Rip woke up in the morning and carefully shifted off the double bunk bed, leaving Blair snoring softly at an uncomfortable angle. She had tossed and turned all night, getting little sleep. Rip knew the baby often rested on her sciatica nerve, and he suspected the unfamiliar bed was not helping things.

Letting her sleep in, he threw some clothes on and left, making sure to shut the door gently so Blair would not wake up. He made his way down the hall to the lounge, which had access to the airship’s little mess. Scrounging around in the cabinets, he found some bread and a jar of marmalade. Also, a tea set.

Rip heated up a kettle of water, which would have gone toward tea for anyone else. Instead, he pulled out a drip coffee maker from his interspatial wallet, with the Brooke & Co. corporate logo on top. When the water boiled and the kettle began whistling, he took it off the stove and poured it in the coffee maker. The hot water worked its way up a tube and out of a spout over some grounds in a paper filter.

He watched as the concoction brewed, smelling the rich aroma and smiling as the carafe slowly filled. Within minutes, he pulled the carafe out and poured himself a cup. Then he set it on the stove, making sure it would stay warm but not get too hot.

Taking his coffee and breakfast out to the passenger area, he grabbed a wicker seat near the giant picture window across from the sliding door. The German countryside rolled by far below. He noted they had gained considerable altitude overnight, far higher than Powell usually flew.

After his last bite of bread he returned to the mess and refilled his coffee mug, then walked back up front again. This time he knocked on the door to the bridge and walked down the steps.

Powell glanced over his shoulder to see who it was, then promptly ignored Rip. He stretched, as if working some kinks out. Rip noted a cot shoved off to one side, and concluded the pilot had slept on the bridge last night, which made sense.

Since Powell seemed reticent, Rip sat down on the other seat next to him, and enjoyed the view from the front window. It angled down to their feet, offering a nice full picture of all the scenery below.

Rip blew on his coffee and sipped, savoring it.

Powell frowned.

“What is that?”

“Coffee.”

“I don’t have any coffee on this ship.”

“I know. That’s a shame. But no worries, I brought my own.”

“How did you make it?”

“With a drip coffee maker. They are far superior to percolators, let me tell you. Percolators are inconsistent. Also, they’re all metal. The taste is not the best. With our new drip coffee maker, you get a steady stream of water at 200 degrees over the grounds in a paper filter. It makes some of the best brewed coffee in the world. Literally.”

He smiled and took another sip.

“Where I come from, our coffee makers are electric. I had my guys develop one that could be fed with hot water from a kettle, like with tea. Only, instead of pouring the tea into a service to steep, you pour it in the back of the drip coffee maker and it . . . drips and makes coffee. That was awkward. But it works. Want a cup?”

Powell frowned and shook his head.

Rip shrugged, and took another sip. He smacked his lips.

Powell gazed off at the horizon for a while.

Then he said, “Maybe you could just leave that coffee maker here. You know, in case any other passengers might want coffee instead of tea. Or when I fly you again, it’d already be here.”

Rip said, “Sure. I’ll bill you for it.”

Powell’s face fell as he realized he might have made a serious blunder.

“Now wait a minute. How much are we talking about here?”

“Well, it’s a prototype. I dunno. I’m sure the bean counters back home can come up with something reasonable.”

“Forget it. I dinna want it. Take it with y’when y’go.”

Rip smiled and took another sip.

He said, “You should at least try a cup before turning it down outright.”

“Nope. I dinna want it. Excuse me, I have to go check on some things.”

He tied the wheel in place and left the bridge without another word. Rip smiled to himself as he heard Powell’s footsteps go back toward the lounge.

Several minutes later he returned, with a thoughtful look on his face. He sat down and untied the lines holding the wheel, taking it over again.

“Maybe we can come to an arrangement. But I won’t be taken advantage of, mind ya.”

“It makes good coffee, doesn’t it? Best cup you ever had, I bet.”

Powell said nothing for several moments as he adjusted their course slightly. They continued angling up into the sky.

Finally he frowned and said, “Aye. It was extraordinary coffee.”

It sounded like he was admitting defeat.

Rip smiled, and took another sip.

“When your passengers drink it, tell them it’s from Brooke & Co. It’ll be available in department stores and by mail order. They can make the same good coffee at home with one of our machines. I’m sure we can work out some kind of discount if you give us free advertising or something.”

Powell grunted, noncommittally.

“Maybe we can get a famous old Cricket player to advertise it for us. Or maybe we should just put a sign up saying, ‘Coffee brought to you by Brooke & Co. Coffee Makers . . .’ “

“I’ll tell ’em! Just sell me the bloomin’ machine!”

“Okay. Let’s say, 150 pounds for the prototype.”

“Fine! Now shut up and let me fly!”

Rip smiled, victoriously. He drained his cup and stood up.

“I think I’ll have another. Can I get you one, Mr. Powell?”

“Get off my bridge!”