Eldanna Rively buttoned her uniform coat carefully — one of the buttons was loose, she could never remember which one, and she didn’t have a spare handy. But it wasn’t to the point of sewing on a replacement; not yet. Besides, she loathed sewing. Buried under several other projects in her workshop was her AutoButtonizer; an invention designed to make sewing buttons obsolete. It needed only a few refinements, she was certain, but first she wanted to finish her Card-o-Matic — a mechanical arm that would, emerging from one’s bag, present one’s calling card to an acquaintance in a dignified, yet technically impressive manner. And before even getting that far she had to put the finishing touches on her BreakfasTron, which was very nearly able to serve a breakfast of bacon and eggs (properly cooked), toast (perfectly browned), and tea (hot, with cream and sugar) to Eldanna and her husband Prenskil. She was sure she could get it sorted out before long.
“Prenskil, it’s nearly the hour,” she called.
“I’m waiting at the door, dear.”
“Excellent; we shan’t be tardy then.” Eldanna hesitated, then loaded the Card-o-Matic into her bag and primed it with a stack of calling cards. Tonight’s lecture at the Institute was an important one and any number of fellow tinkerers would be in attendance. Every Byronton Tinkerer, if they could, brought their latest invention to any gathering.
It wasn’t all that different for Prenskil. Although he was a Theorist, not a Tinkerer, he carried a small satchel with copies of his latest treatise, “Ethical Considerations of the Current Crisis: The Loss of Fire as a Fuel as a Metaphor for the Loss of Retribution as a Deterrent to Uncivilized Behavior.”
Prenskil was none too pleased about their evening’s destination, the Byronton Technical Institute. It was a veritable nest of inveterate tinkerers, and in his view their time would be far better spent across the boulevard at the Byronton Contemplative College, where Professor Prashea — perhaps the most eminent theorist of all — was presenting his latest thoughts on the crisis facing them all. Byronton, the center of both culture and modern conveniences, and (in the estimation of most of its citizens) the pinnacle of civilization throughout the world, was facing a problem of existential proportions. It was a society powered by steam, from the engines, both mighty and small, that powered its ships, locomotives, streetcars, and perambulators, to the kitchen whistles signaling that the water for tea was on the boil. Steam, of course, was produced by the heat of fire, whether coal, wood, or peat. and as myriad experimental results and everyday experience of ordinary Bryontonians attested, fire was producing less and less heat as time went on.
Worse, the cooling effect seemed to be accelerating. Just the previous week the Baskerville Bullet, the newest and fastest express train on the Byronton and Gorsechester line, had stalled out two miles short of Central Station, having run completely out of coal despite having loaded what the engineers swore was twice what it should have needed to maintain their head of steam.
Luckily the Postal Packets carried by many passengers were powered by clockwork, not steam, so they were able to quickly dash off notes of annoyance and distress, post them to friends, relations, and various B&G and city officials. An hour or two after the little devices clattered off, wagons and carriages steamed (and were pulled by horses and oxen) to the stricken train to rescue the stranded passengers and their luggage.
The luggage of the Tinkerers was naturally crammed full of their various mechanisms, tools, and devices while the Theorists carried, mostly, paper and pens and ink; the essential tools of the Theorist. In a coincidence noted many times by many would-be wits, the volume and weight of the two groups’ luggage was virtually identical. “A good theory is worth its weight in constructions,” ran one quip, which was matched (though not outdone) by: “Thought made real and thought merely writ press equally upon the world.”
The evening’s lecture at the Institute promised to offer a promising new solution from Doctor Hammaradi, Byronton’s most famous Tinkerer. Eldanna felt fortunate to have managed to acquire tickets. Prenskil would have to miss the equally important lecture at the College, but it wasn’t a long-term privation. Evening lectures were the preeminent entertainment in Byronton for both Tinkerers and Theorists, and the details — in fact, the entire texts — would be published the next morning in the Byronton Daily Chronicle.
Eldanna and Prenskil took a streetcar to the Institute. Theirs was still chuffing along, but lately more and more streetcars could be seen rolling behind horses. As more and more fuel was needed to stoke a boiler, the prices had begun to shoot up, and there was even talk of coming shortages of coal.
“Look, one of the clockwork streetcars,” Eldanna pointed out.
The clockwork- powered streetcars were new, having appeared out of necessity. They were much more lightly built than the steam- and horse-powered versions, and held only two Byrontonians each. But they made their spidery way just as well, or perhaps better, having dispensed with wheels altogether in favor of multiple metal legs. One overly exuberant driver even guided his rig up and over a parked wagon rather than steering around. The clockwork springs had their limits, though, and Prenskil counted three of the lightweight trams halted in awkward positions as their operators rewound the mainsprings.
