Fires of Invention

by J. Scott Savage

  “You’re using fruit analogies?” Kallista raised an eyebrow.

  Trenton snorted. “What do you expect from a farmer?”

  Kallista unfolded the plans and handed them to him. “Maybe it would help to have a second set of eyes double-check my work.”

  Trenton took the plans and carried them to a nearby table. He studied the design as Kallista looked over his shoulder. She was right; the design did have an empty space between the coal bin and the furnace, with no indication of why it was there. Unlike the rest of the plans, which had been so carefully documented, the area for the power source was simply a blank space with the words “steam engine here” printed in small, neat letters, as if Kallista’s father had meant to finish it later.

  “Maybe we could add a second feeder.”

  “It wouldn’t do any good,” Kallista said. “At full speed, the belt is already sending as much as coal as the furnace can handle.”

  He turned the plans one way and then another. He had the feeling that he was missing something, but he didn’t know what. “Could we squeeze in a second engine?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes, if we had room for a second coal feeder and another furnace,” Kallista said. “Which we don’t.”

  He knew that; he’d been grasping at straws. He could see why she was so frustrated. As good as Leo Babbage’s plans were, it seemed he’d missed the one crucial thing that ruined the whole design.

  “Let me think about it,” he said, holding out the plans for her to take. “Maybe we can add some kind of oxygen pump to increase the burn rate.”

  “Keep them,” Kallista said, folding her arms.

  He blinked, sure that he’d misunderstood. “You want me to keep your father’s plans?”

  “You may as well,” she said. “I have them memorized. When you can’t come up here, study them down there. Who knows? Maybe you’ll catch something I didn’t.”

  “What if someone sees them?” Trenton asked.

  Kallista scraped at the grease under her thumbnail. “Then we’d both be in really big trouble. So make sure no one does.”

  “All right,” Trenton said. “I told my parents that I’d be home for dinner. But I promise I’ll figure something out.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” She smiled and climbed back onto the dragon, humming.

  Girls, Trenton thought as he headed home. Just when you think you understand them, they do something that makes you realize you don’t have a clue.

  29

  By the time exams arrived, the dragon was actually looking like a dragon. Trenton and Kallista had completed the segmented tail so it could swing left, right, up, and down. The head was attached—complete with orange eyes—and the operators’ seats and controls were in place.

  Unfortunately, neither of them had found a solution for the temperature problem. There wasn’t enough pressure to control the wings and tail at the same time. The legs could move, although unsteadily. And the flames that were supposed to shoot out, hot enough to melt steel, barely made it up to the dragon’s mouth.

  Neither of them had said anything, but it was becoming clearer by the day that there was no solution. The design had a fatal flaw. Trenton didn’t blame Leo Babbage. The numbers had probably looked right when he drew up the plans, but he never had a chance to test them before he died.

  But this morning, Trenton couldn’t afford to think about any of that. Not with midyear testing. With several pieces of new chalk and a freshly washed slate, he hurried to the elevator. For once, he was right on time. The students already gathered in the car were laughing and talking, but the talk revolved around what subjects they were worried about, and the laughter had a nervous edge to it.

  “Are you ready?” Simoni asked as Trenton squeezed in beside her.

  “I hope so,” Trenton said with a forced smile. He wiped his hands on his apron.

  The test had two parts. The first was practical; they’d do things like sheering a sheep, picking and processing only fully ripe fruit, and showing proper pollinating techniques. He didn’t expect to have any problem with the practical half of the test. The more he worked in food production, the more he came to view it as just another set of moving parts to be figured out.

  The second part was written. He’d gone over the practice questions with Simoni so many times, he practically had them memorized. Even Kallista had helped, quizzing him on the growth cycles of corn, wheat, and alfalfa while they installed the dragon’s neck rings. Still, he couldn’t help worrying that he’d missed something in his studies.

  “How about you?” Trenton asked. “Nervous?”

  “Are you serious?” Simoni held both hands out. They were shaking. “I’m terrified.”

  Trenton took her hands in his. “Don’t be,” he said. “You’re so smart, you’ll ace it.”

  When the elevator gate opened and they all piled out, a surprise awaited them. Mr. Blanchard stood in the same spot he’d met them on their first day of training, only now all of their other instructors had joined him. Standing beside him was Chancellor Lusk himself.

  “We have a special honor today,” Mr. Blanchard said. “Every year, our esteemed chancellor chooses one group of students to observe during their midyear exams.”

  Hushed whispers raced from student to student as the chancellor stepped forward. Trenton felt a sick twist in his stomach, remembering the last time the man had spoken to him.

  “Don’t look so worried,” the chancellor told the students, resting his hands on his walking stick. “I won’t be the one scoring your work. I couldn’t tell a tomato seedling from an alfalfa plant if my life depended on it.” He adjusted his monocle and winked. “Although I do a pretty mean job of milking cows.”

  The students burst into overly loud laughter, and Clyde shouted, “I’d like to see that.”

  “Perhaps you will,” the chancellor said. “I’ve heard great things about this class, and I’m excited to watch young citizens who will one day oversee the plants and animals that keep our great city operating like the well-oiled machine it is.”

