Chapter 603 - 603: 575. Tightening The Security Due To The Success

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Caleb, Tesla, Arthur, and John were right behind him, sprinting toward the cloud of dust. They reached the wreckage. The landing skids had completely shattered on impact. The right wing strut was cracked, and the canvas was torn. But as the dust cleared, they saw movement in the center of the shattered frame.

Orville Wright unbuckled the leather straps of his parachute harness. He pushed a broken piece of ash wood out of his way and slowly, shakily, stood up. He had a massive bruise forming on his cheek, and his hands were trembling violently from the adrenaline, but he was whole. He was alive.

Wilbur crashed into his brother, pulling him into a desperate, crushing embrace.

"I had it, Will," Orville gasped, laughing hysterically, his voice breaking. "I had it! We were flying! The wing warping leveled the roll flawlessly! The carburetor just flooded on the bank!"

Tesla ran up, completely ignoring the broken pilot to inspect the cracked engine block. "The fuel delivery angle! The centrifugal force of the bank pushed the gasoline away from the intake manifold! A simple pressurized fuel injection line will solve it instantly!"

Caleb slowed to a stop, his chest heaving as he looked at the shattered, beautiful machine resting in the dirt, and the two brothers laughing in the center of the wreckage.

It wasn't absolute perfection. The machine was broken. The landing was a disaster.

But it was an undeniable big success.

They had achieved sustained, controlled, powered flight. They had proven that the sky belonged to humanity.

Arthur walked up beside Caleb, staring at the canvas wings, slowly shaking his head in absolute, profound disbelief.

"I'll be damned, Caleb," Arthur breathed, pushing his hat back on his head. "You actually made a heavy piece of iron float in the sky."

Caleb turned, looking back across the field toward the pavilion. Mary-Beth was standing at the edge of the canvas tent, a brilliant, radiant smile on her face, clapping her hands together in joy.

Caleb looked back at the Wright brothers, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across his own face. "We didn't just make it float, Arthur," Caleb said softly, the full weight of the empire standing behind his words. "We gave the world wings."

The awe that had paralyzed the gathered crowd slowly gave way to the rushing, chaotic adrenaline of the aftermath. Caleb Thorne's triumphant smile hardened into a mask of pure, calculating industrial pragmatism. He had just witnessed a miracle, but he was a man who understood that miracles in the twentieth century were immediately followed by corporate espionage.

"Silvio! Vincenzo!" Caleb barked, his voice slicing through the whistling coastal wind.

The two underbosses immediately snapped to attention, tearing their eyes away from the broken flying machine.

"Mobilize the men," Caleb ordered, pointing toward the wreckage scattered across the tall Lemoyne grass. "I want a perimeter secured around that crash site right now. Then, you start picking up the pieces. Every single splinter of ash wood. Every torn shred of French sateen canvas. Every bolt, every wire, and every shattered piece of that landing skid. You do not leave so much as a drop of spilled gasoline in the dirt."

Vincenzo nodded sharply, already waving his hand to direct the heavily armed capos forward. "You think someone was watching, Boss?"

"I know someone is watching," Caleb said grimly, his eyes scanning the distant, dark tree line bordering the coastal plains. "Edison, Langley, Wall Streetr, the European aeronautical societies, they know we are building something down here. They have spies crawling through the swamps trying to get a look at our wing camber. If they find a single piece of that machine, they will reverse-engineer the aerodynamics. Pack it all into the covered wagons. Treat it like it's made of solid gold."

As the capos rushed forward, forming a tight, impenetrable ring of repeating shotguns and tailored suits around the crash site, Caleb walked over to the epicenter of the wreckage.

Orville Wright was sitting on a wooden crate that one of the men had dragged over, pressing a cold, wet handkerchief to the swelling, dark purple bruise on his cheekbone. Wilbur was hovering over him like a protective hawk, checking his brother's limbs for fractures, while Arthur Morgan and John Marston stood nearby, deeply amused by the frantic energy of the mechanics.

"You're sure nothing is broken?" Wilbur demanded, his hands trembling slightly as he felt along Orville's shoulder.

"I'm fine, Will. Truly," Orville insisted, batting his brother's hands away with a tired, adrenaline-laced laugh. "Just a bit shaken up. The ground came up a lot faster than I anticipated."

Caleb stepped into their circle, pulling a silver flask of premium bourbon from his coat pocket. He handed it down to Orville. "Drink that. It'll settle the nerves."

