"Totalitarianism has abolished freedom of thought

to an extent unheard of in any previous age...

It not only forbids you to express - even to think - certain thoughts,

but it dictates what you shall think."

- George Orwell

media:

"The Adventures of Robin Hood"

by Erich Korngold
blend by yours truly

New York State; July 12, 1941

Howard had been more than livid. He had practically breathed fire down Tony's throat as he thundered with the roaring voice of some ancient deity, the room shaking beneath Tony's feet as he vented.

Yammering speeches about Fascists had ensued, about how America was rearing for war and Tony would be sent to prison for treason. He had flirted with prison for a while now, surely his father knew the threat of imprisonment couldn't scare him. Given a bobby pin and a few cogs, he could escape from any cell Howard could throw at him.

And then Howard had rushed off to the hangars with a huff. Some urgent telegram had caught his attention in the middle of his tirade, and Tony was grateful for it. It had flustered the impeccable composure of Howard Stark, which was nice to see every once and a while to prove to Tony that the man was actually human. Moreover, his father had actually given him a job. The smallest dirigible had to be prepared for flight immediately.

Howard never entrusted such a task to Tony, who was still in shock as he relayed the command to the various ground crew members. The telegram must have been very important indeed if Howard was violating the unwritten rules of their twisted relationship. God forbid he treat his ne'er-do-well son with some measure of respect and responsibility for one. Sure, Tony was getting a savage sort of pleasure from this job. Was Howard finally acknowledging him for once?

As much as he wished these wild fantasies were true, an airship didn't change its stripes. Howard Stark was still Howard Stark. He must have some psychoanalytic, reverse psychology twist on this. Perhaps by pretending to give Tony a second's notice, he was only twisting the dagger deeper.

Tony could ignore this jab, however, as he ran down to the airstrip to watch the dirigible as it was towed from the various ballooning hangars that peppered the side of the property. Barely brushing the start of the treeline, the hangars stood like luminescent globes in the brisk wind. A cheery golden glow hummed from the farthest hangar, where the smallest craft was slowly being pulled out by the ground crew.

Small was a subjective term for Stark technology. The ship was easily as large as many of the Navy craft Tony had spotted in the New York harbors, its balloon swelling to half-capacity before it would be filled completely on the tarmac. Following the taxi cars was a massive hose connected to helium stores in the hangars, which would propel the dirigible into the air. A graceful gondola swung beneath the enormous balloon, its sleek design branded with the noticeable Stark logo. There was one large contrast between the Navy ships and Stark ships – Howard's designs had no protective armor from aircraft or U-boat fire.

Tony couldn't help but look to the sea beyond the slope of the hill that led to the beachfront. To think that black shadows hung below the water, waiting for they prey to fall into their hands... It was all very glamorous.

"How goes it, young master?" A voice drawled from the top of the taxi car, and Tony looked upward into the grinning, gap-toothed face of one of Howard's groundsmen, Riggs or Briggs or something of the sort. They clasped hands in a firm handshake, with grease smearing across Tony's palm as their hands parted. "Are you taking her out for a spin?"

"Me?" Tony shook his head. "It would take five men to man her, and she can seat a hundred!"

"An' I got a telegram to bring out the small one..." The groundsman stroked his whisker-studded chin thoughtfully, leaving a stroke of black oil behind. "I heard your pops can pilot it all on his lonesome. Anyways, he's been fixin' it up for quite some time. Added on a lot of weight, we had to cut down on the frills. Any idea what the old man's planning?"

"I wish I knew." Tony shrugged, suddenly intrigued by this turn of events. First a mysterious telegram, then modifications on the dirigible Tony hadn't heard about. This was turning into a genuine Cary Grant mystery.

"I suppose you're inspectin'?" The groundsman called over his shoulder as he taxied away from Tony's position, lugging the massive airship after him.

Tony cupped his hands around his mouth so that his reply could be heard. "Suppose so!"

He had grown up around airships all his life, and Howard didn't skimp around with security or hiring professional personnel. There wasn't much supervising to do as the gondola wheeled directly in front of him, easily seventy yards long and two stories tall. Wide tinted windows stretched across the front to provide passengers with a sweeping view, but beyond the dining room and the sleeping quarters were the most impressive rooms the zeppelin housed – the laboratories. Howard was known to fly off above the property and gather data on weather experiments or take his most dangerous work out over the ocean to prevent any loss of life. Tony found himself hoping this certain expedition was one of the latter.

The mouths of the enormous hoses, each the size of a trash bin cover, were screwed into place as inert helium pumped into airship's balloonets. The extra load of whatever Howard had installed would require more helium to take off, which would mean less time for Tony to explore before his father flew back in from New York.

Unless he snuck into the gondola, that was.

The door to the zeppelin's interior was on Tony's far right, the entrance to the "cockpit" where pilots guided the massive balloon on its various journeys. Or Howard manned the entire thing himself, if rumors were true. Tony bet he could do the same just as easily as his father, but he wasn't too keen on going up alone. Especially after the Hindenburg went up in a firestorm, zeppelins seemed all the more dangerous, and yet all the more exciting. Glancing left and right to make sure no ground crew members were watching, Tony leaped up a few feet and swung the gondola's door open, sliding through the opening and into the cockpit in seconds.

He maneuvered his way out of the cockpit, which would reveal his position easily with its massive windows on all sides. Exiting towards the aft of the zeppelin, Tony passed through the navigation books with shelves stacked high with maps and legends, beyond the kitchen and the radio room and into the dining hall. Or what was left of the dining hall, he noted with shock.

