Fires of Invention

by J. Scott Savage

  “Lose something?” Mr. Lu asked.

  “No.” Trenton quickly went back to netting. “I was just admiring how healthy the fish look.”

  Mr. Lu beamed. “It’s their food. Sometimes I think they eat better than we do.”

  Making sure to be a little more cautious, Trenton continued to search. The ground was solid rock, so nothing could be buried there. He looked at the pipes overhead. There was no way to reach them without a ladder. And anything placed inside them would have been washed away immediately anyway.

  He wasn’t planning on getting involved with Kallista or her father again. That part of his life was over. But he couldn’t help being curious. Figuring out the code was like learning the way the parts of a machine worked together. All through the morning, as he caught fish, his mind continued to gnaw at the problem.

  “Are you going to work straight through lunch?” Mr. Lu asked.

  Trenton looked up to see his instructor and Clyde watching him from the other side of the tank.

  “I’m not missing lunch,” Clyde said.

  “Sorry.” Trenton walked around the tank, past the metal box attached to the side, and joined them. “Guess I was daydreaming.”

  “I’m dreaming about hunks of fresh cheese,” Clyde said, holding out his hands like he was clutching fresh gouda wheels.

  Trenton started to walk with them but paused and turned back to look at the box on the side of the tank. The box. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

  “I’ll be right there,” he said. “I just want to net a couple more fish.”

  Mr. Lu tilted his head. “I was told you might be a problem, but you’re the hardest worker I’ve ever trained.”

  “Guess I like to see a job done right,” Trenton said. He waited until Clyde and the teacher were out of sight, then hurried to the box and knelt beside it. Four screws held the cover in place, and he had them out in no time.

  He lifted the cover off the box, glancing around to make sure he was alone. Then he looked inside the box. As he’d suspected, it held brass fittings, gauges, and the gears and pistons that ran the tank’s pump. Interesting, sure, and under other circumstances he might have spent a little time tinkering with them. But now, he was searching for another clue. And nothing in the box seemed like one.

  He stuck his head in the box, looking for more markings or a note of some kind. Nothing. Sighing, he screwed the cover back into place. Of course the box didn’t make any more sense than the overhead pipes would have. The filters obviously had to be cleaned and replaced. The first person to open the box after Kallista’s father left his clue would have found whatever was inside.

  Maybe that’s what had happened. Maybe a worker had opened the box, found what was there, and turned it in to the authorities. Trenton put away his screwdriver and checked the box to make sure he’d left it the way he found it. It was probably better that he hadn’t found anything. That way he’d didn’t have to decide what to do about it.

  On his way past the first pool, he glanced at its box and stopped. Were his eyes tricking him, or was the box on that pool slightly smaller than the one he’d opened? He went back to the second tank and looked from one to the other. They were definitely different. The second box stuck out a good six inches farther than the first.

  Pulling out his screwdriver, he removed the cover again. Carefully, he put his hand into the box and felt the back of it. At the seam where the back of the box met the bottom, his fingers touched the slightest bump. He pressed his hand against it and heard a click. The back of the box popped out ever so slightly. The back panel was a fake.

  Sliding his finger under the edge, he pulled the metal out and up. There, hidden in a secret compartment, were two more gold tubes like the one he’d found in the mines. Behind the tubes was a crescent-shaped piece of metal that looked like a bracket roughly twelve-inches wide and eight-inches deep. Spaced evenly across the outside of the bracket were three holes with star-shaped fittings inside. He instantly saw how the tubes could slide into the holes.

  He reached for the items, then paused. He’d promised himself that he’d stay out of this. Did he really want to get involved with unauthorized equipment while waiting for a transfer to mechanics school?

  No. He didn’t.

  Quickly he shoved the false panel back into place again and made sure it wouldn’t come lose. He put the cover onto the box and screwed it into place. He’d just returned his screwdriver to his belt when a shadow dropped over him.

  “Coming to lunch?” Mr. Blanchard asked.

  Trenton stood up and forced a smile. “Yeah. I was just netting a few more fish.”

  14

  Near the end of his third day of training, Trenton fell into a plankton tank. Although fell might not have been the right word. Got pushed into was more accurate.

  It all started when Clyde had hit him in the face with a dead catfish. Trenton wasn’t sure whether it was intentional or not. They’d been arguing all morning. First Trenton thought that Clyde wasn’t working fast enough, that he was taking too many breaks, daydreaming, and writing on his slate. Clyde said that Trenton worked too hard and needed to relax and enjoy himself.

  Clyde brought the dead catfish—which he’d spent twice as long netting as it should have taken—out of the tank at the same time that Trenton was lifting a sack of fish food to dump into the feeder.

  The slimy fish, which was already beginning to smell of decay, slapped Trenton’s face, smearing slime and stink on his right cheek. As Trenton pulled away, the bag tilted, spilling catfish food all over the ground.

  “Look what you did,” Trenton yelled, wiping the side of his face with his sleeve. Why was he stuck mucking out fish tanks with a clumsy oaf while other kids picked apples or cross-pollinated blossoms?

  “Look where you’re going next time,” Clyde said with a hint of a grin.

