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Description
Of the fourteen comic operettas of Gilbert & Sullivan, all of them are arguably Victorian fairy tales, though only three (The Sorcerer, Iolanthe, Ruddigore) can be described as traditional fantasies.

Aside from occasionally anachronistic references in the dialog, most of these stories are firmly set within their own reality. Most are in Victorian England, though some, like The Mikado, The Gondoliers, The Grand Duke, and the virtually unperformable Thespis are set in exotic locations.

And then there is Utopia Limited. This, one of my favorites in the G&S canon, is in a class entirely by itself. Set on a perfect South Pacific Island, as its name implies, Utopia is within the sphere of Victorian England while set in an exotic location--yet it has a quirkiness all its own that is unique. Utopia is perfectly capable of crossing over into the worlds of other G&S stories, and pulling them into its orbit. Captain Corcoran of the HMS Pinafore is a fixed character in the Utopian inner circle; King Paramount writes letters to the Mikado himself (a fact which inspired another one of my writings), and at least one professional production of Utopia Limited featured a royal ball to which characters from all the other plays were invited as guests.

In many ways, Utopia Limited is Gilbert's ultimate experiment in Topsy-Turvydom, without relying on fairies, wizards, or witch's curses. For that reason alone, it is fun to play with, as a kind of multidimensional meeting ground for all things and persons of the Savoy Universe. So this story, inspired by a throw-away line in one of my other stories, “How Things Are Done”, is a Topsy-Turvy Utopian fantasy of another sort. I hope you enjoy it—and I hope you like a little steampunk, too.

P.S. No actors are harmed in this story, which is proper since these characters are not intended to represent anyone other than themselves. But if you choose to envision a favorite person in the roles, you are welcome to do so. After all, this is sort of a sequel to my other story, The characters won't mind, and probably neither will Gilbert & Sullivan.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It was big, it was shiny, it was beautiful! And it was the first of its kind.

It was named the HMAS Sophia, in honour of Queen Sophy, and the envelope of the balloon was flawless silk, painted to look like an inviting tropical garden, while emblazoned across the balloon on either side was the beautiful logo: AIR UTOPIA, in white and red. The gondola below was two stories high, shiny with brass and copper, and covered with large gears and chains. The twin nacelles on either side of the gondola, hissed with steam as if they were impressed with their own magnificence. It was truly the pride and joy of Utopia, putting the island's miniscule Navy to shame.

Captain Corcoran smiled with a tremendous feeling of accomplishment. He had lost his Royal Navy Commission some years earlier, but due to Captain Rackstraw of the HMS Pinafore, he was sited for past conduct as a Naval Officer, and within a year, was restored to his former rank before he was retired from the Service. He and his wife, known by all as Buttercup, were now Utopian citizens, and quite pleased with the way their lives had improved, and with the celebrity they now enjoyed.

“His Majesty's Air Ship, Sophia,” the Captain said proudly to his compatriots, who had been commandeered into the Sophia's creation. The five British advisers, whom the Utopian people referred to as the “Flowers of Progress”, had proven themselves to be men of many talents. Encouraged by generous royal patronage, and by the King's willingness to give them free reign, they had, within the space of one year, turned Utopia into the Wonder of the Pacific Rim.

The airship was outfitted for its maiden voyage, and an ambitious voyage it promised to be! The command center on the first story of the gondola, was a technological marvel with steam engines, controls that were the height of scientific splendor, a wireless radio room (yes, that's right!), and the usual essential amenities. But on the second story were the living quarters, and those were the last word in comfort.

Captain Corcoran himself, Mr. Blushington and his engineer wife, who had been brought over from England, were the three principle architects. Mrs. Blushington was a wonder. There was little future for a female engineer in England, even in the enlightened 1890s; so for the three of them, Utopia had been proven to be a Land of Opportunity.

“It is believed by some,” the Captain said knowingly, “That the ancestors of the Utopian people came to this island as the surviving refugees of the legendary lost continent of Lemuria – no doubt destroyed by massive earthquakes and some kind of mysterious giant volcano.”

