Arcadia Snips and the Steamwork Consortium by Robert Rodgers Page B

prompting, they would leap to the defense of the chapter-house's master.
    "Your new home is rather disconcerting," Jeremiah confessed.
    Nigel laughed, as if enjoying some delightful joke. "Do you know why we are afraid of the dark?"

    "Because our imagination fills it with dreadful, wicked things," Jeremiah said.
    "Yes," Nigel replied, "that is correct. But do you know why?"
    "No, but I am sure you will tell me, eh?"
    "Of course. Because the alternative is far more terrifying, Jeremiah. Because the alternative is this: that there is nothing there.
    That, in fact, we are merely alone. Alone, in the dark."
    "Funny," Jeremiah replied. "Maybe it's just me, but I've never been too frightened of getting my face eaten by an empty shadow."
    Nigel laughed again. He lead Jeremiah down a set of spiraling stairs, down into the very belly of the chapter-house, beyond the realm of the uninitiated.
    The basement where they had stored the latest probability engine was large in size, but nearly all the space was taken up by the engine itself. It dwarfed Jeremiah's previous designs; iron and steel had replaced the cheaper brass fittings, with Jeremiah's latest improvements—vacuum bulbs and batteries—providing a source of cleaner, quieter power.
    It had been Abigail's idea to build the controls out of a church organ. Each key was labeled with a number or function, and after a bit of practice, inputting data became child's play. Nigel sat the documents on the nearby music stand, cracked his knuckles, and began typing in the values in a blur of finger strokes. "There is something else I wanted your opinion on, Jeremiah," he said as he worked. "Seize the electric torch to your left; use it to inspect the chalkboard over the corner there. I have scribbled down a few equations."
    Jeremiah did as he was told, approaching the chalkboard with some consternation. As he lifted the torch up to inspect the numbers, his eyebrows knitted with confusion. The writing went far beyond the meager boundaries of the chalkboard—Nigel's dense, neat script extended over the chalkboard's frame and coated every inch of the wall. "Nigel, what is this?"
    "A thought experiment."
    "A thought experiment? This is an equation for the engine, Nigel. I recognize the functions—but I cannot make out what it is you are trying at, here."
    "We have used the engine to avert small calamities with the foreknowledge it grants us," Nigel said, still inputting the numbers with focus and intent. "But what if we attempted to make something happen?"
    Jeremiah raised a brow, looking back at Nigel. "We've done that. The rain—"
    "A paltry parlor trick," Nigel said. "A clever act of chicanery, nothing more. No, what I was thinking was something far more grand."
    "Were you not the one who warned us of frivolously using the engine?"
    "Yes, yes, of course," Nigel replied. "But this idea is far from that."
    "What is it you are proposing?"
    "What if we made a person?"
    Silence lingered. Jeremiah frowned.
    "A person, Nigel?"
    "Yes. Imagine it—a person created through the probability engine. If we could distill the birth of a person to mere mathematics, could we not cause it to happen? Furthermore, what would occur? You and Abigail have theorized that events caused by the probability engine lead to all manner of strange coincidences and conflagrations of chance; would a person created in this way lead such a life as well? Could we, in fact, manufacture a living entity's very destiny?"
    "It is... an interesting notion," Jeremiah admitted, "yet one best constrained to matters of theory."
    "Of course, of course," Nigel said. He brought the cover down over the keys with a loud snap. "I would never think of actually putting the idea into action . Not, at least, without your and Abigail's permission."
    "Of course," Jeremiah said, although he sounded unconvinced.
    "I apologize, Jeremiah. Pardon my rudeness for keeping you so late; it sometimes grows lonely in this house. I have only fawning fools