Deryn Sharp got up at five o'clock on a breezy, cool mid -May morning. From her hotel window, she could see Roosevelt Airfield, where, in just a few short hours, she would be embarking on her (hopefully) record breaking trans-Atlantic flight.

Confident though she was, Deryn woke up with a slight case of nerves. She ate the high-protein breakfast she had ordered, even though it wasn't much. Over the past month, she had been conditioning herself for this flight, making sure her body was used to as little food as possible. She had to stay alert and focused for almost two whole days, and couldn't afford to fumble with a lot of food. Or weigh down her plane with provisions, for that matter.

Her plane, the Glasgow Cross, had undergone extensive modifications in order to survive the transatlantic flight. Deryn's engineer, a clever American named Annie Keller, had spent hours with Alek when he had visited, discussing everything from increasing the fuel capacity to adjusting the propeller.

And there was Keller, just coming down from her own hotel room, and taking a seat at Deryn's table. She was short and as straight as a stick, and always seemed to have engine grease in her brown hair, or under her fingernails. Today, however, she had cleaned herself up. Even her overalls were freshly washed.

"So, how do you feel today?" she asked, taking a long drink of black coffee. There were dark circles under her eyes, making her brown eyes pop out against her pale face.

"Brilliant," replied Deryn, smiling. Now that her stomach was satisfied, she felt much better.

"Did you get a decent amount of sleep? I was up all night worrying about our fuel calculations, so I decided to look them over… again. Got the same answer I always have. You'll have fuel to spare, just in case you get lost."

"I won't get lost. I've practically memorized the barking charts, haven't I?" said Deryn.

"Well, yes, there's always the possibility…" said Annie, taking another sip of coffee.

"You'll make it though, I know you will. And then you'll be a world—famous celebrity and forget all about your poor little engineer," she joked.

"I'll make sure to mention you in at least some of my interviews," smiled Deryn, softly punching Annie on the arm.

"Or convince that fiancée of yours to give me a raise, more like. I like the idea of designing planes, and not just fixing them. Although, I'm doing a bit of both with this grand scheme of yours."

Deryn laughed, and the two women got up from their table, and walked over to the airfield.

Annie busied herself checking every single aspect of the Cross's engine, and then moved on the inspecting all other parts of the plane. Deryn followed her around, occasionally spotting something that needed attention. Not that there were many problems. Annie had been practically sleeping in the hanger since they'd arrived in New York three days ago.

The sun was just beginning to rise as Deryn went into the airfield office washroom to adjust her flight jacket and goggles one last time. Going over everything she should have on her, she triple checked everything from her boots to her watch. Now would be the last time to add anything she'd forgotten.

When Deryn came out of the washroom, she found the manager of the airfield anxiously waiting for her, holding a brown telegram envelope in his right hand.

"This just arrived for you, Miss Sharp," he stammered, handing her the envelope.

"Thank you," said Deryn, and the man turned and walked away. Looking at the envelope, Deryn saw that the telegram was from Alek. She ripped it open, and quickly read and reread the message.

"Kommen Sie nach schnelles Paris so, wie Sie können, Schatz. Alle wir sind, die heier den besten Piloten in der Welt warten. Liebe, Alek"

The best pilot in the world….

Deryn folded up the telegram, and placed it in an empty jacket pocket.

Outside, reporters and photographers had gathered along the far edge of the airfield. Some spectators were also slowly starting to trickle in, the women's dresses whipping around in the breeze. Deryn could hear Annie yelling at some of the airfield workers to get the Glasgow Cross fueled up, so she walked over to her engineer. Just to make sure she didn't make one of the attendants run away sobbing.

"I told you before, fill her up with as much gas as possible! And don't you dare touch those propellers! Do I have to do every bleeding thing myself?"

Annie turned around to look at Deryn as she approached the plane. Annie's overalls, which had been so clean just over two hours ago, were now stained and wrinkly.

"I think she's all ready to go as soon as she's fueled. You might as well go talk to that bunch," she said, glancing at the crowd of people.

Deryn nodded and walked over the band of reporters. As soon as she was within earshot, they began yelling and elbowing each other.

"Miss Sharp! Is it true that…"

"Miss Sharp, how long do you…"

"Miss Sharp, what if…"

Deryn stood answering questions for ten minutes, and then walked over to the Cross and posed by the plane for photographers. After several shots of her shaking hands with the airfield owner, and with Annie, she climbed into her plane.

"You should have enough food to make it if you don't eat much. And your radio is working perfectly, so you can alert us if anything goes wrong," said Annie as Deryn strapped herself in.

"Nothing's going to go wrong."

"You're pretty heavy on fuel, so you'll want to pay special attention when you take off. It's a lot more weight than you're used to. Do you have your life jacket?"

"Yes," sighed Deryn. Normally Annie was a lot less concerned about the pilot, and more concerned about the plane.

"Are you ready to start her up?"

Deryn nodded, and carefully started up the Cross.

"Good luck!" called Annie, closing the cockpit door and removing the wooden blocks in front of the wheels.

Farther down the runway, an airfield worker was directing her to takeoff. Deryn carefully taxied up to the long stretch of pavement, and then tried to give the Cross as much speed as possible.

The runway became a black blur beneath her wheels, and Deryn felt her stomach jump just slightly as her wheels left the ground. She floundered a bit; the plane was more heavy than she was used to. For a small moment, she was afraid of crashing back into the ground.

But just for a moment. Deryn righted herself, and turned the plane east, flying across Long Island and towards the gray Atlantic Ocean.

No turning back now.

Ah. A nice, long chapter after two short ones. I only have two chapters left, so I'll upload those together in a week or so. And I apologize if my german grammar is lacking. I relied on an online translator. Thank you for the reviews, they really do help me stay focused on this. :)

Leviathan (c) Scott Westerfeld. Except Keller. Keller is of my own invention.