Free 20 Million Leagues Over the Sea by K. T. Hunter

it up. I will pipephone you from the Oberth Deck
when I'm ready to go."
    Cervantes cupped his hand across his
forehead. "And this is why you'll never make Admiral."
     
    ~~~~
     
    Gemma
     
    "Would you like to see the orrery?" Nigel
asked.
    Gemma was startled out of her reverie by the
sudden question. She had lingered with the Booleans after the
captain and his first mate had left the bridge. After the initial
excitement of the launch, everyone had quickly settled down.
Humboldt had turned the pneumatic tube system back on, and Caroline
and the others had resumed their posts at the keypunch
machines.
    "I would," she replied.
    She had seen such things before, and she
wondered how in the world a miniature of the solar system could be
so important as to need its own Boolean. At the same time, it would
be good to cultivate allies on the ship. It was going to be a long
voyage, and an even longer one without them.
    "However," she continued, "that may need to
wait for later. I have a Cohort meeting to attend, and I need to
send a message back to my academy to inform them that we have set
sail."
    "I can show you how. Follow me, please." He
turned to address the room. "Yeoman McLure, you're in charge for
the moment. Contact me if you need me, or if Humboldt gets out of
hand. Don't worry, Roger," he said, looking at Humboldt. "You'll
get that algorithm right. I have every bit of faith in you."
    He led Gemma out of the Informatics chamber
and back into the corridor. After the door closed, he gently
touched her elbow and then withdrew it.
    "Pray, don't fret for Caroline's sake," he
said. He walked slowly and spoke softly. "She will be fine. She has
survived much worse than a case of the nerves. The hair bob isn't
even new. She's worn it that way since we were children together at
the old Wickham Textile Factory. That's where we were apprenticed,
you know. The Jacquard looms there were a good proving ground for
Engine development, once the Neo-Luddite riots stopped. 'Twas loads
better than life on the factory floor, let me tell you."
    Gemma shuddered as they passed through the
guarded door. Mrs. Brightman constantly reminded her Girls of the
Factory Orphans: the lost fingers and limbs, the filth and
starvation, and the acres upon acres of tiny graves. So many little
ones had died during the brief anti-technology insurrection of
1912, just one hundred years after Ned Ludd had led a similar
rebellion against machines. Many more had died just keeping the
looms in operation until the machines had taken over completely,
and many were homeless adults now that the textile factories were
fully automated. Just how many Invasion Orphans had those monsters
devoured over the years? How many times had she thanked her
mistress for saving her from such horrors?
    She looked up as they arrived at the wireless
window.
    "Here we are," Mr. Davies said. A stack of
glass slates sat to one side, each with a grease pencil attached to
it by a string. They resembled the glass panels that she had seen
on the bridge. "Just write the recipient's name here at the top,
your name, and your message below it. Then put it with the others
over here. They'll send it when they review the stack, and the
Admiralty will route it to the proper person. Don't worry, the A.E.
keeps a record of everything we send and receive, so you can always
ask us to pull it up later via punch card if you need to review it.
You can also send messages up from the labs via the pneumatics." He
glanced at the clock on the wall. "I must be off. See you at tea,
Miss Llewellyn."
    He bowed to her and strode off in the
direction of the lift. Gemma picked up one of the blank slates. She
appreciated his help; here at last was someone who strove for
efficiency as much as she did. He would be a worthy ally.
    As she wrote out her message, her eyes
flickered over the box containing the stack of waiting panels. She
read over the message on top in a flash, out of habit. It was
nonsensical; at least, it was to the