  “Give me the net,” Trenton said. “I’ll scoop fish while you clean up the mess you made.” He grabbed for the pole, but Clyde yanked it out of his reach.

  “I’m not the one who spilled the food,” Clyde said, holding the net over his head. “And I’m not cleaning it up.”

  Trenton jumped up and caught the end of the pole. Clyde tried to shove him away, and the two of them stumbled backward. Clyde tripped over the bag of fish food, and they fell against the thirty-inch-high wall of the plankton tank.

  Losing his balance, Clyde let go of the net. Trenton reached for it, lunging over the water at the same time Clyde seized his arm to keep from falling. For a second, the two of them teetered on the edge of the wall, and then they went tumbling into the murky green water.

  Trenton put out a hand to keep his head above the surface, but the floor of the tank was so slick his palm slipped and his whole body went under. He came up dripping with algae and coughing out nasty green water.

  Clyde popped up next to him, spitting and cursing.

  The two of them glared at each other. But the sight of Clyde with his ears and nose dripping green gunk was so funny that Trenton couldn’t help laughing.

  Clyde got the pole out of the water and dumped a net full of plankton on Trenton’s head.

  Soon the two of them were shoving each other under the disgusting green water, slipping, splashing, and laughing.

  “What’s this?”

  The two boys stopped fighting, and Trenton looked up to find Mr. Lu, who had gone for supplies, watching them with his arms folded across his chest. Trenton glanced at Clyde. “We sort of had an accident.”

  “We kind of fell in,” Clyde added unnecessarily.

  Mr. Lu’s lips rose into a smile. “If you wanted to clean the plankton tank, all you had to do was ask. I could have shown you the boots and special uniforms we have for that purpose.”

  Trenton ran a hand across his face, not sure if it did any good, and helped Clyde out of the tank.

  “Go clean yourselves up,” Mr. Lu said. “It’s almost the end of your shift. I’ll take care of this mess.”

  Th
ey started back to the headquarters building, still chuckling, when Mr. Lu called, “Trenton, I almost forgot. There’s someone from the city offices waiting to speak with you. I think it’s about your transfer request.”

  • • •

  Standing in the bathroom, Trenton sniffed himself to see if he still smelled as disgusting as he felt. He’d washed off and cleaned his clothes as best he could, but his shoes still squelched with every step, and he could almost feel microscopic plants and animals squiggling in his ears and hair. Not exactly the impression he wanted to make on a city administrator.

  He walked into the office, and a woman in a feathered hat and long gloves looked up from her slate. She waved to a chair across from the desk. “I’m Miss Rushton from the department of vocational training. Take a seat.”

  “I’d better not,” Trenton said.

  Miss Rushton eyed his dripping clothes and wet hair.

  “I was cleaning fish tanks,” Trenton said. “Actually, plankton tanks. It’s a messy job, but I did it the way I was asked. If I were in mechanical school, I’d work even harder.”

  “I see.” She sniffed in his direction and frowned. “It says here that you have been assigned to food production—one of the more desirable schools. May I ask why you are requesting a move? Is your training inadequate? Do you have a problem with the other trainees?”

  “No,” Trenton said at once. “The teachers are great. The other students are great. It’s just that I’ve always wanted to be a mechanic. I’m good at fixing things. I got top grades in math and science. I’d be a much better mechanic than a farmer.”

  The woman set the slate on the desk and tapped her gloved fingers on the desk. “Students don’t always know what is best for themselves. Many times what one citizen desires personally is not good for the community as a whole.”

  Trenton felt his heart sink. “How can my being a mechanic not be good for everyone if it means I can make the city’s machines better?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Better?”

  “I mean better running,” Trenton quickly corrected himself. “I’m great at keeping authorized equipment working the way it’s supposed to. I don’t even care about what kind of equipment I work on. That has to be good for the city.”

  The woman tucked a fluff of blonde hair back under her hat. “I’m afraid there are extenuating circumstances.”

  “Is it because of the swing?” Trenton asked, squeezing his hands together. “The chancellor told me that was cleared up.”

  “Your unapproved creation was an unfortunate situation,” Miss Rushton said. “But it was not the deciding factor. We recently received some other information leading us to believe that the mechanical field would not be the best place for you—or for the city.”

  Angus. Trenton’s heart began to thud. Angus had followed him from the park, tracked him to his meeting with Kallista, and told his father. All to get Trenton into trouble. He balled his fists.

  “I don’t know what Angus told you, but I wasn’t doing anything wrong that night. I was returning something to a person I barely know. If you have a problem with what I did, you should talk to her. I have no idea what it is.”

  “Angus Darrow?” the woman asked. “You think the marshal’s son had something to do with this decision?”

  Trenton’s scratched his chin. “Didn’t he?” What else could she be talking about?

  “The information came directly from the chancellor himself. A week before your graduation, Mrs. Coleman spoke with him in person.”

  “My mother?” Trenton didn’t understand. “What would she want to talk to the chancellor about?”

  “Mrs. Coleman worried that having you involved with machinery on a daily basis would be dangerous to you and the city. She felt it was her duty as your mother and as a citizen of Cove to see that you were placed in a school not involving tools or machines.”