“Sounds very silly to me,” Mrs. Corcoran shook her head as she checked over the ship's groceries and cooking supplies. She had accepted the job of Ship Chef – which suited her well. She was a pleasant, slightly plump woman with rosy cheeks, blue eyes, and strawberry-blond hair. Most important of all, she was an excellent cook.

“Maybe, but you must admit that Utopia is a unique country. I could believe almost anything about this place.” He strode purposefully along the deck, double-checking to make sure that everything needed for the voyage was there. After all, they would be traveling at least a thousand miles from home, which meant that at 80 Knots (under ideal weather conditions), they would reach their destination in three or four days.

A crowd had gathered within a safe distance of the Sophia's moorings, anxious to see the airship launch. There had been a great deal of talk and speculation for many weeks during the ship's planning and construction. Not even in England had there ever been attempted such a magnificent piece of work. The public curiosity and excitement only increased as it neared completion.

And now, at last, the HMAS Sophia stood large and looming, and prepared to launch.

A band was there to play marching songs, most of them of British origin. Utopian musicians, to be honest, were far from experts on the foreign instruments, but they were hard-workers, and had practiced diligently for months until they could at least manage a medley of songs.

King Paramount himself, of course, headed the list of passengers. He cut a splendid figure in an imported leather jacket, lined with fur and sturdy boots that came from New Zealand. Also slated to go was the Captain of the Royal Guard, Arthur Fitzbattleaxe, and his bride, Crown Princess Zara. Zara was dressed in a brown skirt and white blouse, an outer corset of leather and brass to hold in place various small tack. She also wore an ankle-length leather coat and a white pith helmet with goggles around the helmet's crown. Goggles were almost guaranteed to be a necessary accessory where they were going.

There was also a foreign contingency from Japan. At the behest of no less a person than the Mikado, who was a friend of King Paramount's, a personage connected to the Imperial Court was the gentleman who held the official title of Lord High Executioner. The reply to the question, “Why?” was predictably, “Why not?” His name was Koko, and he was a little man with round-framed spectacles and wearing extremely heavy winter clothes that certainly looked excessive, though Koko himself was concerned that they were not heavy enough!
The waiting crowd was there to cheer and wave their “Bon Voyages” to the brave adventurers, even though very few of them knew where they were going or how long they might be gone. Queen Sophy, looking a little self-conscious in her maternity clothes, stood on the aeroport circle with her teenage step-daughters, making farewells to their family members. The crowd of Utopians applauded, and gave a single collective sigh of “Awwwww...” when their beloved king wrapped his wife in his arms and gave her a deep, prolonged kiss. Then the passengers embarked with a last wave of farewells to the people, and the King looked out over the crowd, and spoke to them eloquently.

“My dearest friends and subjects,” he said, “We are about to embark on a historic expedition to the End of the World, and we do not know for certain where it will take us. However, we have brought with us equipment to take plenty of photographs which will be published and printed in our newspaper, 'The Utopian Trumpeter', and a detailed account of our adventures will be well documented for you. Captain Corcoran is, as always, our able commander, and we have a right good crew of his own choosing, some of which came all the way from England; and many more your own Utopian neighbors, trained in the operation of this magnificent starship...”

“Airship,” Captain Corcoran whispered, maintaining a smile.

“...Airship,” the King continued without missing a beat. “It is the first of what we're hoping to someday become a fleet. But we have a purpose for this voyage, and if we succeed, it will make every last one of us proud for many years to come. We hope that you will all wish us Godspeed, and we expect to see your smiling faces once more upon our return.”

There were cheers of “Ulalica” and “God save the King,” and the travelers waved their hands for a few more minutes before they at last disappeared behind the ship's main hatch.
At the last minute, only one final passenger embarked, and the door opened one last time as a sleek, smokey cat slipped inside. A crewman closed and locked the hatches behind the cat, and with the loud hiss of steam, the nacelles extended from the lower level of the gondola.

Minutes later, the HMAS Sophia lifted gently into the air, turned several degrees south, and sailed on. The onlookers cheered and watched until the shining airship finally disappeared into a cloud bank, and the silvery balloon was seen no more.

