My Big Goblin Space Program [COMPLETE] Chapter 73 - Coaxial Motivation

Chapter 73 - Coaxial Motivation

They say idle hands are the devil’s playthings, so I put mine to work in the engineering quarter on the northeast side of the village. I’d confiscated more of the noblin comics this morning—ones that appeared to depict designing a divine rocket to smite the javeline—a very different sequence of events than I rembered.

The nice thing about paper is that it’s light, even if it’s not very strong. But I didn’t need it to be.

The brass parts from the Ifrit had included several globular and cylindrical vessels I had to imagine were originally designed to hold Ifrit. Looking close, every piece of tal had been inlaid with geotric patterns or designs, all of it possessing so form of radial symtry. I surmised that must have been what passed for fashion among the fire elentals. I selected a light bottle, and then took so copper rings, a handful of brass gears and rods, and went to work.

Drones had been the new hotness back on Earth. Devices with four or eight motors dominated college robotics labs and flying fields—and with good reason. They were cheap, had easily replaceable parts, and lithium batteries ca in all shapes and sizes. But what they weren’t, was efficient. Aerodynamically, they were about as wasteful as a design could get—four motors, four small props working double-ti to make up for a lack of surface area and wingtip vortices, and no swashplate like a helicopter for directional control ant motors had to accelerate or decelerate to change pitch or heading.

A swashplate is what makes a helicopter a helicopter—IE: an abomination unto aviation, unlike a much more reasonable fixed wing aircraft. In a nutshell, the swashplate converts stationary control inputs into outputs on a rotating plane. It’s a way to have the helicopter blades pitch up when they’re at the back of the aircraft for more lift and flatten out by the ti they get to the front of the aircraft. That simple transition tilts the whole thing forward, and the helicopter is able to accelerate.

Granted, there’s a whole lot more advanced physics involved, like gyroscopic procession, blade flap, and yada yada boring helicopter stuff. Yawn. But the basic principle is, chanically, not all that complex. A few push-pull rods, a pair of matched discs that move up and down, and so bearings to make it all smooth. I’d often wondered what you could accomplish with having a main rotor without a helicopter attached. You’d need a pretty advanced autopilot to be able to stabilize it.

Or, alternatively, a pilot able to intimately feel and understand the aircraft itself.

I went to work sketching designs and laying out parts. Then I started to tinker. The rings ford a central hub, from which the brass bottle hung. Above that, push-pull rods connected to a stationary plate, and a spinning plate above connected to a short rotor mast.

The Ifrit had given all the brass tubing I needed, and a four-way connector made the base of the rotor head. Gearing let create an assembly and bearings let mount it with almost zero friction in the whole system. I had the fra nearly done and started folding paper over the rotor blade sections.

I looked up as the sun passed behind Raphina’s closed eye. The daily eclipse, already. I blinked and looked around. An audience of both goblins and Ifrit had gathered, watching work with interest. Even one of the canoneers madly scribbled sothing on a bit of paper. The only one not interested was Armstrong, who dozed in the corner, finding my inventions about as interesting as white bread when they didn’t go boom.

The Ifrit were here for ceramics. I had no illusions about that. Taquoho might personally have a passing curiosity as soone who found newcors and their trinkets a novelty, but the other Ifrit weren’t interested in Apollo, goblin king and inventor. I had to give them sothing they couldn’t ignore. Clay and kilns would only take this relationship so far.

Taquoho was in a group of several larger Ifrit vessels, likely discussing what it was I was building—and I doubt it went missed that I was using primarily parts they had brought. It ant I was designing a device they could almost reproduce. But human know-how and goblin tech insanity was the missing puzzle piece. The Ifrit refused to speak to any goblins, choosing (or capable only) of communication through a diator who I was beginning to realize did not actually have much pull within the greater Ifrit social structure by the way he bowed and supplicated to several of the others. Ti to elevate his standing.

This text was taken from . Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Taquoho, I’ve got a gift for you,” I said.

Several of the Ifrit around the fiery translator flared various shades. The little spiderbot vessel skittered forward. “You should refrain from interrupting conversations between unions. Many among my kin find such things offensive.”

