America's Cup: The 414th America's Cup - Part 2 - No Excuse to Lose
by Pierre-Jean M. Cottalorda 16 May 04:08 PDT
(Part I available here: https://www.sail-world.com/news/285840/Americas-Cup-Part-1-Big-Bad-Dennis-returns)
In this speculative future, the America’s Cup has survived societal collapse, digital transformation, and centuries of disruption. The race featured here takes place in the year 3156 and is referred to as the 317th Edition — noted (63+254i)th edition — a number that blends 63 historical Matches held physically, and 254 simulated editions hosted in the interstellar era.
Part I introduced the setting: Earth’s syndicate, an alliance of the most prestigious terran yacht clubs, led by New York Yacht Club, faces off against Deniau — a thalassocratic power from the galactic core. Their naves, supercavitating sailcrafts, compete through parallel simulations in a race where history and identity intertwine.
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Author's note and Introduction:
Set in the year 3156, this story takes us far into the future, where the America's Cup has become one of the galaxy's most spectacular events — a fusion of sport, simulation, and high-stakes storytelling. The boats still skim the surface of water — barely — but their speed and design defy imagination. Their races unfold across countless parallel simulations, followed in real time by billions of beings scattered across the stars.
But beyond the spectacle lies something deeper.
This is a tale about competition, yes — but also about legacy, identity, and the fine line between reality and illusion in a universe shaped by data and dreams.
Throughout this visual journey, you'll see many different interpretations of the navis—some sleek and plausible, others bold, surreal, or openly speculative. That's intentional. There is no definitive form here, only a field of possibilities. The point is not to limit your imagination, but to launch it.
The language of the text may demand your attention. The pacing might surprise you.
But for those who lean into it, this story offers something rare: the thrill of a race where every detail matters, and the possibility of rediscovering humanity — far from home, yet still chasing the wind.
And whether you fell in love with the America's Cup through the timeless elegance of wooden hulls or the cutting-edge choreography of foils and flight, you may find yourself at home here — where past and future race together.
So take a breath. Step aboard. Enjoy the ride.
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What follows is Part II: where tension deepens and strategy sharpens.
Part 2 - Author’s note:
What came before:
The last race of the (63+254i)?? America’s Cup has begun.
Earth’s syndicate, led by the New York Yacht Club, faces off against the Thalassocratic League of Deniau in a final match — winner takes all.
The naves, vessels of impossible design, race through parallel simulations at speeds exceeding 120 knots. In one instance, they appear as sleek high-progresso craft; in another, they echo the legendary J-Class of sailing’s golden age.
Big Bad Dennis, resurrected as a synthetic engram, draws first blood — forcing a penalty on the Deniausian crew. But Hannah C.A.G.E.B., the biogenetically engineered champion of Deniau, holds steady.
The duel is only beginning.
What comes next:
Tensions rise. As the race unfolds, so do its stakes — political, philosophical, deeply human.
In a simulated skyship high above the regatta, Sibyl W. Morgan gathers Earth’s leadership to confront a critical choice.
Beneath the veneer of tradition, strategy sharpens.
No margin is safe.
#2 - No Excuse to lose
At the same time, in another of the thousands of parallel instances, Sibyl Morgan is aboard a zeppelin, within a meticulously recreated replica of the antique model room of the New York Yacht Club’s 44th Street location in Manhattan—exactly as it was in the mid-21st century.
With its imposing clubroom, intricate marquetry paneling, and hundreds of half-hulls lining the walls, the space feels suspended in time. Large windows offer a panoramic view of the regatta unfolding below.
In complete secrecy, she has gathered the leading members of the Eudemonium Syndicate for a private discussion about the future of the Match.
In one simulation instance, the naves sail as J-Class yachts — a tribute to the golden age of the Cup.
The attendees have never known anything but the near-total ubiquity enabled by modern, low-cost digital immersion technologies. Yet most have shut down or placed on standby their personal extensions and digital subroutines running in other instances.
Dennis Conner is here as well. A lifetime member of the NYYC—though the concept has grown ambiguous over the centuries—he has always maintained a love-hate relationship with the august institution.
His core personality is replicated across all regatta simulation instances; the one present here is merely a subroutine—more a symbol of the Cup’s immeasurable value than an active participant.
He lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he glances around the room.
“Quite the irony, isn’t it? Back in my day, we fought for the Cup on water. Now, we’re debating its future in a damned airship, floating above a race that doesn’t even exist.”
Sibyl doesn’t look at him immediately. She finishes adjusting a data stream hovering in front of her before responding, her voice measured.
“And then, you’re here. A man who should have been gone for a thousand years. Should I take that as nostalgia? Or regret?”
Dennis leans against the polished wood paneling, gaze fixed on the regatta playing out below.
“Tell me, Sibyl, if a sailor never touches the water, is he still a sailor?”
Sibyl raises an eyebrow but doesn’t turn away from her interface.
“Tell me, Dennis, if a legend is nothing but data, is he still a legend?”
Dennis smirks, his voice lighter but edged with something deeper.
“I don’t have the answer. But I do know this: I don’t like losing.”
Naves in J-Class form, racing edge to edge — past and future converging in a single breath.
The twelve members, dressed in blazers and neckties bearing the colors of their respective clubs, observe the spectacle before them—a scene unlike any other.
The protean vessels have temporarily given way to two towering J-Class yachts, meticulously emulated in real time from regatta data sourced directly from the main servers. The action is deliberately slowed, ensuring that the speed polars of these 120-foot leviathans align perfectly with the physical expectations of such legendary designs.
In relative time, nothing changes—only the computational needs and the actual data transfer rate of the servers are affected.
The board members are enthralled, perfectly at ease with this glorious vision of the Cup’s golden age, when the NYYC was unstoppable—and still undefeated.
A meta-personality spanning centuries, Sibyl W. Morgan is the living embodiment of the New York Yacht Club’s history. She is its sovereign memory, its coordinating intelligence, and above all, its synthetic soul. And right now, she seems quite pleased to have taken them all by surprise.
Sibyl lets the silence linger for a moment, savoring the effect. Then, with a slight smile, she speaks.
“A flawless illusion. Or is it? Perhaps it was never real to begin with. Perhaps reality is just what we decide to preserve.”
She turns, meeting the gaze of each board member in turn.
“Savor the sight. The past, polished and perfected. But nostalgia is a poor navigator. I trust you all understand that.”
Shortly after crossing the starting line, The Ark, sailing on a starboard tack but in a slightly disadvantaged windward position, initiates a tack. Is it a defensive maneuver? Or a calculated move to chase a wind shift to the right? Hannah C.A.G.E.B. follows the recommendations of her afterguard to the letter.
Hannah exhales slowly, gripping the helm.
“Let’s see if Big Bad Dennis still remembers how to read the wind.”
She executes the tack without hesitation, cutting a sharp angle.
A voice from the afterguard crackles in her earpiece.
“You’re deviating by 0.3 degrees from the optimal line.”
Hannah smirks.
“Yeah? Well, let’s see what 0.3 degrees does to his nerves.”
J-Class naves on a close-hauled crossing — every meter, a battle of nerve and trim.
The crew aboard The Charybdis spots the subtle shift in their opponent’s wing sail configuration and immediately calls for a tack.
Seizing an opportune wind shift, Dennis Conner claws back the crucial meters needed to escape his disadvantaged position. Hannah can’t afford to be trapped under his cover, and she throws The Ark into another tack.
What follows is a breathtaking duel of maneuvers, neither navis dropping below 100 knots. Every move is countered instantly, every gain erased within seconds. Dennis, unyielding, remains perfectly composed. He shifts his weight slightly, fingers adjusting The Charybdis’ trim with effortless precision. His voice comes through, steady, deliberate, on the open comms again.
"You don’t second-guess, do you? Every move, every tack—just pure calculation."
Hannah doesn’t blink, fingers light on the helm, body fluid with the rhythm of the race.
“Doubt is wasted time.”
Dennis tilts his head slightly, adjusting the Charybdis’ trajectory with practiced ease. His tone turns almost conversational, as if they weren’t locked in a brutal tactical battle.
“Yeah? But what happens when the numbers tell you one thing and the wind tells you another?”
Hannah’s grip tightens ever so slightly. Then, without a word, she throws The Ark into a tack—clean, violent, decisive.