Description
Of the fourteen comic operettas of Gilbert & Sullivan, all of them are arguably Victorian fairy tales, though only three (The Sorcerer, Iolanthe, Ruddigore) can be described as traditional fantasies.

Aside from occasionally anachronistic references in the dialog, most of these stories are firmly set within their own reality. Most are in Victorian England, though some, like The Mikado, The Gondoliers, The Grand Duke, and the virtually unperformable Thespis are set in exotic locations.

And then there is Utopia Limited. This, one of my favorites in the G&S canon, is in a class entirely by itself. Set on a perfect South Pacific Island, as its name implies, Utopia is within the sphere of Victorian England while set in an exotic location--yet it has a quirkiness all its own that is unique. Utopia is perfectly capable of crossing over into the worlds of other G&S stories, and pulling them into its orbit. Captain Corcoran of the HMS Pinafore is a fixed character in the Utopian inner circle; King Paramount writes letters to the Mikado himself (a fact which inspired another one of my writings), and at least one professional production of Utopia Limited featured a royal ball to which characters from all the other plays were invited as guests.

In many ways, Utopia Limited is Gilbert's ultimate experiment in Topsy-Turvydom, without relying on fairies, wizards, or witch's curses. For that reason alone, it is fun to play with, as a kind of multidimensional meeting ground for all things and persons of the Savoy Universe. So this story, inspired by a throw-away line in one of my other stories, “How Things Are Done”, is a Topsy-Turvy Utopian fantasy of another sort. I hope you enjoy it—and I hope you like a little steampunk, too.

P.S. No actors are harmed in this story, which is proper since these characters are not intended to represent anyone other than themselves. But if you choose to envision a favorite person in the roles, you are welcome to do so. After all, this is sort of a sequel to my other story, The characters won't mind, and probably neither will Gilbert & Sullivan.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It was big, it was shiny, it was beautiful! And it was the first of its kind.

It was named the HMAS Sophia, in honour of Queen Sophy, and the envelope of the balloon was flawless silk, painted to look like an inviting tropical garden, while emblazoned across the balloon on either side was the beautiful logo: AIR UTOPIA, in white and red. The gondola below was two stories high, shiny with brass and copper, and covered with large gears and chains. The twin nacelles on either side of the gondola, hissed with steam as if they were impressed with their own magnificence. It was truly the pride and joy of Utopia, putting the island's miniscule Navy to shame.

Captain Corcoran smiled with a tremendous feeling of accomplishment. He had lost his Royal Navy Commission some years earlier, but due to Captain Rackstraw of the HMS Pinafore, he was sited for past conduct as a Naval Officer, and within a year, was restored to his former rank before he was retired from the Service. He and his wife, known by all as Buttercup, were now Utopian citizens, and quite pleased with the way their lives had improved, and with the celebrity they now enjoyed.

“His Majesty's Air Ship, Sophia,” the Captain said proudly to his compatriots, who had been commandeered into the Sophia's creation. The five British advisers, whom the Utopian people referred to as the “Flowers of Progress”, had proven themselves to be men of many talents. Encouraged by generous royal patronage, and by the King's willingness to give them free reign, they had, within the space of one year, turned Utopia into the Wonder of the Pacific Rim.

The airship was outfitted for its maiden voyage, and an ambitious voyage it promised to be! The command center on the first story of the gondola, was a technological marvel with steam engines, controls that were the height of scientific splendor, a wireless radio room (yes, that's right!), and the usual essential amenities. But on the second story were the living quarters, and those were the last word in comfort.

Captain Corcoran himself, Mr. Blushington and his engineer wife, who had been brought over from England, were the three principle architects. Mrs. Blushington was a wonder. There was little future for a female engineer in England, even in the enlightened 1890s; so for the three of them, Utopia had been proven to be a Land of Opportunity.

“It is believed by some,” the Captain said knowingly, “That the ancestors of the Utopian people came to this island as the surviving refugees of the legendary lost continent of Lemuria – no doubt destroyed by massive earthquakes and some kind of mysterious giant volcano.”

