September 20, 1910.
Gatchina Aerodrome, outskirts of Saint Petersburg.
Money is a shared belief. A stock's value doesn't reside in the paper, but in the collective faith that the paper represents something real. Alexei, seated in the improvised box of honor with tarps and imperial flags, knew his investors' faith was about to be tested against gravity.
Before him, on the trampled grass runway, rested a monstrosity.
The press called it "The Grand Knight" (Russky Vityaz). While skeptics called it 'Sikorsky's Flying Coffin.'
It was of considerable size. A structure made of wood, fabric, and steel cables that defied all kinds of aeronautical logic of 1910.
While French planes were fragile single-engine biplanes that looked like motorized kites, Sikorsky's beast had four 100-horsepower Argus engines aligned on its lower wings. It had an enclosed cockpit with glass windows and even possessed a front balcony.
"It's too big, Your Highness," murmured Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, the Tsar's cousin and aviation enthusiast, adjusting his binoculars. "Something so heavy can't lift off the ground. It's like trying to make a cathedral fly."
"Cathedrals like these are capable of flying if you put enough horsepower on them and balance the vibration," Alexei responded without taking his eyes off the machine.
Behind them, in the wooden stands, sat hundreds of aristocrats, independent bankers, and Muscovite merchants who had bought shares in Fergana Mining and Neva Technical. They had come expecting a miracle or a disaster; for the stock market, both were overly profitable spectacles.
On the runway, Igor Sikorsky was climbing into the cockpit. He seemed tiny next to his own creation.
Alexei knew what was at stake. If the plane crashed, the shares would plummet to zero before the smoke cleared. This way, H&A Holdings would buy Neva's remains for pennies and Russia's modernization would halt. But if it flew... if that thing flew, the stock price would triple. Neva would have enough capital to be untouchable for a good while and create new projects.
"Start engines," ordered a voice amplified by a megaphone on the runway.
The mechanics turned the propellers.
One. Two. Three. Four.
The engines came to life. Not with the usual coughing of era planes and with it a deep roar.
Thanks to the counterbalanced crankshafts Alexei had suggested, the engines didn't shake the wings until breaking them. The vibration was a powerful hum.
The plane began to roll.
It was slow at first, a beached whale trying to return to the sea. Autumn mud splashed the wheels. The crowd held its breath. One hundred meters. Two hundred meters. The tail lifted.
"Come on, Igor," Alexei said quietly, clenching his fists inside his pockets until his knuckles turned white. "Show them the future is possible."
Three hundred meters.
And then, theoretical and practical physics surrendered to engineering expectation.
The Grand Knight separated from the ground. It wasn't a leap, it was a majestic levitation. The immense machine ascended, stable as an artillery platform, ignoring the wind gusts that would have overturned a lesser plane.
The crowd's silence broke into a shriek of disbelief and euphoria. Hats flew into the air.
Alexei turned, not to look at the plane, but to look at the investors. He saw greed and amazement in their eyes. He saw how bankers pulled out their purchase order notebooks.
"It's flying," Grand Duke Alexander stammered. "By Saint George, it's flying and not falling."
"It's the world's first strategic bomber, Uncle Sandro," Alexei said, using the family nickname. "Although for now we'll say it's a passenger transport. We don't want to frighten the French yet."
The plane made a wide turn over the aerodrome, its four engines singing a song of industrial power. From the aircraft's balcony, Sikorsky waved his hand.
Alexei smiled.
"Stanislav," Alexei called to the professor, who was hiding behind a column, praying.
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"Prepare the teletypes. Announce that Neva Technical Solutions has just received a contract from the War Ministry for ten units," Alexei ordered. "And notify our stockbrokers. Have them sell 10% of our own shares when the price hits the ceiling this afternoon."
"We're going to sell?"
"We're going to make cash, Professor. We need liquid liquidity," Alexei said, his mind returning to the Katanga map and Captain Klein's threats. "Because today's success is going to anger our English friends very much. And when the enemy gets angry, they usually set things on fire."
The Grand Knight roared overhead, projecting a gigantic shadow over the Russian Empire. A shadow under which Alexei planned to build a new world, or die trying.