Steamed Read online

  “Hey, Jack.” I entered the first in a connected set of rooms that were our research labs, unloading hat, satchel, and newspaper onto my desk. A tall man with curly black hair emerged from the far room. “You’re late.”

  “Had a late night.” I slumped into the chair behind my desk and pulled out my laptop.

  “Foundry?” Brian, the graduate student who was interning for a year, plopped down on the corner of his desk.

  “Yep. Airship Pirates were playing last night.”

  “Airship . . .” His face screwed up in thought for a few seconds. “Oh, that goth band?”

  “Part steampunk, part goth, part industrial.” I frowned as the e-mail started loading into my in-box. “You should go sometime.”

  “Like I have time to go hang out at the Foundry? You may, but I have work to do.” He nodded toward the clean room behind him. “If I don’t get those dots set today, I’ll be out of an internship. Speaking of that—Dr. Elton’s been asking for you. He says that latest version of the quantum gate you sent him refuses to reverse, and could you fix it by noon so he has a working model to show Sawyer.”

  “It’s on my list of things to do today,” I murmured.

  “Feeley called and said if you don’t get that budget to him by the end of today, he’ll sauté your balls in garlic and wine sauce.”

  I made a face. I hated dealing with the yearly budget.

  “Oh, and a woman was here to see you.”

  “A woman?” I looked up in surprise. “Who?”

  Brian shrugged and picked up one of the small canisters of liquid helium we use to cool down the computer equipment. “Didn’t say. Said she’d be back, though.”

  “I wonder who it could be.” I racked my brain for any female acquaintance who would be willing to brave the geekified air of Nordic Tech.

  “Someone you met last night?” Brian offered as he headed for the clean room.

  “Doubt it. I went with a couple of Friends last night.”

  He paused at the door, his eyebrows raised. “You went with Quakers? To see a goth band? Isn’t that like a sin or something?”

  “Of course it’s not a sin,” I said, giving him a quick frown. “It’s not like they decapitated a bat.”

  “Yeah, but Quakers! At a goth concert! It’s just so wrong!”

  “Hardly. I’ve been a part of the church my whole life, and I assure you, there’s nothing anywhere in the Bible that says goth concerts are on the forbidden list,” I answered, quickly scanning an e-mail from the CEO, Jeff Sawyer.

  “I know you’re one and all, but you’re kind of like Quaker Lite, aren’t you? I mean, you drink, and you swear better than my old man, and he was in the merchant marines. You go out with women. And you were in the army. I thought that was, like, totally anti-Quaker.”

  “Many of us are conscientious objectors, but still manage to be useful in ways that don’t compromise our beliefs.”

  “That’s right. Karin at reception said you did research in the army in lieu of seeing action in the Middle East. High-tech stuff, huh? Spy technology and all that?”

  I looked up and cocked an eyebrow at him. “I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you.”

  His jaw dropped a smidgen.

  “You don’t see the irony of that statement, do you?” I asked, unable to keep from smiling.

  “Well, I see the irony in you threatening to kill me when I’m the only intern you’ve got,” he answered quickly, edging closer to the door.

  “Tempting as it is to explain, we both have work to do. If you expect to get those quantum dots down before the afternoon, we’ll have to forgo a discussion of my personal philosophy for another time.”

  He glanced at the clock, uttered an expletive, and bolted into the changing area for the clean room beyond, where we did the bulk of our construction on the quantum computer we were building.

  A half hour later, when I was doubled over a minute circuit board, soldering on a tiny circuit, the door opened.

  “Good morning, Indiana. What adventures have you had this morning? Rescued a damsel in distress? Saved a priceless amulet from being stolen by ruffians? Smuggled innocent baby seals from a fur-processing plant?”

  “Hallelujah,” I said, looking up and waving a small soldering iron at her by way of greeting. A minute piece of silver solder flew toward her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Avoiding internal injury, evidently,” she said, sidestepping the solder. “And don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”

  “Not nearly as much as I hate being called Indiana.”

