Neither Common Nor Sensible

Finally we're getting our supplies in. Which is fortunate. If I have to work for the military, I want the military budget to go with it at least, and it looks as though we have that. And considering how colossally everything went wrong on Monday, it's a relief that today's experiments are going smoothly.

Chris said something about having written to Szilárd. I have no idea how Szilárd will react to the existence of magic, though there was a time when I was convinced he already knew. I still regret letting her talk me out of breaking the Withdrawal Acts. I really wanted to know what he'd come up with and I still do.

He's in the United States, of course, which I have always thought a strange locution, even for mundanes. The inhabitants of the former American colonies have never been anything I'd call united, except in their distrust for one another, even the mundanes. I can't believe that he'd be happy there for long. Of course they're not being bombed, or whatever that was Monday night, and that probably counts for a lot. (Monday night, I could easily have been convinced to relocate, and it's not especially reassuring that Gardiner and someone no-one's ever heard of had to save the city. I haven't had much to do yet with Gardiner...but I've certainly heard enough.)

No word from our Califian pilot. Damn it.

Lovelace came by to check on the artificery we had installed. I know he never changes, but when I said he looked like someone had died he just glared at me. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to read the Herald once in a while, but I really did think he'd just come off another of his three-day benders.

Abso-fucking-lutely nothing is working the way it's supposed to today.

Nothing. The numbers just don't add up, the reactions don't happen. This is the thing I hate about working in arcane spaces. Sometimes nothing works and it's not because you didn't do things properly, it's because physics is taking a bloody day off!

And when that happens it never means anything good.

Meanwhile, Chrissie gets letters.

...I think I just heard an alarm.

Perhaps I should have listened more closely to Červenka when he was telling me how to turn that thing

We're stuck, so Chrissie goes and wanders off, and Marek just lets her. Fortunately that's not the way I do things. If I can't make this work then probably nobody can, so I have to keep trying.

I still haven't heard from Rob. Like as not he wasn't serious when he said he'd be back. I refuse to mope by the telephone like some girl. It doesn't matter anyway. Nothing really matters but our work, especially in times like these.