Iris Chapi
"Father, this is the Live, can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear, my daughter."
The transmission connected instantly, and I relayed the images I received from the Liberty to the audience.
The screen split into five panels: two small ones on the sides and one central window showing my father's face.
He looked tired but slightly flushed, shy before such a massive audience.
The other panels showed different camera angles of the ship: front, rear, and bottom views, allowing the pilot to maintain full awareness of his surroundings — and giving viewers a perspective of the sky and Russian landscape where my father was currently flying.
The final window offered a wider shot of the Liberty's interior, revealing my father in his flight suit, focused on his course.
The seat beside him was empty, covered in flyers promoting the Live.
The wide view also showed the ship's controls, the two joysticks, the instrument panels, and one screen displaying the live broadcast feed.
Even though we had rehearsed this opening together several times, I had kept the surprise of the dress I had designed for the occasion.
I hoped my father would like it.
"Alright, Father, as you can see, a great number of viewers are attending this Live.
Would you like to add a few words about our mission?"
"No, there's nothing to add. You've presented our goal perfectly — and you look stunning, my daughter."
"Father, please… not in front of everyone."
I blushed, trying to stay focused on my role as the host.
"Where are you right now?"
"I'm in Russia. I just left Moscow, where I did a bit of promotion not far from Red Square. I'm being escorted by two fighter jets from the country, and I'm currently heading toward Japan."
"You've come quite a long way from France already. Does the journey feel long?"
"I must admit that sitting in this ship for so long takes a toll on both the body and the mind… and yet, this is only the beginning. But speaking with you — and with everyone watching — eases the burden a little."
"Then perhaps we should start the public Q&A?"
"Father, there's an interesting question coming from the chat about the Celestial Ring technology.
Could you tell us more about how it works and the challenges behind its design?"
"Hmm… I didn't expect to jump into the technical details so soon.
I won't explain its construction, but I can tell you that it's a brand-new, infinite energy source we invented.
The one I'm carrying now has the capacity of a nuclear power plant — none of this would be possible without it."
"So many memories from when we built it… though I could have done without some of the complications along the way.
Anyway, next question: what are your impressions of the countries you've flown over so far?
What struck you the most?"
"Every country I pass has its own magic, its own essence.
Russia, for instance, offers breathtaking beauty and cultural diversity.
But what moves me most are the people — their reactions as we pass, their curiosity, their hope.
All of it transcends language.
Every flight feels like a meeting with humanity in all its diversity."
"I see what you mean, Father.
The camera feeds give us a glimpse of what you're seeing right now — the vast sweep of the Russian tundra, stars stretching endlessly above.
I'm glad the transmission is stable enough to share such a beautiful image of those immense lands, where nature still holds power over humankind.
Scattered lights can be counted on one hand, and not a single road tears through the landscape like a scar beneath the moon's gentle glow."
For a few seconds, I let myself be entranced by the view before returning to my role.
"I'll move to the next question, the one most repeated in the chat:
aren't you afraid that a country might attack you?"
"Of course we are," he answered frankly. "But my daughter and I took that risk into account.
The idea behind this Live was also to send a message to the nations — that we come in peace, and that there's absolutely nothing to fear from us.
But my daughter has already explained that perfectly."
He took a sip of water.
"Yes… risks we unfortunately know all too well," I replied softly, my voice carrying a note of sadness that tightened my chest and left me silent for a few seconds.
"Excuse me… next question.
A viewer asks how you're handling basic needs like food, water, and sleep during your journey."
"This trip shouldn't take more than a day if everything goes as planned.
I have a few bottles of water and some rations.
The Liberty's interior is closer in size to a large car than a camper, so our choices of what to bring are limited.
Sadly, I had to give up a good hot coffee in favor of survival gear.
As for sleep, I take micro-naps during the longer stretches — like when flying over the Pacific or Atlantic oceans."
The questions flowed smoothly.