“I don’t let that happen.”
Yet, after 33 blistering maneuvers, The Ark edges ahead—her superior acceleration out of tacks finally making the difference.
The billions of spectators, most of whom had chosen to experience the race as the 17th crew member aboard one of the two naves, abandon their secondary routines to fully immerse themselves in what is already shaping up to be a historic moment.
Earth’s yacht syndicate watches the race from a digital replica of the NYYC model room — tradition witnessing the future.
In the replica of the New York Yacht Club’s model room, high above the simulated regatta, the tension is palpable.
The board members remain fixated on the unfolding battle, their expressions a blend of nostalgia and intrigue. The gleaming half-hulls, meticulously arranged on the paneled walls, seem to observe in silent witness as the race pushes the boundaries of what was once possible.
Sibyl W. Morgan allows herself a measured smile. Then, with conviction, she addresses the board.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our preparation has been flawless from start to finish. Each of you, and your teams, have committed fully—time, attention, and computational power—all dedicated to this Cup Match. We have left no stone unturned. And now, we stand on the brink of victory.”
She lets the words sink in, her confidence radiating across the room. Several members exchange grateful, almost triumphant smiles.
“Beyond this regatta, our collaboration with the Eudemonium Exotic Materials Guild has yielded results beyond expectation. Based in the Opik-Oort cloud, at the very gravitational edge of our solar system, they have advanced our understanding of non-baryonic interactions with ordinary matter. Their breakthrough—the synthetic pico-black hole—has allowed us to develop a game-changing enhancement for airflow control on our naves’ sails. Both strength and direction are now more finely tuned than ever. The theoretical gains are staggering, and this Cup could be our first demonstration of its power.”
She pauses deliberately, letting the gravity of her words settle.
“We have debated this extensively. But now, urgent decisions must be made.”
Her gaze sweeps across the board.
“First—the Challenger of Record.” The words fall like a catalyst, shifting the atmosphere in the room.
“The delegation from the Galilean moons is ready to sign. They have resources, infrastructure, political stability. And of course, they belong to our Helios system. They are the logical choice.”
She lets that sit for just a second—before shattering it.
“But what if we defy logic?”
A flicker of surprise in the room. She has their attention now.
“We have another offer. One we haven’t discussed openly. A syndicate from a world outside the 8 Nexus.”
The silence is instant, heavy. Some members shift uncomfortably. Others lean in.
“This isn’t just about a challenger. This is about what the Cup represents. If we accept them, we do more than set a precedent. We extend a hand. We make this regatta something greater than an internal affair between Nexus elites. We open the game to the future.”
She scans the faces before her, reading the shifting calculations behind their expressions.
“Or—we take the safe path. We choose stability. We preserve the status quo. We keep the Cup within our own walls.”
A long pause. The weight of the decision presses down on the room.
J-Class naves approach the windward mark — every angle counts, every second burns.
Marcel Lebrun, attentive to the unfolding discussion, keeps one eye on the first passage of the windward gate. From the aerostat, the view is breathtaking—a vision of a bygone era.
Slightly above the layline, The Ark bears away, its bowmen preparing the spinnaker pole and sail with practiced precision. Three boat lengths behind, The Charybdis can only follow, locked on a direct course to the mark. The match remains razor-close.
Across the galaxy, spectators tune in through the multichannel system, listening as Dennis Conner and Hannah C.A.G.E.B. distill their commands—a symphony of high-speed precision:
"Reduce foil span. Slight rotation. Adjust camber. Reconfigure sail geometry. Reposition non-baryonic modulators on the leading edge."
On the J-Class instance, these maneuvers take on a different form—the spinnaker pole is pre-braced, the sail hoisted, then filled to perfection as the yachts bear away toward the mark.
Marcel's fingers twitch unconsciously, mirroring The Charybdis’ fine-tuned adjustments.
“I feel you,” he murmurs, barely audible.
A subtle vibration in his neural interface confirms the connection. The navis rides the edge, teetering between perfect balance and sheer chaos. Marcel can almost feel the strain in her foils, the thin line between resistance and acceleration.
“Steady now. Hold your breath a little longer, Charybdis...”
