The Choronym Empire had been around for centuries before the cry of "one empire, one faith" became loud enough to become law. Several emperors in their brief reigns had pushed for a single deity to be recognized as the imperial deity. God, if you will. Of course, an empire spanning two continents will have many diverse local beliefs systems that aren't easily reconciled. But even in a multicultural empire, there's a clear focal point for the people's worship: the Sun. 

Many peoples already had a solar god or goddess in their pantheons. The soldiers who were sent out to enforce the edict usually found a corresponding local idol and said, "Yep. That's him. Just place him in the center. And here's a prayer the emperor wants added to the roster." Sometimes they'd encounter a people who didn't worship the Sun and weren't about to start. This pushback was kicked up to the troop's commander.

"We're not going to worship your emperor's God. We would rather die than profane our temple."

The commander wearily sighed. "You don't want us to put an icon in your temple. I don't want to order my men to kill everyone who tries to stop them from putting a statue in there. What if we compromise on an aniconic representation?"

"Go on..."

"You have sand and furnaces. We'll help you install a nice skylight to brighten up your temple. If anyone comes by asking where the statue is, tell them... 'What need have we for a statue when the presence of God himself fills our temple?'"

The priest rubbed his beard. "That's not bad. But we traditionally light our services with flame."

"You can put a tarp over the skylight when you do that. Take it off later and save some oil when services aren't in session."

"Acceptable."

Good, because the army was short on statues again. This sort of scenario happened enough that eventually the procurement officer and the sculptor had worked out a deal where the empire would order ten statues, the sculptor would carve nine, and the two of them would split the money that would otherwise pay for a tenth statue. Paying for statues to be sent the middle of nowhere when the recipients didn't ask for them is the sort of stupid idea an emperor sometimes has. Everyone involved in executing that sort of stupid idea eventually figures out where the wiggle room is.

Sometime into the heliolatrous era, one of the emperors saw a solar eclipse in its totality. The sight affected him greatly and he added a new decree to the faith: that everyone should experience this, if they were able. And only if you're lucky, does a total solar eclipse happen close enough to where you live at some point in your lifetime. Which brings us to airships.

Why not airplanes?

The history of the Second Republic lacks a dubious flirtation with fossil fuels. If diesel is needed, it's biodiesel, which is not in abundance. Lighter than air vehicles require less than half the fuel needed to move heavier than air vehicles. 

Solar eclipses happen all over the world, rarely more than twice in the same spot over a century. Airships don't require runways or traffic controllers or a city large enough to support an airport. Eclipses can be predicted for centuries out which means the ship doesn't have to be fast, it just has to leave early enough. 

Of course, they are highly flammable, which makes them a terrible choice for a military to invest in. They're also bad if your economy is trying to support jet set lifestylers or has globalized just-in-time manufacturing. The bottom line is that historical decisions and assorted trade-offs favor airships over airplanes in this world.

Which is how we find ourselves on an airship headed to Eclipsetown-1189-Eta

Obviously, thousands of pilgrims can't suddenly descend on an area, disembark, stare at the sky for five minutes and go home. And they can't spend a month in the wilderness. People come out years in advance to scout out where along the path of totality is good to build small farming communities that can support a thousand extra people showing up. The usual rules of hospitality are suspended because anyone that can afford a ticket on an airship can afford to pay for room and board. Sometimes the payment isn't in money, but rather goods that were cost prohibitive to bring to the new settlement. Sometimes pilgrims will decide to stay, often buying farms off the early settlers and giving them their return tickets. And sometimes it turns out it wasn't a nice place for a town and everyone leaves at the end, abandoning it.

Despite being more economically feasible than airplanes, airship travel remains expensive, which is how the Lady Belodis II of Twankstatown finds herself traveling without her usual entourage.

Instead she finds herself traveling with her adult son after her estranged husband pointed out that while she can't easily afford her entourage, she can still afford a second ticket on the ship. 

Neither of them is happy to be on the ship with the other. It's not that they greatly dislike each other. It's more that every kilogram counts on an airship, so passengers bring very little clothing or possessions to entertain themselves, like books or games. And a common area filled with undressed and incredibly bored chorotopians will eventually lead to sex. People don't like to think about their close relatives having sex in any great detail, so the two of them have been doing their best to avoid each other as well as any Schelling points for sexual activity. Zirlen did spend a silver penny to bring a book, but it's a dense read and he's been getting to know the crew while taking breaks.

...some of the crew better than others. On the first day, he walked up and down the cabin several dozen times before going to bed early. On the second day, he met an orthodox Pocoplid couple who seemed to like his vibe, in so far as Pocoplids can be said to like vibes. On the third day, he met a fascinating flight engineer who found him interesting as well. 

Some cosmological theories claim that everything that could happen, does actually happen in some universe. In one universe, the Okay Mister Sunshine is going to have a fiery crash with all lives lost in the next four minutes. It is a massive amount of compressed hydrogen next to a combustion engine, after all. 

Further down the rabbit hole of crackpot theories, no one will die in that crash, but will instead find themselves alive and well in some distant Everett branch. 

However in this universe, the helmsman remembered to lock the cabin door and is not currently pinned under Lady Belodis. Instead, Belodis is on her way to see the captain.

She found the captain staring out the window, his back to the half open curtain. She shoved it aside and leaned against the door frame, striking a seductive pose. "Captain, I need you."

The captain turned to look at her. "And my ship needs me."

"It's been a long and lonely flight."

"It's been three days."

"A very long flight," she continued, "and it's been a long time since I had a man."

Belodis probably thought she was being subtle.

The captain thought she was being comically cheesy, but she made it work. "I suspect it's been even longer since I had a man," the captain rejoined.

"And how long has it been since you had a woman?"

The captain bit his lip. Two weeks? he thought. Maybe three? Longer than the average chorotopian, but not out of distribution. 

Belodis mirrored the lip bite, but signalling seduction instead of self-restraint, and took a step forward. The curtain closed behind her. "That's far too long for a handsome and powerful man like you." She rolled her shoulder and one of the straps on her dress slid off.