“So you don’t want what I’ve got to give you?”

tippy taps. “I did not say that, King Apollo! I only wish to help you navigate the complex social norms of my culture so that you don’t unintentionally offer insult. I’m very curious to see the artifice you’ve wrought. But…”

One of the larger proxies strode forward. It had master-work geotric patterns inlaid on the bronze parts, along with detailed jewel inlays at intervals that represented, as best I could tell, the fibonacci sequence. It flared a series of colors.

“Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do is the ranking mber of the delegation, here. Gifts should be offered to his union, and he may distribute them among the Ifrit if he sees fit to do so.”

I looked at the gaudy vessel. Clearly any gifts offered to the ‘ranking mber’ would stay squarely in his… claws? Spikes? Never mind. He didn’t even know what it was, and yet he’d take it away from Taquoho just to swing his weight around.

The Ifrit in question stepped forward, ready to receive the gift.

Wasn’t happening. “Ah. Well, please inform Mr. Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do that this isn’t a gift for the Ifrit delegation. It’s a gift for my friend, Taquoho, with whom I share familiar brevity. I find attempts to diminish that distinction crude and reductive.”

“King Apollo!”

So be it. I continued. “Now, Taquoho, where I co from it’s considered rude to keep a host waiting when they offer a ride to their guest.”

“A ride?” asked Taquoho. He inched closer. “This is so sort of new vessel? The legs don’t look to be articulate.”

“They don’t need to be. It doesn’t walk. Take it for a spin.”

The lid on the reservoir in Taquoho’s vessel slid open, and a small cyclone of flas stread from one vessel to another. The pale blue fire tucked itself into the brass bottle build into my newest device, and then spread over the assembly above.

“Zinc paddles and reciprocators. Married plates on bearings moving on three axis. This part… freely rotating. This is like the device you were testing when last I arrived. Yet… it is designed for one of my kind.”

“Is this one too heavy for you?”

By way of answer, the blades began to spin. I’d designed a stacked set of coaxial, counter-rotating blades to eliminate the counter-torque problem. Without an engine to speak of, the only noise it made on the smooth greased bearings was the air being displaced. Taquoho raised the swashplate a hair and the individual blades took an angle. The vessel tipped to one side, but the Ifrit caught it and tilted the rotor the opposite way until it leveled out. Then it raised the pitch higher and slowly lifted into the air off only the power of the Ifrit itself.

The device was so light that the blades didn’t really need to move incredibly fast to leave the ground. The paper-covered wings offered very little durability for harsh aerodynamic conditions or crashes but were very efficient in their thrust-to-weight ratios at small scale, which was sothing a device like this needed.

Taquoho lifted himself above head level, and then clear of the structures. He got the hang of it quickly, thanks to his innate feeling for devices Ifrit possessed. I’ve been told that hovering is the hardest part of flying a helicopter, sotis taking a week or more for a new pilot to manage. But Taquoho acted like he was born in the cockpit when he drifted around in a lazy circle, seeing the village from the air.

He dropped back down, arresting his fall with a quick pull of pitch on his rotors, which scattered a half-dozen sheets of paper from my workbench that a few of the Ifrit were quick to chase after. Probably hoping to glimpse the designs for this new flying vessel. Good luck with that, since those sheets were just the leftover comics that I’d used to paper the rotor blades.

Taquoho didn’t land, but instead hovered just out of reach. “King Apollo, I thank you for this gift and opportunity. I’m sure other mbers of the delegation would also appreciate gifts such as these, if such is your inclination.”

Unsurprisingly, Haughty Vocal Bear Mirror Do, or whatever his na actually was, stepped forward. He spoke in a voice, much more scratchy and crackling than Taquoho’s, and clearly less practiced in conversing with non-Ifrit.

“Give gift vessel.”

I looked across at the Ifrit. “If other mbers of the delegation are interested in receiving such gifts, then I suggest they consider forming friendships with other goblins capable of offering them,” I replied, offering a grin. “This was, after all, a gesture of just that. Friendship.”

With no ulterior motive whatsoever.