Orville took the flask, nodding his thanks, and took a long, burning swallow. He coughed, his eyes watering, before handing it back. "I'm sorry about the machine, Caleb. The landing skids are completely destroyed, and the right wing took structural damage. We'll have to rebuild the entire lower frame."

"I don't care about the frame, Orville," Caleb said, his voice entirely devoid of anger or disappointment. He knelt in the dirt, looking the bruised pilot directly in the eyes. "Wood and canvas are cheap. You proved the concept. You achieved sustained, powered flight, and you successfully utilized the three axis control to recover from a fatal roll. The machine is a triumph."

Caleb's expression then darkened slightly, taking on the stern, uncompromising weight of a patron who refused to lose his investments. "But you didn't pull the silk."

Orville looked down, suddenly looking very much like a scolded child. "I had momentum, Caleb. I thought I could glide it out. I thought I could save the engine block from taking a direct vertical impact."

"Damn the engine block," Caleb reprimanded him softly but firmly. "We proved the drag canopy works. We dropped a hundred and sixty pounds of dead weight from the tower twenty times, and the parachute opened flawlessly every single time. It is designed to take the full weight of a human being and arrest a fatal descent. The next time the engine stalls and you lose your lift, you do not try to be a hero. You pull the cord, you let the silk deploy, and you drift down safely. Do you understand me? The failsafe only works if you use it."

"He understands," Wilbur interjected, placing a firm, heavy hand on his brother's shoulder, his eyes locking with Caleb's. "And I will make sure he pulls it next time. Caleb... we cannot possibly express..."

Wilbur stopped, his stoic, incredibly reserved nature fighting against the overwhelming surge of emotion threatening to break his composure. He looked at the shattered flyer, then at Tesla, who was happily digging through the dirt to retrieve a cracked spark plug, and finally back to Caleb.

"If we had stayed in Dayton," Wilbur said, his voice thick with profound, absolute gratitude, "if we had relied entirely on the profits of the bicycle shop... we would still be gliding down the dunes in North Carolina. We would be five years away from even attempting an internal combustion engine. Your financial support, your logistical brilliance, the parachute failsafe... and Mr. Tesla's ignition system... you accelerated our lives, Caleb. You gave us the tools to catch the wind."

"You two had the vision, Wilbur," Caleb smiled, extending his hand. "I just built the runway."

Wilbur shook his hand with a fierce, unbreakable grip. Orville stood up, wincing slightly as his bruised leg took his weight, and eagerly shook Caleb's hand as well. The partnership forged in the freezing sands of Kitty Hawk had just been baptized in the skies of Lemoyne.

For the next two hours, the testing field was a hive of rapid, highly organized labor.

Under Caleb's strict supervision, the capos meticulously dismantled the broken flyer. They unbolted the heavy Thorne forged aluminum engine block, carefully loading it into the back of a reinforced transport wagon.

They gathered the shattered wooden struts, the torn French sateen canvas, and the tangled tension wires, ensuring that the grassy plain was completely devoid of any mechanical evidence. The wind swept across the field, erasing the deep grooves the wheels had carved into the earth, leaving no trace that humanity had just conquered gravity.

Once the area was sanitized, the convoy mounted up.

They rode slowly back toward the massive, isolated hangar the Wright brothers utilized as their primary laboratory. When they arrived, the capos unloaded the wreckage, carrying the broken pieces into the cavernous workspace.

Wilbur and Orville didn't even pause to rest. The moment the engine block was set down on their heavy wooden workbench, the two brothers were immediately swarming over it.

"The carburetor design is fundamentally flawed for extreme banking maneuvers," Orville muttered, grabbing a wrench and entirely forgetting about his bruised cheek. "The float bowl starves the intake."

Tesla threw his coat onto a chair and practically sprinted to the workbench, his eyes wide with manic inspiration. "It is a matter of pressurized delivery! We must bypass the gravity fed float bowl entirely! If we machine a mechanical fuel pump driven directly by the camshaft, we can inject the gasoline into the manifold under constant, unwavering pressure regardless of the aircraft's pitch or roll!"

Caleb stood in the doorway of the hangar, watching the three geniuses descend into an obsessive, hyper-focused debate regarding fuel injection physics. They were completely oblivious to the world around them, oblivious to the fact that they had just made history, and oblivious to the fact that Caleb was even standing there.

It was a beautiful sight.

"Leave them to it," Caleb said quietly, signaling to Hosea, Arthur, and John. "They won't come up for air for at least three days."

