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"Your interpretation of 'bright and early,' is decidedly lax," the old Professor frowned at Jim as he came into the workshop.

"Oh, go on, Professor. I did my best, didn't I?" Jim returned sheepishly as he wound his way past the ticking mechanisms jumbled around the shop to join his mentor at a cluttered worktable.

"And, I believe I told you that last night would be an inopportune time for an evening's sojourn with that girl you're always on about. It seems you spurned my advice with particular enthusiasm," the hound retorted grumpily as he looked down at some odd bit of machinery he was working on.

"I don't know what you mean, sir," Jim said, trying to look innocent.

The hound did not appear amused, "You forget that I was your age once, and you didn't exactly try to cover your tracks," the Professor growled as he set his tools roughly on the table, "You're wearing the same clothes as yesterday and have some crumbs of pastry on your waistcoat, no doubt acquired at that bakery of hers. But, more revealingly," the hound sniffed the air derisively, "you're wearing ladies' perfume."

Jim kept his face pointed at the ground to hide his smirk, "It's just ladies' soap, sir."

The hound's nostrils flared, "Oh, soap is it now? Well then I guess that means you weren't on one of your quests for some fleeting, carnal pleasures! I thought I made it clear that I wasn't going to let your endless flirtations stand in the way of this--"

"It's not like that, sir!" Jim interrupted, holding up his paws, "I really like this girl, and she even got me up early so I could get here as soon as I did."

"A likely story!" the Professor snorted, but his expression softened fractionally, "Well, since you managed to drag yourself here before noon at least, I suppose there's no need to press the matter further. But mark me, boy," The Professor shook a finger to emphasize his point, "I will not stand for any of your hormonal antics getting in the way of your performance here. And I explicitly forbid you from filling this place with your lovestruck cheerfulness! This is a place of work!" The Professor pounded his paw on the table for emphasis, sending the bits of metal clattering.

"Yes, sir!" Jim quipped as he snapped to attention, but he couldn't help noticing the Professor's old eyes were twinkling slightly.

"Good lad. Now, we just have a few modifications to make before we begin testing the flying machine," the Professor stood up and made his way to the back curtain as he talked, "We do have to have the Robertson's clock fixed by the end of this week, but it doesn't look like an overly complex procedure," he threw aside the curtain and made for the back door while Jim followed lightly in his wake, "You can do that at some point tomorrow. Now grab those calipers and my journal, I need to compare some of the measurements with my notes."

"Straight away, Professor," Jim chirped, bouncing slightly in his excitement to finish the flying machine.

The sun rose high in the sky as they continued their work on the ornithopter, and the ground was quickly littered with discarded bolts and fastenings as the Professor put the finishing touches on the connection between the Guilty Gear device and its surrounding mechanisms. He opened his journal to a page filled with calculations and diagrams as he started to check them against the device in front of him. The hound began to spin some of the clockwork with his paw, noting the effect that it had on the others.

"There, do you see that, my boy?" he called to Jim who was placing a metal cover over another piece of equipment.

Jim hurried over and peered at the device. Although he had worked for the old hound for several years, he still felt like he didn't have the critical eye that seemed required of him, "I just see the cogs spinning, sir."

"Yes, yes," the Professor snapped with mild irritation, "But there, don't you see? The action between the lateral output gear and the fifth return chamber; it's turning faster even though the input is slowing."

Jim noted the phenomenon, intrigued as the gear sped up sharply before slowing with the rest. He looked quizzically over at the Professor as he asked, "so that means...?"

The hound stood up and moved over to the controls impatiently, "I'll just show you, then."

He leaned around the simple chair that sat in front of the control area to pull a couple levers. "Now," he called to Jim, "I've engaged the primary clutch. Try turning the driveshaft manually."

Jim was perplexed. The machine required a lot of torque to power the flapping motion of the wings, but he put his arm through an open panel on the floor of the machine and twisted the metal cylinder experimentally. As he expected, the driveshaft barely turned under his straining grip, but then it suddenly began to grow easier. Above him, Jim heard the hissing of fabric as the wings started to extend. By the time they were at their full extension and began to flex in the air, Jim could turn the cylinder easily and he twisted it as fast as he could.

