317th America's Cup - Part 3 -The (63+254i)th America's Cup - can Conner do it one more time?
by Pierre-Jean M. Cottalorda 23 Jun 04:07 PDT
23 June 2025
The (63+254i)th America's Cup © Pierre-Jean Cottalorda
Part 3 - Author's note:
(Part I available here: Sail-World.com/news/285840/Americas-Cup-Part-1-Big-Bad-Dennis-returns)
(Part II here: Sail-World.com/news/286140/Americas-Cup-Part-2-No-Excuse-to-Lose)
What came before:
In this far-future regatta, Earth's greatest yacht clubs — led by the New York Yacht Club — face off against Deniau, a powerful thalassocracy from the galactic core. Their weapon of choice: naves, simulated sailcrafts capable of hyperflight across multiple digital realities.
In Part I, we met the main protagonists:
- Dennis Conner, Mister America's Cup, reborn as an engram, a synthetic, sovereign persona.
- Sibyl Morgan, the NYYC's near-omniscient oracle and keeper of its living memory.
- Marcel Lebrun, the quiet force rooted in a rewilded Earth, president of the Cercle de la Voile de Paris.
- Hannah C.A.G.E.B., a genetically designed regatta champion, engineered from Olympic grace and strategic precision by Deniau.
In Part II, the race has reached full hyperflight.
Across thousands of simulations, The Ark and The Charybdis have traded blows with relentless precision.
From the banks of the Seine to orbiting airships, billions follow every maneuver — some in nostalgic reverie, others in raw tactical immersion.
The Ark edges ahead. The Charybdis stumbles, nose-dives in 42% of the instances. But the Earth syndicate holds its nerve.
What comes next:
The Cup is still undecided. And somewhere, in one last simulation, the universe holds its breath.
Step into the last leg.
This is where legends break — or rise.
#3 - Finish Line
Just as on the banks of the Seine in the physical world, the wind rises across the various virtualizations of Tadjoura, averaging 26 knots.
A long cross-swell now rolls into the regatta zone, funneled through the reef passes of the lagoon, making ship control increasingly delicate.
Both crews take note. Analyzing wave amplitude and wavelength data, Dennis and Hannah, and their crew, dynamically adjust their foils, reverting to a ring-wing configuration.
This fine-tuned adjustment allows them to regulate their flight height with centimeter-level precision.
For the next five legs, Hannah C.A.G.E.B. is unyielding. Despite Dennis Conner's constant pressure, she offers no opening, executing a match-racing style of absolute precision, flawless in its execution.
A near-perfect performance, she maintains the lead in 99.976% of the relevant simulations where The Charybdis did not nose-dive—despite the ever-narrowing gaps.
Everything remains open. The galaxy holds its breath, suspended in this battle of speed and strategy.
Dennis' voice crackles over the open comms, carrying a mix of frustration and begrudging admiration.
"You're fast, I'll give you that. But speed alone won't win this."
Hannah doesn't flinch, adjusting her trim with mechanical precision.
""Neither will trying to break me."
Dennis smirks, though she can't see it.
"We'll see about that."
The passage through the final windward gate reshuffles the deck, each ship committing to opposite sides of the course.
Dennis Conner aims to create lateral separation, hoping to exploit a gust—or force a mistake.
Everything unfolds at the very edge of terminal velocity, the holy grail of regattas, now within reach in this ultimate test of design and control.
The wing-sails harness local dimensional effects, bending the wind itself, amplifying airflow acceleration to unprecedented levels.
At eight times the true wind speed, every shift in apparent wind triggers an immense velocity differential, forcing both ships into a constant battle of anticipation and adaptation.
Sibyl, ever composed, updates the board in real-time.
"Probability of a decisive lead shift within the next leg: 72.3%. Speed differential reaching a critical threshold."
Dennis snorts.
"Spare me the numbers. This isn't decided by math."
Sibyl replies evenly.
"It never was. Yet here we are."
The course splits, with each navis committing to a different side of the racecourse. The Ark positions itself on the port lay line, traditionally considered favorable, anticipating a wind shift in the southern hemisphere.
Dennis, undeterred, chooses the opposite approach.
For minutes, nothing shifts. The two naves remain locked in a tactical standoff, each waiting for the other to make a critical move. Then—subtly, almost imperceptibly—the numbers begin to tilt.
