Chemistry, Chaos & Steam: A Magistery of Dunces

To the Moon and Back

Victoria smiled. "Sure, Leo."

"Why not?" agreed Amy, looking for any excuse to change the subject. "Tell you what, Leo. If you can find the mirrors the ancients placed on the moon, I'll not only believe you, I'll help you build a rocket and go there with you!"

"Done," said Leo, and then he pulled another bratwurst from the bowl.

___

Professor Tiffany Llewellyn looked over at the new students table and spoke in a low booming rumble equal to his size. "I'm just saying if it were me who'd organized such a flawless plan, you can bet I'd take credit for it."

The other professors chuckled at Llewellyn's comment, leaving no doubt there'd been no need for him to state the obvious. That he burned his fingers while dipping a piece of sourdough bread into a bowl of steaming clam chowder only added to their gentle ribbing.

"I suppose she's shy," added the Magister.

"She didn't sound shy when she was barking orders," countered Llewellyn as a small roasted turkey spun up from the center of the table. It was quickly slid across the table in front of his delighted eyes. "We all heard her. She actually sounded quite the opposite of shy."

"If I'm not mistaken," added Sub Magister Larisa Astringia, plucking a carrot from a small plate of raw vegetables, "We had a few students with darkrometers trained on the recruits." She snapped the carrot in two. "Why don't we just ask one of them?"

"Because, dear professor," answered Llewellyn, waving what was left of his turkey leg around like a baton, "the darkrometers use infra-red technology. The first levels wouldn't have been seen as anything other than blobs."

"To be precise," added the Magister. "Red blobs. But the discussion, I fear, is besides the point. By process of elimination it had to be Ms. Castillo."

Llewellyn pondered the Magister's words with an uneasy nod. "But it didn't sound anything like Steam Girl. To be honest," he said looking over to Professor Astringia with a slightly arched brow, "she sounded more like you."

"She used a different voice, is all," replied Astringia, irritation evident in her voice. "But we know that the girl who commanded those first levels had to be one of the last five in the tunnel. And do not," she added, lips pressed in tightly, "call her 'Steam Girl.'"

"And why shouldn't I?" asked Llewellyn.

"Because, professor, it's a ridiculous name given to her by the press. One I do not feel we should encourage."

"Quite right, quite right," agreed the Magister. "But if it was Miss Castillo, it still doesn't answer the question of why she didn't take credit."

"Probably shy," repeated Llewellyn. "What else could it be?"

"Shrewd more like it," said Professor Astringia, "or have we all forgotten who the girl's mother is?"

"We'll have to keep a careful eye on that one, then" said the Magister.

___

The Market Street Journal had been running so many daily special editions that if it kept it up they would have to seriously reconsider being called a weekly. Clarkson was all in favor of that but was beginning to realize it would mean a lot more work for him, the paper's star reporter. Yesterday's special edition had been about the Crimson Cloud's close encounter with catastrophe. That story alone would last for months. The conspiracy theorists were out in full and only added to the feeding frenzy that was causing the printing presses to work overtime. Some claimed sabotage, others pointed fingers at the Conglomerate of New York, and a few even insisted it was the remnants of the Oregon Collectives (though hardly anyone believed that nonsense). The prevailing opinion was that it must have been a power play by the Shanghai Imperium.