Dateline: London, 22 June 1897

Her Majesty’s Government bids us raise our eyes from cobblestone to cloudbank, as the Empire celebrates Her Majesty Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee in a style unknown to any previous age!

Over London’s spires and smoking chimneys, the sky itself is thronged with craft. Great imperial dirigibles, their gas cells resplendent in red, white and blue, drift in solemn procession above the capital. From the gondolas, regiments of sky grenadiers stand at attention, bayonets gleaming in the sun like a second firmament of steel.

Cameras mounted upon the Aerial No. 1 bring you these unprecedented scenes:
Her Majesty’s own aerial yacht, HMA Crown of Albion, glides above Buckingham Palace, bedecked with bunting and electric lamps. Below, the earthbound crowds cheer and wave, their tiny handkerchiefs mere specks beside the enormous turning propellers.

Yet all is not serene in the lofty highways of the air.

As the Royal Fleet holds station above the Mall, a dark shape slips between the cumulus. Our lens captures it—a lean, predatory raider bearing no recognised colours, its hull painted in drab greys and stolen brass. From its flanks flutter the ragged banners of the notorious Lady Pirate clan, scourge of the trade routes to the Levant.

No shots are fired today; the pirates only dip their nose in mocking salute before vanishing into the upper cloud layers. A mere shadow at a great celebration, perhaps—but in officers’ messes and cabinet rooms alike, questions grow louder:

Who arms these sky-raiders?
Who harbours them in the floating slums beyond imperial patrol?
And how long can the Empire’s dominion of the air go unchallenged?

Fade out on the Queen’s smile… and a drifting, empty patch of cloud where the Black Tern was last seen.