The gamble pays off. In the majority of instances, the Earth ship manages to overtake its Deniausian opponent.
The game tightens: less than 4% of the remaining instances—where The Ark has held its lead—now determine the final outcome.
Across the galaxy, spectators rapidly and en masse migrate to these decisive few.
Now in a defensive leeward position, Hannah C.A.G.E.B. launches a last-ditch maneuver—forcing her opponent well beyond the lay line to the finish, cutting off his ability to gybe, and setting the stage for a penalty.
As the race continues to tighten, Hannah's fingers curl around the helm, the knuckles pale with concentration.
"This ends now."
The words slip through her teeth almost unconsciously, a promise, not to herself but to the race.
After the first non-human victory in the Cup, achieved by the Deniausians in 2722, a protocol clause was imposed, mandating full disclosure of all technologies used during the previous Cup Match. Yachting historians agree that this pivotal moment set the foundation for the Cup's renewed prosperity.
As humanity continues to carve out its place in the grand stellar concert of the 8 Nexus, the America's Cup has evolved. It is no longer just a regatta; it is now part of our cosmic heritage. It has become a celestial showcase of technological artistry, and more importantly, an exercise in co-constructing shared life on a galactic scale.
It is also a major space for xenophile communion—a utopia where sailing, science, and politics converge.
The results of the final instances trickle in, one after another. Hannah's carefully devised strategy works, but not to the extent that Dennis, Sibyl, Marcel, and the entire terrestrial syndicate had feared.
In the private NYYC room, Sibyl remains focused on her interface, voice steady.
"Our Charybdis has maintained its lead in over 96% of the relevant simulations. Despite this, the final outcome is far from decided, with everything still hanging in the air."
Dennis glances at the data, his expression tightening as the seconds slip away.
"This isn't how it's supposed to go..."
The uncertainty continues to shrink—from the remaining 3%, to 2%, then 1%, then 0.1%... until only a single last simulation remains.
In this final instance, the entire galaxy converges. A multitude of airships, boats, and even supercavitating submarines accompany the two naves in their final push.
Hannah has certainly not surrendered her advantageous position, still holding her line to leeward.
Without managing to impose a penalty on her opponent, she sails orthogonally to the course, on port tack.
Dennis holds steady, keeping the perfect distance—neither too high, risking speed loss, nor too low, respecting The Ark 's priority space. A tack now would cost him too much time and might put him in the same precarious situation on the opposite tack.
His only chance lies in a sudden surge of acceleration—the kind that could break the overlap with The Ark and turn the tide in his favor.
Marcel, still watching the race unfold, finally speaks, his voice calm, almost philosophical.
"Instinct has its place, but it's the numbers that guide us here. The balance... between precision and chaos."
Sibyl glances at Marcel, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"You've always been the one to see it that way."
Dennis scoffs, his voice carrying a mix of frustration and defiance.
"Well, you can keep your balance. I'm just going to make sure I'm the one crossing the finish line first. I need something to happen. Now."
Taking advantage of a wave slightly higher than the others, he commands a final maneuver, one that had not yet been attempted in the race. The multiple training sessions show that the conditions for success are extremely limited.
At 14:29:47, Dennis gives the signal for a collective burst of effort. The crew, moving as one, adjusts to windward while a powerful pumping action is executed on the wing-sails. These are then transformed into a massive semi-rigid kite, perfectly tuned for the maneuver.
The primary sustaining foil significantly lengthens its span, adopting the configuration of a long glider wing. The Charybdis completely lifts off, with no contact left with the lagoon's water.
While the sailing race rules allow for such a possibility, flight without any water contact must not exceed 5 seconds.
For the billions of spectators, time slows down as a virtual stopwatch appears in everyone's mind.
5 seconds: with a surge at the crest of the wave, the Earth navis leaps into the air, propelled by a sublime burst of dynamic energy.
"4 seconds, 87 hundredths: Hannah C.A.G.E.B. checks her Deniausian tactician-navigator: he is speechless.
The wave has passed, and the others are not of the same amplitude—it's impossible to match her competitor's maneuver.
Hannah's eyes widen.
"That can't be!" she exclaims, the disbelief clear in her voice.