"Easy, lad!" the Professor shouted as the wings sped up their flapping, and he stumbled slightly as the keel under him shuddered against the ground.

"Sorry, sorry!" Jim shouted as the Professor stretched a leg to depress the brake-pedal under the control panel, "But, that's incredible! We almost got liftoff from turning that by hand!"

The Professor's usually solemn expression broke into a proud smile, "That's right, my boy. I almost considered replacing the passenger seat with a pedaling system to power the whole thing, but I thought that would have been a little too...inelegant. Anyway, enough about all that," The Professor clapped his paws together and picked up his cane, "We'll have lunch before we try powering up the generator."

Jim was disappointed at the delay, but it wasn't enough to overpower his hunger. He put the floor panel back in place and brushed off his knees before following the Professor's limping steps back into the workshop.

Their luncheon was eaten in relative silence, both the Professor and his apprentice lost in thought. The old inventor was mentally calculating the fuel and output force of the machine, but Jim's head was spinning with thoughts of watching their city grow small beneath them as artificial wings propelled them to undiscovered heights.

Finally the Professor broke the silence as he munched on a biscuit, "You know, lad, it's important to christen a ship before its maiden voyage, and we haven't yet come up with a name for our ornithopter out there."

Jim looked up from his plate, "I guess we haven't, sir. I presume you have something in mind?"

The hound raised a cup to his lips and nodded slowly, "That I have. What do you think of the Clockwork Flier?"

Jim considered this as he rested his chin on his paws, "Not bad, but it seems a little too generic, if you don't mind me saying so, sir."

The inventor nodded again as he drank from his still raised cup, "You have a point. Any suggestions?"

Memories of wistfully watching birds flying overhead rushed to Jim's mind as he closed his eyes in thought. They had seemed so free to him as they rejected the notion of gravity and carved their arcing paths through the air itself,

"What about the Clockwork Sparrow?" he suggested as he remembered the funny little birds that hopped and flitted around the streets.

"Bah, I can't stand sparrows," The Professor grumbled, "We need a proud name for this machine. Something that will spit in the faces of those Pyrosteam buffoons," he paused for a moment as he thought. Then the inventor sat up and spoke defiantely,

"I've got it, the Clockwork Falcon! That'll be the name for our little flying machine."

Jim grinned at the Professor's unusually excited tone and nodded in agreement, "That sounds good to me, Professor."

"Right," the inventor stood suddenly and brushed the front of his jacket, "That's settled then. Now let's go see if this Clockwork Falcon holds up to its namesake."

Jim bounded from his seat to follow the Professor as they hurried back out to machine, and they eagerly set to work preparing the ornithopter for flight. Jim scurried about picking up the refuse around the take-off area while the old inventor set to adjusting some of the dials on the control pad.

"I have to admit," he called to Jim as he worked, "I'm not precisely sure of the tension settings for some of the support lines. We'll have to feel some of this out during the test, 'on the fly' as it were," he chuckled at his own joke.

Jim was enthused to see the Professor so animated, and he was refreshed to find that even after all the long years of sucesses and failures, the old hound was still determinedly optimistic when he was testing something new. The only element concerning Jim was that the Professor seemed almost as eager to get into the air as himself. He was a little worried that the usually meticulously careful inventor might leave out some detail in his haste to prove the genius of his devices. But, Jim thought he might also be underestimating the Professor, who had thus far never had a new invention cause harm beyond the occasional scrape in all the time of his apprenticeship. He didn't expect that pattern to change.

Once the take-off area was clear, Jim began untying the ropes that had kept the machine from rolling too far or raising too high during their earlier tests, and he brushed a paw over the springy, wheeled legs that supported the machine against the ground.

"Hurry up, lad!" the inventor called, breaking Jim out of his reverie, "I still need you to load the furnace. Two measures of biocoal should be more than enough for a quick zip around the square."