The inner circle returned to the waiting carriages. Caleb climbed into the luxurious, velvet-lined interior of the primary carriage, sitting down beside Mary-Beth. She immediately wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder with a deep, contented sigh.

"Driver," Caleb called out through the speaking tube. "Take us home."

The carriage lurched forward, the heavy wooden wheels rolling onto the well maintained dirt roads that led out of the swamps and toward the opulent, aggressively expanding city of Saint Denis.

The journey back was a stark transition from the wild, untamed frontier of the Lemoyne plains to the beating, mechanical heart of the Thorne empire. As they crossed the city limits, the dirt roads gave way to smooth, sweeping cobblestone. The tall, ancient cypress trees were replaced by towering brick factories, elegant wrought iron streetlamps, and bustling, crowded sidewalks.

But there was something else in the air. A new sound that had begun to weave itself into the daily symphony of the city.

As their carriage rolled slowly through the wealthy commercial district, past high end tailors and upscale cafes, a distinct, crackling melody drifted through the open windows.

It wasn't a live band. It was the sound of a lively, upbeat ragtime piano tune, slightly compressed but undeniably clear, echoing from the open doors of a premium cigar lounge. A block later, the same exact tune poured from the second-story window of a wealthy merchant's townhouse.

The radio.

Caleb leaned back against the plush velvet cushions, a deep, satisfied smile playing across his lips as he listened to the invisible waves blanketing his city.

The T&T Wave Co. had officially launched the very first commercial broadcasting station in human history, aptly named T&T Waves. Because the heavy wooden receiver boxes were still expensive to produce, priced at a premium that restricted ownership to the middle and upper classes, they had become the ultimate status symbol in the South.

The broadcast was entirely based out of a massive, heavily fortified studio attached to the Saint Denis radio factory. To keep the affluent buyers engaged, Caleb had hired local musicians, jazz bands, and classical pianists to play live in the studio, providing a staggering twenty four hours of continuous, uninterrupted music.

Between the musical sets, smooth-voiced announcers read the latest news bulletins, weather reports, and stock market updates, fundamentally changing how the public consumed information.

"It's spreading," Hosea noted from the opposite seat, taking a puff of a fresh cigar as he listened to the ragtime tune fade and a polished announcer's voice take over. "I heard it playing in the lobby of the hotel in Detroit before I left. You have a massive hit on your hands, Caleb."

"The coverage is expanding every day," Caleb agreed, his eyes tracking a massive, steel relay tower visible over the rooftops in the distance.

The towers were the true secret to the empire. They were currently being erected across the entire country, a massive, interconnected web of steel and copper. And thanks to President McKinley's absolute backing, they were completely untouchable. Caleb had heavily publicized the fact that the relay towers were vital, classified government objects, utilized by the War Department and the Executive Branch.

Large, terrifying federal signs were bolted to the chain link fences surrounding each tower. Anyone caught vandalizing, trespassing, or attempting to steal the copper wire would not face local police; they would face federal marshals, charges of treason, and decades in a federal penitentiary.

No rival corporation dared to touch them.

Mary-Beth shifted closer to Caleb, her dark eyes sparkling as she listened to the muffled voice of the radio announcer drifting down the street. She looked out the window at the bustling city, then looked up at her husband, an expression of profound, overwhelming awe softening her features.

"Just listen to it," Mary-Beth whispered, her hand resting gently over the slight swell of her stomach. "It's music... pulled right out of thin air."

She reached up, gently tracing the line of Caleb's jaw, her eyes searching his.

"You really are doing it, Caleb," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "I look around, and everywhere I turn, I see your hands shaping the world. The Thorne bicycles in the streets. The radios playing in the windows. The massive medical institute you are building from the ground up. And now... you've put men in the sky."

She let out a soft, breathless laugh, shaking her head. "It is truly a world full of wonders. And you are the one building them."

Caleb reached up, covering her hand with his own, his cold, calculating industrialist persona entirely melting away in the warmth of her gaze.

"I don't build them for the world, Mary-Beth," Caleb said softly, his voice carrying a fierce, deeply intimate honesty. "I build them for us. For you. For our child. The twentieth century is going to be a brutal, terrifying place. But it doesn't have to be brutal for us. If I have to drag humanity into the future just to ensure that our family lives in absolute comfort, safety, and wealth... then that is exactly what I will do."

He smiled, a genuine, boyish charm breaking through. "And besides... if we can become incomprehensibly rich while simultaneously curing diseases and giving people music in their homes, why shouldn't we? We can do good, and we can do very, very well at the same time."

