I watched Twenty depart, for what it was worth. With powerful strokes from its large wingspan, dipping and bowing in the wind to conserve power, it show like a bullet into the storm and was lost within seconds.

I looked down at the hastily-scribbled calculations and difference-engine punchouts covering my desk and tried not to look grim. I was playing long odds; there was much that could go wrong and precious little margin for error.

The rows and columns of neat holes and the gear-typed mill-driven tables spilled everywhere. Twenty needed to make best speed through wind and snow to Brallis-Foray. It would need to find the location of the Silver Skies, and deliver the message before the other clipper moved out of range, perhaps in two day’s time. So many unknowns.

Snow drummed at the window and swirled in the air outside as if it had some greater purpose.