The pilot spread his designs over the desk and showed his ideas to Miss Fisher. She raised her eyebrows at the audacious idea. Three hot air balloons with passenger pods where the baskets would normally be and a system of fans and blades for propulsion and steering, on the top, with a space for him to sit.
"Well," she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "it's a novel idea. How did you come up with it?"
"I had been looking at pictures of zeppelins," he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, "and I was struck by the size, the bulk, and how awkward it seemed to be to steer. Also once the blades get going it makes its own energy."
"I see," Phryne stood back and observed the sparkling blue eyes, "are you sure it will work?"
"Well, as with all experiments..." leaning back against the desk he watched his prospective benefactor, "all I need is an injection of cash, to build a prototype."
She was aware this was a risky investment, but without innovation there was no going forward in transport, medicine, science.
"Alright, I'll risk it," she held out her hand, "but, I want regular updates and the first ride."
"Deal," he shook the hand and grinned.
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A year later, Phryne had not forgotten the risky investment she had made, with her mad scientist, as her husband, Jack, called him. Still, it was her money, and he had always said he wanted no claim on her inheritance. So she was delighted to receive a photograph of the tri-balloon, apparently ready for its first test flight.
They took the sky-hopper over to the design sheds. The skies were busy, as usual, with families heading to the crowded beaches for the weekend. The roads were crammed with hover bikes, teenagers weaving, racing each other to the few areas that were open enough for such activities.
The tops of the buildings whizzed by, streaks of grey and beige, with the ribbons of dull tarmac roads snaking between them. Phryne wondered about the pictures she had seen of a century ago, when there were green spaces, you could walk to the shore at St Kilda, roads were wider, everything was a slower pace. Idyllic. Jack said she was a dreamer, she sighed, "one must always have dreams, Jack, darling."
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Setting the sky-hopper down she looked round for her inventor friend. There he was, by the rope holding the tri-balloon in place, waving madly. She smiled, he truly did look like a mad scientist, with uncontrolled, wild hair, and round glasses. He didn't need the glasses, nobody did these days, but he claimed they made him look more intelligent.
"So, this is it," she shook his hand and smiled. "Thank you for updating me with the trials."
"You said you wanted the first, ride, well, I did have to try it first," he grinned back, "I didn't want to lose my best investor," he turned and pulled a set of stairs down in the middle pod, "after you, Miss Fisher, Inspector."
Inside a padded ledge ran round the edge with safety straps at intervals. The windows were strips of reinforced, transparent aluminium set in the walls, giving the passengers a good view of the land they flew over.
Jack and Phryne strapped themselves in, sitting opposite each other. Phryne was excited, Jack not so much, she was the daredevil of the pair, he was her steady policeman, trying, and failing, to keep her feet on the ground.
They felt the pod rise, slowly. It didn't swing or jerk, a very smooth take off, Jack hoped the landing was going to be the same. The field became a small piece of green felt, discarded from some old fashioned craft activity. There was no sound; Phryne had expected the noise of the engine, but no such sound was heard. It was nice to be able to talk in a quiet voice, instead of shouting above the hum of most engines these days. They rose high up almost to the clouds and looked down on the river, a wide ribbon of silver.
"Comfortable?" she asked.
"It's not too bad, really," he agreed, "and it's nice and quiet. I like that I can actually see what I'm flying over, instead of it streaking by."
"Is that a comment on my flying, dear?" she laughed.
"Phryne, you have always flown or driven too fast," he tutted, "but not even you could make this go any faster. It's rather relaxing."
"Hello," she mused, "we're turning."
"Back to the sheds, probably," he noted.
The landing was as smooth as the take off and Phryne agreed her investment had paid off, he could afford to charge a modest fee for any journeys, if he made sure they pods were full.
"I'm looking at commuter traffic," he told her, "best return I think, on your investment. I want to build more, but it will be from the profits of this one."
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Five years later:
"The tenth tri-balloon has just come off the production line," Phryne's voice floated from behind the news screen, "he's named it the 'Phryne two'."