3 seconds: The Ark immediately jibes, trying to preserve its lead.
2 seconds, 43 hundredths: still airborne, The Charybdis jibes in turn, literally above its competitor.
0 seconds, 0.2 hundredths: Dennis lands just in time, slightly ahead of The Ark .
Across the human worlds, a collective roar rises as the news spreads.
Explosions of joy ripple through cities, spaceports and void habitats, resonating in every corner of humanity's reach. The unimaginable has happened—The Eudemonium navis has claimed the lead. Even those in distant colonies feel the thrill of the moment.
As The Charybdis reconfigures for hyperflight, Dennis seizes the moment. He throws the navis into a sharp gybe, capitalizing on his regained speed. The Charybdis slices across the racecourse, its foils carving through the air—but the maneuver is tight, too tight.
Hannah sees it immediately. The Ark is forced to adjust, its trajectory momentarily obstructed.
A fraction of hesitation. Then, her voice, cold and precise, cuts through the comms.
"Protest."
For a heartbeat, everything hangs in suspension. Then, the ruling comes through—a penalty against The Charybdis . The original penalty on The Ark is nullified.
The race resets.
Now, it's a straight-line sprint to the finish. A true drag race.
The two naves hurtle forward, side by side, the gap between them barely perceptible. Foils locked, velocities peaking, the final battle unfolds in raw speed and surgical precision.
Hannah, windward, knows this is her last chance. A slight wind shift. A correction. A final, imperceptible adjustment.
The Ark surges forward—by a breath, by a whisper.
And then, it's over. The Ark crosses first, by 0.231 seconds.
As soon as the race ends, the silence on the open comms lingers for a moment. Then, Dennis' voice comes through, steady, almost amused.
"Hell of a race."
Hannah, still catching her breath, allows herself the faintest of smiles.
"Wouldn't have expected anything less from you."
A pause. Then Dennis smirks.
"Next time, you're not getting that overlap."
Hannah tilts her head, watching the replay already being projected around her.
"Next time, I won't need it."
Back in the private NYYC room, Sibyl, Dennis, and Marcel observe the final simulations replaying in midair.
The result is official. The Deniausians remain the legitimate Cup holder.
Sibyl speaks first, her voice composed.
"The outcome was close. Closer than we ever thought possible."
Dennis exhales sharply, shaking his head.
"Close doesn't win Cups."
Marcel, hands folded, watches the feed of the Deniausian crew celebrating. He finally speaks, his tone measured.
"We may not have won the Cup. But we won something more important."
Dennis raises an eyebrow.
"Yeah? And what's that?"
Marcel turns to him, a faint, knowing smile.
"Legitimacy."
A silence settles over them. Even Dennis, still processing the loss, does not argue. Sibyl watches the replays, unable to look away—captivated, almost entranced. Yet, her thoughts are already moving forward.
"It's no longer about proving we belong. It's about deciding what we do next."
Still tending his nets along the Seine in the physical world, Marcel enjoys the gentle spring breeze. The hum of the regatta's aftermath echoes faintly in his thoughts, but here, under the soft sunlight, it all feels distant.
Victory or defeat in the Cup—knowing all the effort invested and the sheer beauty of the competition—he feels at peace.
A peace born from having aimed for excellence, and having remained virtuous.
His fingers tighten slightly around the woven fibers of his nets, a reflex from another world, another connection. He exhales, and for a fleeting moment, the familiar presence of The Charybdis is there, like a whisper in the wind.
"You fought beautifully, my friend," he murmurs, a quiet gratitude in his voice.
Then, with a final glance at the river, he casts his nets once more.
About the author:
Pierre-Jean Cottalorda is an economist and academic director at l'école nationale supérieure de techniques avancées (ENSTA) —oldest engineering school in France, founded in 1741 and still one of the top French grandes écoles. ENSTA is a founding member of the Institut Polytechnique de Paris. He also serves on the board of the Cercle de la Voile de Paris and races his Soling every Sunday.
Passionate about speculative futures and maritime heritage, he writes science fiction that explores the long arc of civilization through the prism of competition, virtue, and ethical challenges. This story is part of a larger cycle, currently in progress, imagining -over the course of a millennium- the political and civilizational fate of Earth after a major collapse in the 21st century.
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