  “He who weareth the hat shall be calledeth by the name,” she said, grabbing a stool and hauling it over to my worktable. “At least you haven’t gotten a bullwhip. Yet.”

  “You’ve been talking to Karin.”

  “Bah,” my sister said, waving away the subject. “I hope you’re not serious about her, because she’s totally the wrong type for you.”

  “I’m not serious about anyone, not that it’s any of your business,” I said, looking through the microscope for placement of a minuscule part.

  “Ah, but it is, big brother. I am here in my official capacity to hook you up with an absolutely terrific woman.”

  I set down the soldering iron. “Not another blind date, Hal? You promised me you weren’t going to set me up on any more of those hellish experiences.”

  She picked up a piece of circuit board and toyed with it as I went across the lab to grab some wire. “Trust me, you’re going to like Linda. She’s different. She likes all the things you like.”

  “Such as?” I took the piece of circuit board from her. Absently, she picked up a pair of forceps meant to position small pieces, and used them to poke at my notes.

  “She has a laptop that she takes everywhere, so she’s clearly a computer geek, just like you. And she likes reading, and you always have your nose in a comic book.”

  “Graphic novel. They’re called graphic novels.”

  “Whatever.” She forcepped a piece of muffin left over from my breakfast and popped it in her mouth. “She likes those—she was reading one that she said was a retelling of a Jules Verne book, and it sounded just like something you’d read, what with all those Victorian rocket ships to the moon, and people marching around with ray guns and goggles.”

  “I’m delighted that you have a friend who enjoys steampunk and computers, but I fail to see why you would want to match her up with me. I’m perfectly happy as I am.”

  She slid off the stool and moved around the lab, tidying papers, rearranging boxes of computer components, and generally doing what she referred to as “straightening up.” “It’s . . . well . . . you see . . .”

  “Spit it out, Hallie,” I said, squinting through the microscope as I wrapped wire around a semiconductor.

  She took a deep breath, then said very quickly, “I promised you to Linda.”

  I looked up at that. “You did what?”

  “I promised you to Linda. That is, I sold you to her.” She held a small canister of helium in her hands, absently twisting the top as she watched me with anxious eyes.

  “You sold me? Like a slave or something?” I asked, completely confused. “What do you mean, you sold me?”

  “No, not like a slave, don’t be stupid,” she said, biting her lip. “It was an auction. A charity auction.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment before shaking my head. “Which charity?”

  “Now, don’t you get that tone of voice,” she said, adopting a defensive attitude. She shook the canister at me as she spoke. “I know what you think about my charities, but this one is fabulous, Jack, just fabulous. It’s for care and rehabilitation of released parakeets.”

  I was so surprised by what she said, I stopped worrying about whether the top had been loosened on the helium. “Released what?”

  “Parakeets! Do you have any idea how many parakeets each year are shoved out of their homes and left to fend for themselves? Hundreds, Jack! Hundreds a
nd hundreds of poor little innocent birdies just tossed out the window, and they have no idea how to forage for food, or where to sleep, or even where to live. It’s a horrible, senseless tragedy, and we at the People for Humane Treatment of Parakeets are doing what we can to try to rescue parakeets, and rehome them with good people who will take care of them.”

  Hallie always had a cause. Ever since she was a little girl, she had been a joiner of causes. When she grew up, she had taken to throwing herself wholeheartedly into whatever cause appealed to her at the moment.

  “What happened to that group you belonged to that was supposed to knit sweaters for hairless dogs who lived in animal shelters?”

  “Oh, that fell apart months ago,” she said, twisting the lid of the canister again. “We couldn’t decide on whether mohair or acrylic yarn was best. This group is totally rock solid, Jack. And you like animals!”

  “That doesn’t mean I want to be sold into slavery on their behalf. What did you sell me for?”

  “Five hundred dollars! Can you believe it? No one else’s husband or brother went for as much. It was a shame you couldn’t be there to model yourself, but I took that picture of you that was in the paper that time you and Jeff Sawyer were in Mexico, and you rescued him from being disemboweled by crazed Mayans.”

