Back in the Ferry Museum gallery, Pella Rook stood before the master blackboard, her piece of yellow chalk poised over the column labeled Overtime Reserve. Beside her, Kel Dorr was holding Hal Rook’s brass water clock. He watched the water drip through the tuned glass orifice into the lower metal tube.
“We lost seven minutes and fourteen seconds on the re-route, Pella,” Kel said, his voice flat with anxiety. “We had to clear the collapsed tools, abandon the cellar, and run the copper wire through the roof loops. We only have fifty-eight minutes left before Ada’s countdown expires.”
Corvin Hest leaned over the table, his pen hovering over the dispatch log. “We could adjust the clock on the slate, Pella. We could mark the re-route as town preparation time so the specialists don’t feel the pressure rushing them.”
“No,” Pella said firmly. She drew a heavy yellow line across the slate and writing: RE-ROUTE DELAY: 7m 14s DEDUCTED. She turned to face the room. “We don’t lie to our own clocks, Corvin. If we pretend we have ninety minutes when we only have fifty-eight, Ada will pace her valve set for an hour that doesn’t exist. She’ll be caught in mid-turn when her return oval opens. We’ll leave a half-closed valve under full load. In field skill, an honest delay is information. A hidden delay is an accident waiting to happen. The clock stands at fifty-eight minutes. We work with what we have.”
