Cost Reasoning

“You’ve listened to our community’s opinions, and you still decide against them.” Carl leaned against the door, blocking the exit.

“It isn’t their decision to make, Carl. It’s ours,” Mary said. “And there’s little time for debate.”

“Mary, you returned from the aeronautics show hours ago. It’s too soon to take flight again. No one has inspected your silks. The carrier pigeons need sufficient rest.”

“Nothing I can’t contend with,” she said. “I’ll leave The Flying Cloud for the men to look over and take The Zephyr instead. Let Clio and Thalia take their rest. Melpomene is strong enough for this short trip.”

“If you won’t heed your husband’s concern for your safety, perhaps you’ll listen to my objections as your co-founder.” Carl grasped his wife’s wrist. “This trip undermines everything we’ve built on Balloon Farm.”

Mary sighed, resting a callused hand atop his. “Ideals are well and good, my love, but people need to eat, and they can’t eat ideals. We need the money.”

“I disagree. We’re still a farm, aren’t we? Let them eat what we produce.” Carl gestured to the window. “There’s at least fifteen acres of orchard that are untended.”

“The orchard won’t produce until late spring or later. Our crew of scientists have no agricultural experience. Your mind is unlimited, but your body and time are finite.” Mary caressed her husband’s receding hairline.

Carl grew rigid at her touch. “Labor is good for the mind. A strong body is a strong mind.”

“Will these postgraduate farmhands be eager to study meteorology or chemistry after hours in the elements? Will they stay awake through your lectures on the merits of hydrogen versus helium? They signed up for intellectual advancement, not to experiment on their bowels by subsisting on apples alone.”

“Then let the women of the house find further domestic efficiencies. We don’t need gleaming floorboards if they can turn their efforts to another industry,” Carl suggested.

“For a man who spends the bulk of his time in the house, you’re obtuse to the machinations of domesticity. Gleaming floorboards, indeed,” Mary scoffed. “The women do more than make the house livable. They oil your printing press, restore the library after your all-night colloquia, and mend the silks the men destroy with their experiments.”

“As you said, mere details to contend with. Accepting that money comes with conditions.”

“Those conditions didn’t stop you from marrying me,” Mary replied tartly. “The money is mine to use as I see fit. What we’ve built here is the worth the risk.”

“I refuse to allow the byproducts of my mind to be contaminated by your family’s money. On Balloon Farm, we perform our own research, engineer our own aeronautic technology, observe conditions with our own eyes and document our conclusions, free from influence.”

“You have that freedom because of that money. Do you know how much we spend when one of your experiments catches fire?”

“That’s hardly worth mentioning. I have rigorous safety protocols—"

“Or what it costs to run a reprint of your publications if you find even the smallest typography error?”

“PhD candidates are incompetent typesetters,” Carl grumbled.

“And I do not hear objections when we procure your scientific instruments and supplies from local universities; the same universities you’ve decried as sheep for bending the knee to preserve their funding.” Mary crossed her arms. “This is an accounting molehill you’re turning into an ethical mountain.”

“Ethics always supersede accounting. Money has no soul. It’s fundamentally corrupt,” Carl ranted. “Look at what it’s done: unqualified leaders rise to power because of it. Corporations destroy our planet in pursuit of it. Even science and technology, which once had such promise to democratize and educate, is influenced by it. Balloon Farm must stay separate.”

“Carl, I put my life in your hands each time I step into a dirigible of your design. I’m not trying to impede your advances, but the Farm has no independent income save what I make at aeronautics exhibitions.”

“Those petty performances are unworthy of my research. You’re nothing more than a show pony in brass buttons, aloft in a candy-colored balloon. People come to laugh, not to experience the wonders of empiricism.”

“If they see us as a sideshow, then so be it. Money is money.”

“All input from the outside world pollutes the vision of Balloon Farm. With your family, it’s association. From the modern world, it’s disdain.”

“My family is associated with me by blood, and there’s nothing I can do to change that. They’ve respected our wishes—”

“Past conduct isn’t evidence of future behavior. If the wolf is at the door, withdraw all the funds in cash and disassociate from your family altogether,” Carl peered at his wife, his eyes owlish through magnified lenses. “Unless you’re unwilling to cut ties for some reason.”

Mary’s jaw dropped. “Are you questioning my loyalty?”

“Insisting on maintaining the account gives me pause,” Carl replied coolly. “Sometimes you resemble an ostrich, hiding from the bitter realities of modernity until conditions are more favorable and you see an opportunity to return.”

“If anyone is an ostrich, it’s you— a flightless bird who has never tasted the exhilaration of the skies. Balloon Farm is a tomb of your own making: a place to live out your days ensconced in your empirical hobby horses without consideration for the future.”

“I built the farm for Elizabeth.” Silence swallowed the study. Mary refused to break eye contact. Carl stood his ground, then continued.

“At her birth, we agreed she’d grow up uncorrupted. She’ll inherit and govern this paradise of pure reason.”

“Then we’ll curse her with an albatross. She has no experience with the outside world, and worse, she has no peers to navigate the trials of life. She won’t survive without us.” Mary worried a wayward strand of hair.

“We can’t know that. We need more time. If we’re patient and stay the course, others will find us: educated minds repelled by the conduct of the current regime and craving a purer form of humanity. Then Elizabeth will grow in a community of the deserving,” Carl reached for his wife, but she turned away from him.

“Money buys us time. If you shun attention, we can’t earn money or grow our community. As it stands, we have less than two weeks of provisions to sustain us. If people get hungry, they will leave for greener pastures. And Elizabeth is growing gaunt, not taller,” Mary said wearily. “My family’s money is the most immediate remedy.”

“Untrue! Even as we speak, my publications are circulating in the scientific community.”

“A scientific community that has moved on. Consider the zeitgeist of modern aeronautics: unmanned aircraft, vertical takeoff and landing, advanced air mobility. Who has any use for hot air balloons and weather studies?”

“My weather studies are the backbone of environmental research. Real organizations, not foundations serving as dumping grounds to assuage a billionaire’s guilt.”

“At best, your papers will be read by a small percentage of people who will entertain the ideas but never act on them. Academica is an avenue to industry, and industry is governed by politics. It’s an ouroboros of the most poisonous species.”

Carl fumed but did not speak.

Mary shook her head, exhausted. “It’s growing late. For all your insistence on reason, I’ve heard no logical appeal to dissuade me. I’ll travel to my parents’ tomorrow, withdraw the funds, and return to the Farm by sunset.”

“As I said, you won’t be swayed. And neither will I. Mark my words, we’ll resume this discussion. When you depart tomorrow, don’t take the balloon,” Carl called to his wife’s retreating back.

“You’d have me call an Uber, would you?” Mary muttered under her breath.