  I sighed to myself again. It was pretty sad when my own sister refused to listen to me.

  “Anyway, everyone loved that picture, and lots of ladies bid on you, only Linda won, and that’s so perfect because she’s just the woman I would pick out for you. She’s smart and she likes the things you like, and she paid five hundred dollars just to spend some time with you.”

  “I wasn’t asking how much she spent; what services of mine has she won?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Oh, well, that’s up to Linda,” she said, waving the canister at me.

  “Stop shaking that!” When I realized what she was doing, I jumped to my feet and lunged toward her in the hopes of getting the canister before it blew up.

  “Now, I know you’re a bit peeved that I sold you without telling you, but really, it’s for a very good cause—” Hallie skirted the lab table, keeping just out of my reach as she pleaded with me.

  I cut her short, worried about her safety. “No, you idiot! The lid is off and you’re shaking the canister. It’s very volatile!”

  “This?” She looked down at the helium. “It’s just a thermos of coffee. How can coffee be volatile?”

  “It’s not coffee—it’s liquid helium.”

  “Helium?” She held the canister up as if she could see through the stainless steel walls. “What on earth are you doing with helium?”

  “We use it to cool the core of the chip when it’s being tested. Now set it down very carefully.”

  “Oh, like canned air? I use that all the time at home on my stereo. I like the way the bottle frosts up when you use it for a while. You’re not mad at me about the auction, are you?” she said with sublime unawareness of what she held. She reached for the lid, jamming it down on top of the canister.

  “My emotions at this moment are rather indescribable,” I said, moving around to take the canister from her.

  “Stupid thing won’t go on,” she grumbled, trying to force the lid on, but the inner valve had been jostled and was out of position enough to keep the lid from screwing on properly.

  “Just set it down, Hallie, and I’ll deal with it.”

  “Maybe it’s got an air bubble or something that’s keeping it from closing properly.” She tossed aside the top, right on top of the circuit I had been finishing. Several tiny LED lights lit up, indicating the computer’s brain was receiving power.

  “No!” I yelled, lunging for her. Just as my hand closed around hers, she flipped up the valve, sending liquid helium boiling out to the circuit below. Hallie snatched at the precious circuit, obviously to save it from being harmed, but it was too late. A brilliant silver light filled my mind as she grabbed the circuit board. In the dim distance, I could hear voices talking, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. The light expanded until it seemed to fill the room, filling me with a soothing, calming presence.

  Hallie screamed as the light erupted around and through and inside me.

  Log of the HIMA Tesla

  Monday, February 15

  Forenoon Watch: Four Bells

  “Cap’n Pye! Cap’n Pye!” “The word is ‘captain,’ Dooley. We are not pirates, nor are we yokels who cannot expend the extra effort to pronounce words correctly, and judging by the nonstop chatter I hear from you in the mess, I am reassured you have the vocal capacities to do so. Yes, I see it now, Mr. Mowen. The valve to the left of the intake cylinder, isn’t it? It’s cracked, you think?”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  I sat back on my heels after examining the valve in question. Cracked, my three-legged uncle. It was no more cracked than I was.

  “Captain Pye, Mr. Piper, he says you’re to come to the forward hold immediately!” Young Dooley fairly danced with agitation as he spoke, but that was nothing new. Dooley was a quicksilver sort of lad, always moving or talking, apparently unable to sit still for even the shortest amount of time. In a way, he reminded me of a hummingbird I’d seen in the emperor’s aviary, for Dooley flitted and dived around the ship just as the hummingbird had done in the high-domed aviary.

  “Can you fix the valve, Mr. Mowen?” I asked the chief engineer, fully confident of an affirmative answer. “Or will we need to land at Lyon?”

  “An unauthorized landing?” Mr. Mowen looked scandalized at the thought. “That would put us off schedule, lass. Er . . . Captain.”

  “Captain Pye—” Dooley tugged at the sleeve of my new scarlet-red Aerocorps jacket.