“Sounds very silly to me,” Mrs. Corcoran shook her head as she checked over the ship's groceries and cooking supplies. She had accepted the job of Ship Chef – which suited her well. She was a pleasant, slightly plump woman with rosy cheeks, blue eyes, and strawberry-blond hair. Most important of all, she was an excellent cook.

“Maybe, but you must admit that Utopia is a unique country. I could believe almost anything about this place.” He strode purposefully along the deck, double-checking to make sure that everything needed for the voyage was there. After all, they would be traveling at least a thousand miles from home, which meant that at 80 Knots (under ideal weather conditions), they would reach their destination in three or four days.

A crowd had gathered within a safe distance of the Sophia's moorings, anxious to see the airship launch. There had been a great deal of talk and speculation for many weeks during the ship's planning and construction. Not even in England had there ever been attempted such a magnificent piece of work. The public curiosity and excitement only increased as it neared completion.

And now, at last, the HMAS Sophia stood large and looming, and prepared to launch.

A band was there to play marching songs, most of them of British origin. Utopian musicians, to be honest, were far from experts on the foreign instruments, but they were hard-workers, and had practiced diligently for months until they could at least manage a medley of songs.

King Paramount himself, of course, headed the list of passengers. He cut a splendid figure in an imported leather jacket, lined with fur and sturdy boots that came from New Zealand. Also slated to go was the Captain of the Royal Guard, Arthur Fitzbattleaxe, and his bride, Crown Princess Zara. Zara was dressed in a brown skirt and white blouse, an outer corset of leather and brass to hold in place various small tack. She also wore an ankle-length leather coat and a white pith helmet with goggles around the helmet's crown. Goggles were almost guaranteed to be a necessary accessory where they were going.

There was also a foreign contingency from Japan. At the behest of no less a person than the Mikado, who was a friend of King Paramount's, a personage connected to the Imperial Court was the gentleman who held the official title of Lord High Executioner. The reply to the question, “Why?” was predictably, “Why not?” His name was Koko, and he was a little man with round-framed spectacles and wearing extremely heavy winter clothes that certainly looked excessive, though Koko himself was concerned that they were not heavy enough!
The waiting crowd was there to cheer and wave their “Bon Voyages” to the brave adventurers, even though very few of them knew where they were going or how long they might be gone. Queen Sophy, looking a little self-conscious in her maternity clothes, stood on the aeroport circle with her teenage step-daughters, making farewells to their family members. The crowd of Utopians applauded, and gave a single collective sigh of “Awwwww...” when their beloved king wrapped his wife in his arms and gave her a deep, prolonged kiss. Then the passengers embarked with a last wave of farewells to the people, and the King looked out over the crowd, and spoke to them eloquently.

“My dearest friends and subjects,” he said, “We are about to embark on a historic expedition to the End of the World, and we do not know for certain where it will take us. However, we have brought with us equipment to take plenty of photographs which will be published and printed in our newspaper, 'The Utopian Trumpeter', and a detailed account of our adventures will be well documented for you. Captain Corcoran is, as always, our able commander, and we have a right good crew of his own choosing, some of which came all the way from England; and many more your own Utopian neighbors, trained in the operation of this magnificent starship...”

“Airship,” Captain Corcoran whispered, maintaining a smile.

“...Airship,” the King continued without missing a beat. “It is the first of what we're hoping to someday become a fleet. But we have a purpose for this voyage, and if we succeed, it will make every last one of us proud for many years to come. We hope that you will all wish us Godspeed, and we expect to see your smiling faces once more upon our return.”

There were cheers of “Ulalica” and “God save the King,” and the travelers waved their hands for a few more minutes before they at last disappeared behind the ship's main hatch.
At the last minute, only one final passenger embarked, and the door opened one last time as a sleek, smokey cat slipped inside. A crewman closed and locked the hatches behind the cat, and with the loud hiss of steam, the nacelles extended from the lower level of the gondola.

Minutes later, the HMAS Sophia lifted gently into the air, turned several degrees south, and sailed on. The onlookers cheered and watched until the shining airship finally disappeared into a cloud bank, and the silvery balloon was seen no more.