As The Ark bears away, The Charybdis wavers for a fraction of a second—then surges. Marcel's pulse quickens. He doesn't command; he doesn't override. He guides, a whisper rather than an order.
“Now take it.”
The navis obeys instantly, rolling smoothly into the bear away. The tension shatters in an instant, giving way to pure acceleration. The Charybdis is flying.
J-Class naves round the windward mark — grace under pressure, tradition in motion.
While both crews remain focused, The Charybdis, holding a one-penalty advantage, adopts a conservative approach—staying within six seconds of their opponent is all that’s needed to secure victory.
By the 32nd century, humanity is fully integrated into the fabric of the stars. Earth, once the cradle of human civilization, has become a vast natural reserve, where only 800 million people are permitted to live under strict conditions of relative austerity.
Across the 8 Nexus, the inhabitants of telluric planets are encouraged to minimize their use of synthetic materials, except in rare cases—such as for synaptic immersion hardware. Only locally-sourced natural resources, barely transformed, are permitted, bound by rigid criteria of renewability.
To live on such a planet is both a privilege and a sacrifice—a stark contrast to the luxury and abundance of orbital habitats.
In contrast, ubiquitous digital universes are simulated realities where participants are bound by only a few explicit rules—but beyond them, anything is possible.
It is within this context that the America’s Cup, in its Complex format, has remained true to its essence: a theater of wild extravagance. More than that, it has evolved into one of the most advanced expressions of human genius—or of any sentient being, organic or artificial—liberated from most material constraints, save for the immutable laws of physics.
Earth, now a protected sanctuary — to live here frugally is a moral choice, and the rarest of luxuries.
Only a few boat lengths past the first gate, the board members hold their breath.
The Charybdis, in its J-Class instance, had just taken a violent gust head-on. The shock rippled through its frame—then, slowly, it rolled to starboard before luffing.
Somewhere, in countless parallel instances, the original navis must have done the same. A majority of them? Perhaps. And if so—it wasn’t just hyperflight that was lost. It was flight altogether.
At more than 160 knots, such a shock is a potential game-over—not just for this race, but for the Cup itself.
The Charybdis nose-dives violently — a rogue gust… or a breach in the simulation?
As a journeyman of the Fishing Guild of the Paris Communality, Marcel Lebrun tends diligently to the Seine’s countless nets in the physical world. Yet, without ever disrupting his terrestrial routine, his mind extends elsewhere—following multiple instances of the Cup Match through his digital personality extensions.
On Earth, life has returned to simplicity, focused on essential needs and local resilience. The rhythm of the seasons, the cycles of harvests, the careful tending of natural resources—these have become the pillars of a life both humble and deeply intentional.
Then, Marcel moves between worlds. One bound to the slow, deliberate flow of the land and water, where patience, stewardship, and renewal dictate the passage of time—a way of life embraced not out of constraint, but out of choice, as an ethical commitment to balance and fulfillment. The other, an infinite digital expanse, where reality is fluid, time elastic, and limits are all but erased.
A PhD graduate from PolyTechniques Avancées, specializing in applied meta fluid dynamics, Marcel spent the last two Cup cycles—virtually, still—working in the service of the Deniausian winners, while Earth’s yacht clubs struggled in scattered opposition.
This time, he has taken on a senior technology coordination role for the Earth Eudemonium syndicate. His involvement in the Cup, like all terrestrial contributions, is voluntary and deeply collaborative.
Over time, his primary virtual residence has shifted—now nestled within the Syndicate’s highly secretive, heavily cyber-secured private server, dedicated to the design and digital production of the navis.
Marcel Lebrun follows the race while tending his nets along the Seine, before the timeless façade of the Cercle de la Voile de Paris.
Marcel knows exactly how to respond to The Charybdis’ pitchpole: check the servers.
Without hesitation, he updates Sibyl and the others in real time:
"Hardware security: Full availability. All quantum servers are online and functional. No sign of physical intrusion.
Software integrity: System scan reports no inconsistencies or data corruption. Identities of all digital actors in the regatta remain intact—no sign of hijacking.
Traceability: All virtual machine indicators are green. Everything checks out."
A brief silence follows. Then, the board members exchange brief glances, the tension loosening just a fraction.
