, he began working on the apparatus.

Master Kraf was not displeased by his apprentice. He was a firm believer that youth and creativity should flow freely against all rules and regulations. Although he worried for his pupil’s safety on the ground, he was not going to stop Conar. Instead, he focused on helping his pupil in all possible ways. Master Kraf gathered the thickest hide and lightest alloy plates, using them to craft an armored vest for the boy.

He triple-checked the schematics and plans, as well as assisted with the construction, to ensure his apprentice and friend avoided unnecessary risks. The next day, they presented their work to the committee. As expected, the plans were confiscated, and the creation of the flight apparatus was forbidden. However, they had anticipated this and prepared copies. The plans submitted to the committee were merely the initial sketch—an unfunctional and incorrectly calculated version.

The night after, and the one after that, for the remainder of the week, their workshop brimmed with life and the light of creation. Hammering, welding, drilling, and sawing filled the space. They worked diligently, and after an all too familiar crackle of the welder, Master Kraf pulled the torch away and lifted his helmet. Before him stood a winged, wedge-shaped flight apparatus with a harness attached in the middle by three steel wires, a bar for legs, and two levers.

The left lever moves the tail wing, allowing for ease of turning in mid-flight. The right lever moves the flaps on the wings, either up or down, generating more or less lift for easier flight control. With a tri-fan design for speed, featuring two fans on the wings and one behind the feet, the apparatus should, in theory, have enough power for control. He smiled, satisfied with their creation.

He nudged the unfocused boy once more, and as the last bolt was fastened, the boy finished torquing it down. Stepping away from their creation, he gasped and regained his focus. “Oh! It’s… it’s finished!” he exclaimed excitedly.

“Yes, yes, it is!” The man chugged his drink. “We can’t…” but before he could finish, a loud bang on the door echoed through the now-silent shop. Glancing at the clock, which read just past 8, he told Conar, “Stay here,” and approached the door. He checked the peephole; it was the city inspectors. No time to think, he shouted, “BUSY!” But the shout was followed by more banging.

“Open up! We have received reports…”

He glanced at Conar, who simply gave him a reaffirming nod. “I’ll go now!”

As Conar turned to leave, Kraf grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around, and embraced him tightly. “Stay safe, boy! Follow your dreams, but do so safely!”

Conar held back a whimper and swallowed the knot in his throat. “Y…yes.”

Kraf let go of him, then grabbed goggles from a shelf and handed them to him.

“Had these specially made for your journey: reinforced glass, anti-fogging, and anti-freezing! They’ll hold up in any weather.” The banging continued.

“MASTER KRAF, IF YOU DON’T OPEN, WE WILL BE LEFT WITH NO CHOICE BUT TO FORCE ENTRY!”

Kraf chuckled. “COMING!” he said. Then, in a hushed tone, he spoke: “Safe trip, my boy.” Conar grabbed the apparatus and waited for Kraf to open the front door.

Amid the noise and commotion, he swiftly swung the back sliding door open, ran out, closed it behind himself, and locked it from the outside.

Conar ran off into the field, pulled the goggles onto his face, and grinned. He flipped a switch, and then another; the main board hummed to life. The power distribution system was on, and the motors completed a self-check, turning on and off for a second each. With green lights all around, the device was ready for flight. Conar smiled, swiftly weaseled his way into the harness, tightened it, and turned the motor power knob to full. They whizzed to life.

He ran down the field, feeling the apparatus generating lift. Then he jumped and pulled the lever to max lift; it flew and carried him along. Slowly but steadily, he was gaining height. Just barely a meter off the ground soon turned into two, and then three. He flew over the city wall and glanced over his shoulder at the floating city in the clouds where he had lived his entire life, supported by massive, reinforced balloons and held down by lift towers.

A gust of wind pushed him, followed by another, as he learned to stabilize himself. It was now him and the machine; he had to learn fast, and that he did. Focusing his mind 100% on the task at hand, he played with the levers and within a few minutes had a firm grasp on the controls. The apparatus was perfectly balanced and felt quite natural to control. Conar rejoiced that the design worked and that he hadn’t died yet. He tilted the nose down and began his descent.

He flew through the clouds; his clothes and goggles got slightly wet, but the coating on the goggles prevented water from sticking to them. They were clear a few seconds later. It was fairly cold up high, but the lower he descended, the warmer it became. The ground approached quickly.

The apparatus held up well. He leveled his flight, checked the level bubble, and then tilted the nose down again. Closer and closer, at last, he was merely 15 meters above the ground. Leveling once more, he turned off the motors, gliding passively, slowly decreasing the altitude as he watched the lush greenery below: forest, something moving in the forest, and off in the distance, something that resembled a village.

Although difficult to tell from this distance, and not wanting to use up any more battery life than necessary, he chose to make a landing in a large, flat, overgrown field. All seemed fine for now, and so he proceeded. However, landing proved trickier than expected, and he found himself laying face-first in mud.

