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their team. The previous week, she had still been preparing for their departure when the Society directors had abruptly assigned her to an upcoming two-year expedition to determine potential sites for rubber tree plantations in the Pacific islands. They’d replaced her with Regnier Goltzius, a recent Academy of Sciences graduate.
    The directors gave a sound reason for the change: Longcreek’s experience made her a better choice for the long and potentially perilous journey. David wasn’t fooled, however. She wasn’t the only experienced botanist available to the Society—but unlike Goltzius, she wasn’t the youngest son of a cousin to the Grand Duchess of Erie, one of the Society’s most generous patrons. Immediately placing Goltzius on an expedition no doubt pleased Her Highness…and the directors didn’t risk her anger by sending him to his death. Exploration societies were no strangers to fatalities among their ranks, but danger was less likely found in Iceland.
    Resigned to the change, Longcreek had turned months of research and notes over to the young man. To his credit, Goltzius had seemed to recognize the machinations behind his placement, and had appeared both frustrated and embarrassed during their first meeting. He hadn’t apologized, however, which had furthered David’s good impression—as had Goltzius’s keen interest in their survey of the abandoned island.
    But at this moment, Goltzius’s interest was directed upward. “Was all well with the young woman?”
    “Yes.” Until David had chased her off—but he glanced up, too, hoping to see her again. A whirring click sounded in his ear. The vision in his left eye blurred and sharpened as specialized lenses rotated into place beneath the tempered glass shield—the nanoagents aiding him in his search. Whenever he didn’t see an object that he was looking for, the mechanical bugs helped him find it. Now, their assistance didn’t make any difference. The thermal lens slipped into place, showing him bright orange heat concentrated around Phatéon ’s boilers and the yellow eddies of steam rising from the vents. No people were visible; though warm, they didn’t emit enough heat to register through the hull, and even his nanoagents couldn’t help him see through solid wood.
    “You be careful with those, now!”
    With alarm, Dooley abandoned them to look after his own interests—the clockwork dogs that would pull their supply sleds. David turned to watch, his default optic slipping back into place, matching the vision of his left eye to his right. At the steamcoach, Dooley fluttered about until the stevedores carefully set the dogs’ crate on the cargo lift platform.
    Goltzius frowned. “Are they so fragile?”
    “No.” David’s equipment for measuring ground tremors and their surveyors’ tools were more likely to be damaged than those dogs—and a good thing, too. Iceland was green for a good portion of the year but earned its name in winter; those dogs were invaluable in the snow and over the glaciers they planned to survey. When spring came, they only had to roll the sled’s runners into wheels, and the dogs would still be useful. “They wouldn’t be any good to us if they couldn’t survive a fall or two. But listen to Dooley, and he’d have you believe they had brains instead of gears, and that they’d cry over pebbles in their paws or shiver in the snow.”
    “I hear that, Kentewess!” Shaking his head, Dooley rejoinedthem. “And agree with every word. You tell me now, young man: What difficulty would it have been for the blacksmiths to put a fur coat over their bare metal bones?”
    “How could they, when most of the fur left in New Leiden already went into your hat?” As the older man snorted, David looked to Goltzius. “The first snowstorm, he’ll toss us out of the tent to make room for those dogs.”
    “You striplings will be better off outside than those pitiful mongrels would. They don’t have any heat to share,