The Supercavitation Gate scandal—seven editions ago—had left scars. That time, it hadn’t been a failure of tactics or skill. It had been a subtle but devastating manipulation of the simulated physical properties of the regatta environment. A heist, disguised as a race.
They wouldn’t let that happen again.
Earth’s syndicate stronghold — a simulated citadel where this Cup was forged.
Sibyl Morgan takes over, now fully focused on the rest of the match. Capable of absorbing and processing vast amounts of raw data in real-time, she also feeds key insights to the board:
“The Charybdis has pitchpoled in only…” She pauses, grimacing.
“…only in 42.03% of the instances.”
No need to elaborate. Everyone immediately understands: the space of possibilities has just collapsed by 42%.
Rather than simply needing to win more than 50% of the total races, they now have to prevail in over 86% of the remaining 58%—a much steeper climb.
She continues, voice steady:
“In the instances that matter, the average distance gap between the two naves fluctuates between 3.2 and 9.1 lengths—never more than 8 seconds.
The VMG delta is less than one-hundredth of a knot on this downwind leg.”
Within the private instance of the terrestrial syndicate, inside the NYYC model room, suspended in the air, Sibyl—like a modern oracle—continues her litany of probabilistic projections, mapping out every possible trajectory of the regatta.
A heavy silence lingers in the room, the weight of calculations pressing down.
Then, Dennis Conner’s voice breaks through, sharp and unwavering.
“Hell, 86 percent? I’ve won with worse odds. This is still ours to take.”
His tone is absolute. No hesitation, no doubt—just the iron certainty of a man who has spent his entire existence, virtual or not, turning lost causes into victories.
For a brief moment, the numbers don’t matter.
The Earthlings are still in the race.
Sibyl monitors the live collapse of Earth’s victory probabilities — a race now hanging by fractions.
Marcel loses himself in the moment; he cannot tear his eyes away from the J-Class vessels.
Despite his intimate knowledge of the complex conceptual aesthetics of contemporary high-progresso naves, his terrestrial lifestyle binds him far more deeply to these mythological leviathans of an ancient era.
For him, there is something irreplaceable in the sight of their powerful bows slicing through the waves, the rhythmic creaking of their spars, the sharp, iodized scent of extraterrestrial tropics. A presence that no simulation can replicate.
In the blink of an eye, he finds himself standing beside Dennis Conner, one hand gripping one of The Charybdis’ runners in its J-Class form.
He can feel the spray, the force of the regatta thrumming through the taut line beneath his fingers.
He smiles.
“You’re still with me, aren’t you?” he murmurs to the navis. Not a question. A certainty.
A pulse—faint, but unmistakable—reverberates through the hull.
Marcel and The Charybdis move as one — mind and hull, one motion, one will.
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Welcome to the 414th America's Cup — a regatta like no other.
Who's Who & What's What
- Dennis Conner - Legendary sailor from the 20th century, resurrected as an engram - a sentient synthetic entity.
- Hannah C.A.G.E.B. -Deniausian regatta champion, genetically designed after Earth sailing legends
- Marcel Lebrun - A fisherman and fluid dynamicist, grounded on Earth but fully engaged in the race through digital immersion. President of the Cercle de la Voile de Paris (CVP), club member of the Earth syndicate.
- Sibyl M. Morgan - A centuries-old digital personality and sovereign intelligence of the New York Yacht Club (NYYC). Strategist, historian, and guardian of tradition.
- Deniausians - Advanced aquatic aliens and Earth's main rivals in the Cup.
- Eudemonium - Earth's current political and cultural federation, focused on ethical progress and resilience.
- Hyperflight - A near-airborne navigation mode enabled by supercavitation, advanced foil design, and exotic non-baryonic sail materials.
- Instance - One of thousands of parallel simulations in which the race unfolds. The final result is based on a majority outcome across these instances.
- Navis - A futuristic race vessel capable of transitioning between traditional sailing, foil flight, and full hyperflight.
- Supercavitation - A technique where a boat moves through a gas bubble inside liquid, reducing drag to near zero. Enables speeds above 100 knots.
- The 8Nexus - A vast, ancient interstellar alliance. Earth and Deniau are member civilizations.
To be continued.