He took out a notebook and noted some details down: the environment, the flight apparatus, and the quality of air, which had a slightly strange smell to it, vaguely resembling the scent of ozone after a heavy thunderstorm. He also observed that the flora was odd – it was large. Each blade of grass was thicker and at least three times larger than the grass he was used to seeing back on Sky City 7.

Not only the grass, but also the trees were enormous, now that he stood on the edge of the forest. Sky City had just orchards with small fruit trees, so it was difficult for him to compare. Nevertheless, from what he read in old books, before humans took to the skies, history books mentioned that trees were around 10 meters tall. However, these trees were no less than 5 meters in diameter and at least 20 meters tall.

He approached the nearest tree, which truly was spectacular: massive, fresh, and mighty! His mind wandered to thoughts of things he could build if he were to throw this tree onto a sawmill and turn it into planks. Now even more confused, he questioned the air, which was certainly breathable, and the resources, which were in abundance. Why, then, did the people of old take to the skies and give up on land?

He placed his apparatus by a tree and then set off into the giant forest, in the middle of which he thought he saw the village. At first, all was well and quiet, although he found himself feeling a little light-headed. Uncertain of the cause, he opted to have half a ration he brought with him; however, that didn’t help much. As he walked for another hour, a light cough set in.

In the forest, something moved—something big. Anxiety rising, he took cover in the shadow of a tree, waiting and listening until he heard a strange, screechy chirp. His heart sank; eyes widened, he gasped and held his breath. Slowly and nervously lifting his head, he saw a fluffy face hanging from a tree, only a meter away. The terrifying creature had tiny whiskers, big beady eyes, and a brown-orange hue. Small tufts adorned its fluffy ears.

The creature blinked its large, beady eyes but remained perfectly still otherwise. Conar froze in shock. ‘Th… that creature… it looks similar to the ones in books – a squirrel, was it?’ He stared the beast in the eyes. It sniffed him, curious yet cautious, even though it was easily twice his size.

His mind raced to recall what he could about the furry brown-orange creatures with fluffy tails. ‘Curious, usually not aggressive, likes snacks – especially nuts.’ With a trembling hand, he reached for his waist bag and pulled out his ration. Holding it carefully by the tip, he offered it to the creature.

The creature crawled down the tree slightly, extended its neck, sniffed the ration, and then it opened its large mouth, revealing its massive, terrifying teeth as it grabbed the snack. It jumped off the tree, sat up on its rear legs, and proceeded to consume the snack it had just received. Chirping and screeching happily, it finished the snack before dropping back to all fours, sniffing for more. Conar raised his hands and said, “N..no more.. sorry, friend.”

The squirrel, after a moment of hesitation, ran off. Conar chuckled as he watched the fluffy-tailed creature flee into the forest’s depth. “Guess it’s not so dangerous here after all,” he concluded, took notes in his journal, and continued onwards, coughing occasionally. Loud thumping sounds and rustling ensued shortly after. He glanced in the direction of the noises to see the squirrel running toward him.

Shortly after leaping over the bushes and landing on a tree above him, it jumped off and watched him. Then, it dropped something from its teeth – an old, fabric bag. Conar gasped, “An artifact of the ancients?” He approached it carefully and opened it. Inside were rotten, thermite consumed, and basically unusable books, but they were definitely ancient.

He placed the smallest of them in his waist bag and then glanced at the squirrel that had brought him the bag. He pointed at it. “Where? Take me…uhm…Show me? Ughh…it’s a creature; it won’t understand me…”

He pointed at the bag again. The squirrel tilted its head in confusion, then hopped a few hops into the forest, stopped, and seemingly waited for him. Surprised, weary but trusting, Conar followed it through the forest and to the village.

The village was ancient, overgrown, and consumed by nature, yet many aspects remained somewhat intact. Although roots broke through the concrete and plants thrived on the roofs, flowers blossomed out of the glass domes, and the interior was relatively intact. Dusty and partially ruined by insects, some rooms in certain buildings were in rather pristine condition.

Conar spent a few hours collecting books and journals that were left mostly intact. “This village was a research station, housing a couple dozen researchers investigating abnormal oxygen concentration levels,” from what he could gather. Language had changed significantly in the past two hundred years since humans took to the skies, but with some effort, he could still make out most of the details in the texts he read.

As he read on and learned more, it became apparent that the increased oxygen levels were making it difficult for people to breathe, causing rapid mutations in fauna and flora alike. The source of the oxygen remained undetermined, as concluded by researchers.

He coughed again, slight chest pain settling in. “I see… oxygen poisoning,” he noted in his journal. “I wonder if the rest of the world is the same.” Hastily returning to his flight apparatus, his trip back was uneventful. His master rejoiced at having the boy back but Conar still ended up in the medical bay, recovering from acute oxygen poisoning for a week.

The committee appreciated his report; though he broke the rules, the information he brought back was invaluable. Nonetheless, the boy was placed under supervision by the city’s law enforcement. He was forbidden from flying to the ground again, but his apparatus went on to become the new means of messaging between cities. Eventually, it was adopted into multi-person and cargo vessels, eliminating the need for cities to dock for trade.