  He wore a fancy top hat with a working clock on the front. He tipped the hat to the students and said, “Young, energetic, well-trained people like yourselves make me proud to be your humble servant. Now go out there and show your parents, your teachers, and your city what you’re capable of.”

  Mr. Blanchard began clapping, and the other instructors and students quickly joined in. They clapped so long and hard that the chancellor waved them to stop, and when they didn’t, he finally took a graceful bow. Trenton clapped so hard his hands hurt. When he’d first started his training here, no one could have convinced him that he’d ever be proud to be a farmer, but at this moment, his heart swelled until he felt as if he were about to cry.

  On the practical section of the test, Trenton did as well as he’d expected. He netted more catfish in sixty seconds than anyone else and correctly identified nineteen of twenty seeds—mistaking only the cantaloupe for honeydew, which the instructor admitted was an error even she might have made.

  By the time they gathered for the written test, he felt much more confident. “How did you do on the practical?” he asked Simoni as they sat at a row of tables.

  “Pretty well,” she said. “Although I completely failed the pollinating section, and my sheered sheep look like they’ve been attacked by a mad barber. But I passed the rest. Everyone’s been saying you did the best in the class.”

  Trenton tried not to grin too widely. “I did okay.”

  Simoni clearly wasn’t fooled by his act. She poked a finger into his side and said, “Don’t let that head get any bigger, or it’ll explode.”

  The exam questions were every bit as hard as he’d expected. He knew at least a few that he’d missed for sure. Anything relating to numbers was a breeze, but some of the What would you do in situation A-type questions threw him off. Still, by the time he turned in his slate, he was fairly confident he’d finished near the top.
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  When they finally turned in their slates, everyone was in a much better mood than when they’d arrived that morning—talking and laughing.

  Mr. Blanchard stood and waved his hands. “Quiet. Everyone quiet. Please sit down.”

  Slowly, the students stopped talking and took their seats.

  “I know you’re all excited to have testing out of the way,” Mr. Blanchard said. “And to be honest, so are the sheep.” Everyone laughed, and several kids blushed. “Next, you get to have a delicious lunch, and then you will be released for a three-day break.”

  That announcement created such a loud cheer that Mr. Blanchard spent almost three minutes trying to calm everyone down again. When he could at last be heard, he raised a hand toward Chancellor Lusk. “The leader of our fine city would like to say a few final words.”

  All eyes turned to the front of the room as the chancellor stepped forward and faced the class. “I must say that I’m very impressed by what I’ve seen. I have great confidence I will not starve anytime soon.”

  A polite applause followed, which wasn’t nearly as long as the one at his first speech. They were all tired, hungry, and ready to go home.

  Clyde leaned toward Trenton and whispered, “I’m going to starve if they talk much longer.”

  “I know you all want to get to your fine lunch,” the chancellor continued, “but first I would like to make two announcements.” He held up his right hand, which was encased in a black silk glove, and raised a finger. “First, it pains me to say that it appears our city has a bent gear.”

  The room instantly silenced, and Trenton leaned forward.

  “Several months ago a person or persons broke into one or more of the city offices. City property was vandalized, and historical documents—documents that belong to every one of you in this room as citizens of Cove—were damaged.”

  “No,” Simoni whispered.

  Students began looking at one another. Trenton tried not to meet any of their eyes. Did the chancellor know it was him? Was that why he’d chosen to observe this class? His chest seized, and his legs felt so weak, he didn’t think he could stand if he tried.

  “As horrendous as this crime is, we believe it is part of a bigger issue,” the chancellor said. “Bent gears and cogs are encouraging the questioning of authority. I hate to say it in front of children, but it appears that creativity and free thinking are once again threatening our very existence.”

  His eyes slowly scanned the assembled students, and Trenton pushed himself back in his seat, trying not to look guilty. Beside him, Clyde was shaking.

  “I’m sure no one here knows anything about this,” the chancellor said. “You would have alerted someone immediately, of course.”

  “Yeah,” several kids shouted.

  “But I want to ask you all to watch for any suspicious activity. Security will be increased throughout the city, and, until we catch the culprit or culprits, an earlier curfew will be put in place. All citizens not required to work in the evenings must be home no later than nine p.m.”

  Unhappy grumbling filled the room, and the chancellor nodded sadly. “I know that a school break is a bad time for a curfew, but I’m sure you all understand the importance of finding these bad gears and cogs before they damage the magnificent machine of our city more than they already have.”

  Trenton wondered if Kallista had heard the news. The curfew would put a serious dent in the time they had to work on the dragon. They might even need to stop for a while, until security loosened.

  The chancellor quickly held up another finger. “Second, on a more positive note, some of you may be aware that this year we are celebrating a very special anniversary of our city’s founding. One hundred and fifty years ago, a group of sick and starving men, women, and children made the brave decision to leave the world that technology had destroyed. Using few resources, they dug into the side of this bountiful mountain we call home and founded a city of protection, a city of stability, a city where change would no longer endanger their lives or the lives of their families.”

  Mr. Blanchard led the room in a round of applause.