Jim quickly climbed into the back of the machine where the small furnace was located. He opened the fuel bin next to it and started to shovel out the sludgy, grey lumps of the Professor's chemically modified fuel. Although the compound burned slowly and with very little smoke, it was still quite disgusting looking and overwhelmed Jim's nostrils with the smell of tar and rotting leaves.

"Furnace is ready, Professor," Jim said as he held back a gag at the odor, and he quickly shut the doors to the furnace and fuel bin.

"Excellent, now hand me up a pair of those goggles and we'll begin the start-up sequence," the inventor replied as he took the seat behind the controls and put his arms through the chair's retraining belts.

Jim sat in the passenger's spot directly behind him, and passed him one set of eyewear while he pulled the other set over his ears and tugged the lenses over his eyes.

"Alright, lad, I'm igniting the furnace," the Professor droned as he pushed a button on the control panel. A sputtering cough sounded behind them as the fuel began to burn, heating pipes that lead to the internal turbine system. The professor continued to say the process aloud as he listened to the hissing grind of the machinery beneath him,

"I'm engaging the main rotary clutch," he pulled down a small lever and felt the vibrations of the mechanisms start to drive each other, independent gears and wheels uniting into a single glorious whole.

"Alright, I'm putting it into drive-gear position one," the Professor called back to his apprentice, and he placed a cautionary hind paw on the brake pedal before moving the gearshift into position.

The light wings of the machine extended rapidly, despite the only recently lit furnace and the Professor's pressure on the brake. The wings' loose fabric snapped in the breeze until it was pulled taught by the metal spindles holding it. They began their carefully coordinated journey in powerful flaps that caused the machine to roll forward slowly.

"Okay, lad. Keep a prayer close," The Professor muttered excitedly as he eased off of the break, allowing the wings to drive down at full force. The machine shook violently as it bobbed on it's spring-loaded legs, then began to rise and fall as it lifted off of the ground.

This is it! Jim screamed euphorically in his head as he felt the Clockwork Falcon begin to ascend. The rush of the wings at their sides began to dip back under the Professor's attentive guide, scooping the air more efficiently and propelling them faster into the air.

The workshop's street was relatively private, but the ruckus still managed to attract a couple curious onlookers whose eyes bulged at the sight of the fantastic machine rising up to the height of their second-story windows. Their jaws dropped as it quickly climbed higher, it's vertical take off soon bringing it even with their roofs. Their heads turned to look dumfounded at each other as the machine started to propel itself forward, quickly disappearing over the tops of distant buildings.

On the Clockwork Falcon itself, Jim was laughing like a maniac. The previously unpleasant bobbing of the ornithoper was soon replaced by a rolling rise and fall as they stopped climbing and sped forward. The sight was better than he could have imagined, and he howled in excitement as he watched the grid of buildings below them turn into the sparser shapes of houses and finally into rolling green hills as they left the city limits.

The Professor kept one paw on the swiveling wheel that acted to steer the Clockwork Falcon while he adjusted some of the esoteric dials across the control board. Jim could barely keep his seat as he saw the billowing shapes of clouds rushing toward them and he pulled at the straps around his shoulders with glee as he twisted about, trying to take in all the sights at once.

"How about a little swoop?" The Professor called back, his voice sounding youthful in his excitement and the hollow rush of air.

Jim eagerly assented, and his tongue flapped along the side of his open mouth as the speed rippled his fur.

The Professor croaked his seldom-heard laugh as they pulled out of the shallow dive, trying to take note of unusual sounds despite the heady elation. His mind was already abuzz with ideas for improvements to the design, but he pushed them aside to enjoy the experience of his success. He took a moment to look back at his laughing apprentice and a wide smile drew back the corners of his wrinkled jowls.

Remembering that they had only loaded enough fuel for a brief trip, the Professor banked the Falcon to head back towards town. He planned to do a test landing in the more open farmlands and made some last-minute adjustments as he aimed for the top of a gently sloping hill.

The old inventor worked the controls with the practiced grace of the one who created them, and gradually eased the machine into a controlled bob over the hill. Metal springs squeaked as the machine settled onto it's legs, and the Professor begrudgingly eased the clutch out to bring the wings to a final stop.