Mary-Beth smiled warmly, leaning up to kiss him deeply. "You are a magnificent, terrifying man, Mr. Thorne."

"And the wonders aren't finished yet," Caleb added, pulling back slightly with a playful spark in his eye.

Hosea chuckled from the opposite seat, blowing a ring of cigar smoke toward the ceiling of the carriage. "Here we go. What did you buy now, Caleb?"

"I didn't just buy something. I ordered the future," Caleb grinned, looking between Hosea and Mary-Beth. "Before Hosea left Detroit, I sent a classified wire to Mr. Henry Ford. I authorized the mass production of his motorcars, but I also placed a private, priority order."

Mary-Beth tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "An order for what?"

"For the very first production run of the Model T automobiles," Caleb revealed, his excitement palpable. "I ordered six of them, fully customized, to be delivered directly to Saint Denis by private train."

Hosea raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. "Six? What are you going to do with six motorcars, Caleb?"

"One is for the mansion," Caleb explained, taking Mary-Beth's hand. "I am tired of relying on unpredictable, temperamental horses every time we need to travel across the city. The motorcar is clean, it is exhaustively reliable, and it is fast. You won't ever have to endure the smell of a stable again, Mary-Beth."

He looked over at Hosea. "The second one is for you, Hosea. A gift, for ensuring Ford didn't compromise the steel chassis."

Hosea blinked, completely taken aback. The old con man, who had spent his entire life stealing horses and sleeping in muddy camps, was being gifted a piece of cutting edge automotive history. "Caleb... I don't even know how to drive a damn motorcar."

"You'll learn," Caleb laughed. "And as for the other four... they are going to Silvio, Vincenzo, Arthur, and John. We are retiring the saddle horses for the inner circle. The capos can ride in the wagons, but the generals of the Thorne Holding Company are going to travel like modern titans."

Mary-Beth laughed, a bright, joyous sound that filled the carriage, entirely delighted by the sheer scale of her husband's ambition. "Automobiles, radios, and flying machines. You are going to put the horse breeders out of business, Caleb."

"The horse breeders had their century," Caleb replied smoothly as the carriage turned onto the grand, oak lined avenue leading into the Garden District. "This one belongs to us."

The heavy iron gates of the Thorne estate swung open, welcoming the masters of the new world back into their sanctuary. The capos standing guard at the perimeter saluted sharply as the carriage rolled up the immaculate gravel driveway, pulling to a halt before the massive marble steps of the mansion.

Antonio, the impeccably dressed head steward, was already waiting at the doors, flanked by the household staff.

Caleb stepped down first, offering his hand to Mary-Beth and helping her carefully down from the carriage. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the sprawling gardens, illuminating the pristine white facade of the mansion.

It was a moment of absolute, unparalleled peace.

The Wright brothers were actively redesigning the mechanics of flight. Nikola Tesla was currently researching the atmospheric frequencies required to bounce energy across the Pacific Ocean. The greatest medical minds in America were packing their bags to move to Saint Denis, and the Model T automobiles were currently rolling off an assembly line in Michigan. Caleb stood on the steps of his mansion, his arm wrapped securely around his pregnant wife, listening to the faint, crackling sound of ragtime music drifting over the city walls.

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Name: Caleb Thorne

Age: 23

Body Attributes:

- Strength: 8/10

- Agility: 8/10

- Perception: 9/10

- Stamina: 8/10

- Charm: 8/10

- Luck: 9/10

Skills:

- Handgun (Lvl MAX)

- Rifle (Lvl MAX)

- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)

- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)

- Knife (Lvl MAX)

- Blunt Weapon (Lvl MAX)

- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)

- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)

- Poker (Lvl MAX)

- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)

- Eagle Eye (Lvl MAX)

- Dead Eye (Lvl MAX)

- Bow (Lvl MAX)

- Pain Nullifier (Lvl MAX)

- Physical Regeneration (Lvl MAX)

- Crafting (Lvl MAX)

- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)

- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)

- Cooking (Lvl MAX)

- Teaching (Lvl MAX)

- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)

- Inventory System (Permanent - 100x100x100)

- Acting (Lvl MAX)

- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)

- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)

- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)

- Business (Lvl MAX)

- Leadership (Lvl MAX)

Money: 2,772 dollars and 60 cents

Inventory: 283,392 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 74 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 1 land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 10 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern, 3 Diamonds, & Important Documents & Deeds Of Cornwall

Bank: -