  Trenton opened and closed his hands as though searching for a tool to fix the problem. “How could I be dangerous? She knows I’ve never injured myself or broken anything I’ve worked on. She . . .”

  Slowly the woman’s words sank in. Trenton’s assignment wasn’t Angus’s fault. It wasn’t because he’d hadn’t done well enough in school or because he’d built the swing. He’d been put into farming because his own mother had requested it from the chancellor.

  The woman from the chancellor’s office picked up her slate and stood. “Your mother feels that you have an unhealthy fixation with machines. She was concerned that if you were given greater access to them, along with more advanced tools, it would be only a matter of time before you started trying to change them. She believed that eventually your . . . creativity . . . would injure yourself and others. She didn’t want you to become another Leo Babbage.”

  Hot tears burned Trenton’s cheeks. “My mother called me an inventor?” he spat. “My own mother?”

  The woman walked out from behind the desk and headed for the door, but he tugged at her arm. “You can’t listen to her. What happened to her in the mine, it messed up her head. She thinks machines are evil. That’s why she doesn’t want me working on them. Ask my father. He’ll tell you.”

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “Your request for a transfer has been denied. Your position in food production is officially permanent. No other change requests will be considered.”

  “Please,” Trenton cried, following her to the door. “I’d never make unapproved changes to anything. Ever. Let me talk to the chancellor. I’ll tell him. Just give me a chance to prove myself. I’ll go to retraining first if that’s what you want.”

  The woman walked out the door with Trenton close behind.

  “Is everything all right?” Mr. Blanchard asked, walking toward them.

  “Trenton Coleman will complete his training with you and be assigned a permanent position in food production,” the city official said. “Please see that he is kept away from machinery of any kind. If he causes any problems, contact security.”

  A cool hand took Trenton’s, and he turned to find Simoni standing beside him. “I’m so sorry,” she said. She led him to the elevator. “Let’s get something to eat. Things will look better tomorrow. I promise.”

  Trenton felt numb. His own mother had done this to him. She had ruined his life, betrayed him. The elevator door clanged open, and Simoni stepped inside. Trenton began to follow her but then stopped.

  “I’ll meet you later,” he said, shock turning to anger. “I have to get something.”

  “Get what?”

  He turned away. “I left my gloves at the tilapia tanks.”

  “Get them later,” Simoni said. “They’ll be there in the morning.”

  The elevator gate began to close, and the security officer reached out to stop it. But Trenton shook his head. “Go on without me. I’ll catch up.”

  As he walked back toward the fish tanks—in particular the tank with the unusually large filter box—his hand went to his tool belt.

  15

  Trenton waited for Kallista in the dark basement, wondering for at least the hundredth time if he should leave. He was committed to giving her the pieces he’d found—at least, he was if she would agree to his conditions—but it was clear that something had gone wrong since the last time he was here. His eyes turned again to the door he’d followed her through into her father’s shop. Or where the door had been. Now there was only a blank metal wall.

  He’d run his hands over the entire length. There was no crack, no mark, no sign that the door to Leo Babbage’s workshop had ever existed. What did that mean? Had someone discovered the hiding place, destroyed the tools, and walled it over? It didn’t seem like it could have happened in the few weeks since he’d visited. The wall didn’t even look new. But what other explanation was there?

  He’d climbed the stairs to the shop with the soaped-over windows. He’d gone so far as to pull himself out of the basement and check the front of the store to make sure he was in the right building. Yes, this was defin
itely the shop he’d followed Kallista into, but just as definitely, there was no longer a door.

  A shadow passed by the window, and he pushed himself against the wall in case it was a security officer. The shadow disappeared, and he started to relax, when the window suddenly flew open and someone burst through it. The figure hit the floor, rolled, and came up holding a heavy wrench and a sharper-than-normal-looking screwdriver.

  “One move and you’ll be pulling this out of your lungs,” she snarled.

  “Kallista,” Trenton said. “It’s me.”

  With her long legs and gangly arms, he’d never expected that she could move so fast.

  She blinked in the dim light. She lowered the tool slightly but didn’t put it away. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be picking potatoes with the redhead?”

  Trenton tugged at his apron. He hadn’t bothered going home after recovering the metal pieces from the tilapia tank, and his clothes were still damp. “You have big problems. Someone sealed off your father’s workshop.”

  Kallista’s eyes darted to the wall and back again. “I don’t know anything about a workshop. This is my father’s empty store. There’s nothing here but dust.”

  “What are you talking about?” Trenton asked. “Last time I was here, you—” He paused, looking around. Could someone be listening to their conversation? He stepped forward until he and Kallista were only a few inches apart. “Did security find out?” he whispered.

  “Not unless you told them.” She pressed the tip of the screwdriver against Trenton’s chest. “What are you doing here? Think you can trade information about me to get out of pulling weeds?”

  Trenton had a brief flash of guilt, remembering his conversation with the woman from the city. He had been willing to trade information if it meant getting a mechanic job. But things hadn’t worked out that way. He hadn’t mentioned any names. And he’d come here to help. Now Kallista was threatening to stab him with a screwdriver.