Titans of Chaos

Victor's reports were usually terse: He spent his afternoons underwater offshore, trying to buildor, rather, grow a particle accelerator out of a coral bed into which he'd designed cells like thosein an electric eel. He would be speaking one moment about peroxisomes and sphingolipids, allelesand demes, and the next about RF cavity resonators, Cockcroft-Walton generators or voltagemultipliers, or plasma wakefield acceleration.

Quentin's reports were even more incomprehensible: He had covered the concrete floor of theabandoned cabin with chalk and paint, and each night he interviewed a different creature, and atreport times, he could produce lists of the various felonies and enormities they could commit, "atthe behest of the operator," or the liberal arts they could teach. He ended every report with a pleato Vanity to go back to civilization for a day, so he could reference books on goet-ics, or silverand tin to forge talismans, materials to build a proper anthanor.

It was like living on an island with Nikola Tesla and Johann Faust.

Vanity, being the captain of the group, did not give reports, but she had found a geologicallyimpossible series of caves to the south of the island, erected different laws of nature in each, andwas trying to tinker slowly with them. She ordered us to avoid the spot. The caves grew prone toodd noises and earth tremors, but Vanity did not quit. Being buried alive simply held no terror forher. "What are the odds the rock will be solid, and not have a hidden door?" she askeddismissively.

Colin refused to give reports. He would talk smugly about how his paradigm "... had no research,no astrology, no physics, no demonology. Focus my emotions, they come to a point, andeverything I'm trying to do just clicks into place. I'm a point-and-click interface! User-friendly!"

"Music!" Vanity would say. "You should be practicing music! It's the key to your powers!"

"Gah! Music is my worst class."

"How can you tell," I chimed in sweetly, "among so many contenders for the honor, Colin?"

"I still haven't done my Mozart paper for Miss... Jesus nailed up a tree! I'm never going to have todo that paper. Not ever. No symphony in E-flat. No Baroque period, no Classical, no Romantic. Idon't have any worst class anymore. Or a best class! I don't have any class at all!"

So he stood, with his eyes illuminated by the beatific vision of Life without School. His eyes wereblind with happiness, and his mouth hung open in a smile.