My father and I took turns answering with enthusiasm.
The number of viewers kept climbing, and on social media we were already trending among the top five global topics.
Some people still believed it was all a hoax — and I couldn't blame them.
In a world where dreams had faded, believing in something wondrous had become rare.
Everything was going as planned as we left Russian airspace, heading toward the Land of the Rising Sun.
"Father, one last question before you reach your next destination:
tell us about the team supporting you in this adventure."
"Unfortunately, it's only my daughter and me."
He stopped mid-sentence as a red light flashed and a blaring alarm erupted — followed by a deafening blast.
A missile had been intercepted by the Liberty's flare system.
My heart clenched violently in my chest.
This was the situation we had feared above all else.
I could see the terror and surprise on my father's face.
A second explosion flared — captured on one of the external cameras — and then the video and audio signals began to fade.
The image flickered, distorted, and finally went black.
Only a single message remained at the center of the screen: "Offline."
I had to stay calm.
Stay calm. Breathe.
I repeated the mantra over and over, forcing myself not to panic.
But my pale expression and the silence hanging over the live feed made the situation all the more serious.
Just moments ago, I had been speaking with my father — and now, two explosions had echoed through the broadcast.
The Liberty had activated its defense system, so everything had to be fine.
Yes… that must be it.
The connection loss was probably caused by interference from the blasts.
I tried to convince myself, but fear kept tightening around my heart.
I resumed the live with more difficulty than I imagined, my voice trembling with suppressed sobs:
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are currently experiencing technical difficulties.
We will take a short five-minute break."
I cut the broadcast, leaving the final image of the Liberty frozen on-screen.
As soon as the feed ended, I collapsed into my virtual meadow — in tears.
"It's okay… breathe… get it together…" I muttered to myself.
I grabbed a handful of virtual grass and let it scatter into the digital wind, trying to steady my nerves and regain contact with my father.
The dice hadn't been cast yet.
There were still cards left to play.
A door materialized before me, opening into the vast network of the Internet.
It wasn't the same trick I had used against the German base — this time, I needed to dive deeper, into the very root of the global system.
Time seemed to accelerate here.
The stronger my digital form became, the more I felt that temporal distortion.
This virtual space was like swimming through an ocean of data, searching for the treasure hidden beneath the waves.
Even if I couldn't truly feel water, I could imagine it.
I swam through that endless sea of information, determined to find what I sought — proof that my father was still in flight.
"There it is," I murmured.
The chest I sought — the servers of EUMETSAT, the European Organization for the Exploitation of Meteorological Satellites.
I opened it, only to face a thick, reinforced gate: the company's firewall.
I expected that.
Accessing it without triggering an alert was impossible.
And I had hoped to leave as few traces as possible…
Not this time.
Discretion would have to wait.
I placed my hand against the heavy door.
At my touch, it disintegrated into fine digital dust — instantly triggering an alarm within the system.
My time was now limited.
I moved toward my target: the MTG-I1 satellite, renowned for its exceptional photographic resolution.
I modified its security parameters, granting myself remote access from outside the server.
Now, I was connected to the satellite.
I could feel the data streams closing around me — one after another.
Following my intrusion, EUMETSAT engineers were shutting down systems in sequence to prevent leaks or data theft.
That could have been a problem… but I had already completed what I came to do.
I left the data vault unharmed and returned to my virtual meadow, fully focused on my mission.
Thanks to the access I had just created, I could now connect directly to the satellite.
I already had control of several communication satellites, allowing me to maintain contact with my father.
However, I still lacked a proper visual — only a few satellites had cameras powerful enough to capture high-resolution images.
We had never imagined needing them, assuming the Liberty's signal would remain stable until the end of the flight.
I reconfigured the satellite, aiming its camera toward the last known GPS position of the Liberty.
The image feed began to stabilize, the pixels forming one by one amid a faint digital hum.
My heart pounded wildly.
Each second stretched endlessly.