  “As a part of the celebration,” the chancellor said when the room had quieted down, “one week from today, a formal ball will be held in the assembly hall. Such events are typically restricted to adults, but in light of the fact that the curfew will put a bit of a damper in your break, we have decided to invite trainees to join us.”

  There was a moment of shocked silence, and then everyone began talking at once.

  30

  At the after-test feast, Trenton put food in his mouth but barely tasted it. How had they discovered the break-ins? Was it the bent frame in the museum? Or had someone noticed the pick marks on the locks at City Hall? They’d left the map book in the paper room in case someone else knew it was there, but maybe that had been a mistake.

  What if someone looked through the pages and noticed the name of Kallista’s mother? How long would it take them to track the break-ins to her? He wanted to go up and warn her right now, but he couldn’t leave until after lunch.

  “You seem quiet,” Simoni said.

  Trenton put a slice of cheese in his mouth even though he no longer felt hungry. “I’m just thinking.”

  “Something you want to tell me about?” she asked, a small grin on her face.

  The cheese caught halfway down Trenton’s throat; he had to cough to dislodge it. “No. I mean, it’s boring stuff. Nothing you’d be interested in.”

  The grin disappeared, replaced by a look of exasperation. Across the table, Clyde was holding his hands out in a gesture Trenton didn’t understand. Trenton looked around, wondering if he’d missed something.

  Simoni pushed the fruit around on her plate. “It’s too bad about the curfew. I hope they catch whoever broke into the offices.”

  “Yeah,” Trenton said, nodding vigorously. “Probably someone from North West. I’ve heard there are some really bent gears out that way.”

  “But the other announcement was pretty exciting, don’t you think?”

  “Sure,” Trenton said.

  Across the table, Clyde kept holding out his arms, shaking back and forth, then pretending to talk. What was he doing? It looked like he having some sort of fit.

  Simoni put her hand on Trenton’s and smiled sweetly. “Is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

  Still distracted by Clyde’s antics, Trenton only half listened. But it was clear that something was going on—something he had no clue about. “I, uh . . .” His mind raced. Clyde pointed from Trenton to Simoni.

  “Oh,” Trenton said, realizing what she wanted. “How did you do on the test?”

  Clyde leaped from table, ran around, and yanked Trenton up by the arm.

  “What is wrong with you?” Trenton asked. “Why were you waving your arms?”

  “I was dancing,” Clyde hissed.

  Trenton stared at his friend, wondering if he’d eaten a bad fruit or something. “Okaaay. Why were you dancing?”

  Clyde pulled him a few feet away and whispered, “Simoni wants you to ask her to the dance, you idiot.”

  Trenton stared at his friend. “I can’t dance.”

  Clyde clutched his forehead as though he’d been struck with a terrible headache. “No one can dance. You just move your feet around to the music. Ability has nothing to do with it. Simoni wants you to ask her to the ball, but you’re shoving cheese in your mouth and talking about tests. Are you really that dense?”

  Trenton glanced at Simoni, who sat slumped on the bench.

  “Maybe I am that dense,” he said. “Are you going?”

  “Of course,” Clyde said. “I’m a dancing machine. My only problem is choosing which girl to ask.”

  Trenton shook his head. He walked back to the table and waited for Simoni to look up. She seemed especially intent on cutting her salad, although it was already chopped into tiny pieces. He coughed into his hand, wishing once again that girls were as easy to understand as machi
nes. “Uh, can I ask you a question?”

  Simoni looked up suddenly, as if surprised he was there. “Are you talking to me?”

  He gulped. Why did she have to make this so hard? He folded his arms, unfolded them, and finally put his hands behind his back. “Would you, um, want to go to the dance with me next week?”

  She bounced up from the bench and squealed. “I’d love to. What colors should we wear?”

  • • •

  Breaking away from lunch took longer than he would have liked. A bunch of kids were heading down to the park and invited him to join them, but he claimed to be too tired from the testing.

  Simoni barely noticed when he left. She and a group of other girls were discussing dresses, hats, and a million other things related to the dance.

  Fortunately, while security might have increased in the city, no extra guards had been assigned to food production. He made it inside the silo as easily as always. He expected to find Kallista working on the dragon, and he had a moment of panic when he reached the site only to find it dark. Then he remembered she would still be at work.

  He turned the crank to start the generator and switched on the lights. Kallista had made a lot of progress since his last time here. Canvas stretched across the struts of one wing, and metal scales had been attached to the underbelly, making the dragon look more like a living creature and less like a machine.

  He climbed up to the seats at the base of the dragon’s neck and started up the furnace. A couple of minutes later, the engine kicked in, and the dragon vibrated beneath him. Taking a control in one hand, he lifted the dragon’s tail, and the body shifted. They’d have to be sure to use the tail as a balance whenever walking or flying to avoid tilting too far one way or the other.

  Moving the control, he flicked the end of the tail, sending a twenty-pound sledgehammer flying across the floor. In his mind, he could see himself and Kallista working in unison to make the great beast come to life. He imagined the wings unfurling, the legs pumping, the tail raised, and the rush of air as they—