Jim, meanwhile, had his head thrown back as he looked into the sky, the bouncing sensation of the flight sticking in his stomach even though the machine was at rest.

"That was...that was unbelievable, Professor," he breathed as he slipped out from the retraining belts.

But the Professor didn't respond. He silently climbed out over the side of the machine with his cane held in one paw. Curious, Jim climbed out as well, following behind as the old inventor limped slowly to the edge of the hill and pulled off his goggles. When he drew up next to his mentor, Jim saw tears running down the old hound's stoic face, and he silently matched the Professor's sombre gaze as they simply looked out at the horizon and breathed in the late afternoon.

With a wheezy sniff, the old inventor eventually wiped a paw across his damp cheek and cleared his throat, "Ahem, sorry, lad. I wasn't expecting the test to, ah...go so well," his voice broke slightly as he slowly regained his familiar curmudgeonly composure.

Jim nodded in continued silence, wishing he could think of something profound and comforting to say. He felt like the Professor wasn't just shedding tears of joy as they had looked out over the countryside.

"You did it, though, sir. We flew and it was incredible!" Jim gesticulated excitedly as he looked into the hound's reddened eyes, "All that hard work finally paid off!"

A pained expression crossed the Professor's face at Jim's words, but he smiled and shook his head sadly as Jim started to apologize,

"It's alright, my boy. Just the regrets of a tired, old dog," he said with a dismissive wave.

"Regrets, sir?" Jim queried with a look of concern.

The mournful hound took a breath before answering, "My wife and I tried to build a machine similar to this one back when we were young," he explained as his features deepened in memory. "Of course, that one never even got off the ground. She would have--" his aged voice broke again, "She would have liked to see this day."

He looked sadly at the young husky before him and put a paw on his narrow shoulder, "You remind me of her, in a way. Always running about, chasing whatever fancy takes you," his eyes glistened mildly as he sighed. "Maybe that's why I didn't try to finish the machine until you were around."

Jim was a little overcome with emotion, the Professor had always been an excellent teacher, but very rarely talked about his past. Jim realized with dismay that he didn't even know how the old hound had gotten his limp. He placed his paw over the one on his shoulder and tried to communicate a look representing all his gratitude for his mentor's aide over the years, his eyes stinging and a lump gathering in his throat.

The Professor seemed to understand, and he drew back slowly as he cleared his throat again,

"Anyway, back to business," he said as his usual, grouchy character retook him, "I distinctly remember that the anterior gimbals felt a bit loose. We'll need to correct that before we try another take off. You manage that while I inspect the wings for any abrasions."

Jim hesitated as he tried again to say something about how much the Professor's tutelage meant to him, and how incredible their flight had been. But, the words failed in his throat as the Professor looked at him with gradually growing impatience.

"Well? Hop to it, lad! I want to get back before dusk, these old eyes don't see so well in the dark anymore," the Professor ordered, tapping his cane on the grass.

Jim wiped his eyes quickly and a determined smile retook his features as he replied, "Straight away, sir!"

"Good lad," the Professor grunted as he moved to tug at the wing fabric, but he paused and looked over at his apprentice as the young husky jumped into the back of the Clockwork Falcon. With a twinkling glitter in his eye he added, "You know, I might have to let you fly her back to the city limits," Jim spun around wide-eyed as he continued, "You know the controls at least as well as I do, and I'm a little weary from that first trip." The gruff seriousness never left his tone, but it was clear that he was holding back a smile.

Jim almost vibrated out of the machine as his tail thrashed in excitement, and he eagerly set back to his repairs. There was a slight pang of nervousness in his belly, but the Professor was right in that he understood how to control the gentle arcs of the wings as well as his mentor. Jim thought back to the times when he had piloted the tethered machine, learning what each lever and switch controlled under the Professor's sage advice. Anxious desire to return to sky beat in Jim's chest like a second heart, and he happily wondered just how he would tell the story of his first true flight to Jenny later that evening...