Usually the zeppelin was outfitted with fine curtains and plush carpets in the dining room, with sweeping views of the ocean or the countryside, wherever the Stark family deigned. Now all creamy tablecloths and crystal glasses had been forgone, the carpet torn away to reveal open-faced steel. The tiers of stairs that stretched on the sides of the gondola had been outfitted as viewing platforms, with seats and protective shielding from the center of the dining hall.

In the middle of the room sat a strange circular contraption, with enough complicated machinery and wiring to keep Tony's head spinning for days. A challenge like this delighted him, and he hurried forward on tiptoe to observe the structure. Banks of monitors stretched in a circle, raised about a foot above the steel floor. Various dials and levers protruded from the metal surfaces, each meticulously labeled with engraved letters. Words stood forward in Tony's mind – Vita-Rays, overdrive, auxiliary power. What was Howard planning with this? He had been breaking into his father's laboratory for years now, and he had no idea what a Vita-Ray was. It was rather frustrating, not knowing things. How could ordinary people bear it?

At the center of this metal dais was what Tony could only label as a coffin. It was painted a muted blue, leaning back on a series of gears and metal joints bent backward to support it. Thick cords of wires curled into the coffin's base, stretching under the dais and presumably connecting to the monitors that surrounded Tony.

"What the hell?" he whispered almost reverently in the silence. This whole setup couldn't be more confusing. First Howard called for a private flight, after ripping up the dining hall and replacing it with some of the most complex machinery Tony had ever seen. What was going on?

"I hope you don't use language like that around our guests." A sharp voice sounded from the viewing platform, and Tony spat out another curse. Somehow Howard had snuck up on him while he was observing the machinery, and he would be in even more trouble than before.

"What is this?" Tony gestured to the circle of monitors, his eyes falling again on the metal coffin. Surely Howard wasn't so far gone to try to resurrect someone like in those Frankenstein films?

"You tell me. Use your intuition."

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically and slowly, hoping Howard could see in the dim light of the fading sun. His father loved these tests, to see if Tony could wrap his mind around a problem with machinery or intellect, from politics to curvilinear girders. After being chewed out for an hour about the problem of the Fascists, he wouldn't let Howard get the best of him this time.

Stirred on by this new purpose, he turned back to the monitors and studied the dials and levers. His hands grazed the cool metal as he turned in a slow circle and observed his surroundings. Frustratingly, none of the words stuck in his mind, each unfamiliar term slipping away into a mess of confusion. He was angry now, turning back to the metal coffin in search of answers. Howard enjoyed these challenges to test Tony's mind, but he also loved them because he won them often.

Two small metal arms stretched from the side of the coffin, each indented in three perfect circles on either side. A hydraulic pump, fashioned for small instruments, dangled disconnected beneath each indent. Reaching forward hesitantly, Tony grasped for a handle on the edge of the coffin and swung the front open to reveal a smooth metal interior, fitted with modest cushioning around the back and head. There was no doubt about it – the contraption was made for a person.

More metal arms unfolded from the inside of the coffin, with plates of metal bent inwards for storage. Tony grasped one and immediately pulled his hand back, a sharp pain piercing his finger as a globe of blood balanced on its tip. The metal plates were covered with miniature needles, blocked together to form one massive injection site.

The interior of the coffin was studded with another mind-bending addition – massive bulbs were set deeply into the thick metal. What could it all be for?

Sucking on his bleeding finger, Tony turned back to a blank-faced Howard leaning against the platform's banister. "Well, if I had to hazard a guess I'd say it's a very sophisticated, very painful tanning bed."

Howard released a long sigh through his nose. "This is your problem, son. You don't take these things seriously. There's a war going on in Europe, and you ramble on about tanning beds. Why won't you man up to your responsibilities for once?"

Tony knew better than to talk back, so he simply raised his chin and met Howard's burning eyes, black in the darkness. His father had been a serious man before the war, but ever since Poland had fallen a sense of urgency had taken over his work, his everyday life.

In a way, he was right. Tony had been tasked with preparing the zeppelin, but he had decided to sneak around instead. He banished this rogue thought as soon as it crossed his mind. He was only seventeen, still below enlistment age. Still a kid. Didn't he have the right to have a little fun once and a while? Besides, Howard would never let Tony do any real work, not even if it was for the war. The zeppelin inspection had been a rare mishap.

"Fine, whatever you say. What is it, anyways?" He nodded his head towards the coffin as a rushing sound gusted through the dining hall; the ground crew was beginning to inflate the zeppelin.

But Howard's little game had ended. He turned away from the dining hall, straightening his already impeccable cuffs and glowering down at his shoes. "Mind that you change before the guests arrive. We've having some Army officials over, and some other scientists of reputation. I'd prefer my son doesn't look like a bum."

Tony crossed his arms over his chest, scowling as Howard descended the stairs of the viewing platform. The man towered over him as he strode forward, each movement too graceful and precise to be natural. Nothing about Howard was natural. "That's a yes, sir from you."

Gritting his teeth, Tony forced as much spite into his words as he could muster. "Yes, sir."

If Howard was offended by his obvious display of impudence, he didn't show it. Turning on his heel, he stalked away towards the cockpit and out of sight.

Tony spat after the man's heels when he was out of earshot. The zeppelin bobbed every so slightly under his feet, and the small rush of excitement was enough to take his mind from his grievances with Howard Stark. Tonight he would be a thousand feet in the air surrounded by gruff Army chumps. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could sneak a sip of champagne before Howard caught him.

Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad after all.