  I quelled both the tugging and the excited dancing with a look, one I had honed on lesser crew members for a decade. “I will be with you in a moment, Dooley. Mr. Mowen has my attention now.”

  “But Mr. Piper said you must come quick—”

  “Mr. Piper would never condone your interrupting an important discussion about the ability of the Tesla to fly, Dooley. You have delivered your message, and may return to your duties.” I spoke in what I hoped was an authoritative, yet kindly, tone. I didn’t want to be perceived as an ogre to the crew, not on this, my first assignment. Yet the seven other individuals on board must acknowledge my position of command, or it would all end badly. Firm but tempered, that was the key.

  “But, Cap’n—”

  Mr. Mowen watched me with interested, somewhat amused eyes. He was waiting to see how I handled the overexcited teen who was the bosun’s mate, no doubt curious to see whether I would let him ruffle me. Ah, but had he known I had long since lost that ability . . .

  “You have duties, Dooley, do you not?”

  “Aye, miss. Cap’n. Captain. I’m to be cleaning the galley, then tending to the boilers as Mr. Mowen likes.”

  “You are excused to attend to your duties.”

  Dooley responded to the voice of authority, reluctantly tugging on his smart black cap as he left the cramped quarters of the aft boiler room. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  “That wasn’t nearly so bad as you thought, now, was it?” Mowen asked with the hint of a smile beneath his big salt-and-pepper walrus mustache.

  “Not at all, and how did you guess?” I asked, a little surprised by the perspicacity in the older man’s eyes. “Is it that obvious that I was expecting such a test?” One of several that were laid all ready for me, no doubt.

  “I’ve been sailing the skies betwixt Rome and London long enough to see a full score of captains come and go,” he answered, his eyes now twinkling with amusement. “The first run is always entertaining, with the crew watchful, waiting to see what sort of man the company has saddled us with.”

  I glanced at him, curious as to the meaning behind his words. “I can’t believe that no one from the Aerocorps told you anything about me. I received a dossier on the crew; surely you had something about me?”

  �
�It wasn’t so much a dossier as it was a note telling us that you were taking command of the ship.”

  I waited, sure there was more to come.

  There was. “Mr. Francisco has a mate in the Corps offices, and he told us a bit more about you. He said you were a woman, which we’d guessed from your name, that you had red hair and brown eyes—not that it matters, you understand, but Mr. Francisco, as you might have noticed, has a bit of passion for redheaded ladies, so he was particularly overjoyed about that bit of information—that you joined the Corps when you were sixteen, and have been in it just as many years, and that you have some friends in high places.”

  My brows rose just a smidgen. “The Aerocorps files say that?”

  “Ah, well . . .” Mr. Mowen slid me a sidelong look. “Perhaps that was my own speculation.”

  “Indeed.” I made my voice as neutral as possible. “On the whole, that is an accurate summation. I hope the crew will not be disappointed with me.”

  “Time will show,” he said, nodding, idly rubbing a spot of grease on his cuff. “Good or bad, there’s naught we can do but accept.”

  “Oh, I imagine there are all sorts of things a crew could do to make an unwanted captain feel less than welcome,” I answered, deliberately keeping my tone light. “Food that is oddly inedible when compared to the crew’s fare, unpleasant surprises of the insect and rodent nature to be found in the captain’s bed, repeated rousing during the sleeping hours to examine strangely malfunctioning equipment that was sound only a few hours before . . . Yes, I have heard of such dealings, and imagine it would be quite easy for a dedicated crew to take care of an unpopular captain.”

  Mr. Mowen gave me a long look. I allowed myself a little smile, at which he relaxed. “True enough, Captain, true enough.”

  “I trust that this valve, which strangely appears to have been wrenched to the side and thus is no longer seated properly rather than cracked, can be returned to its proper position without delay, Mr. Mowen.” A light of respect shone briefly in his eyes. I waved away his offer of help as I rose to my feet, dusting off my long navy wool skirt and the edges of my knee- length jacket. “I also expect there will be no further tests to determine if I am familiar with the workings of an airship steam engine and boilers. I assure you I am.”