Council War - There Will Be Dragons - Council War - There will be Dragons Part 10
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Council War - There will be Dragons Part 10

"No dwarf will ride a horse if their own legs, or a wagon, will carry them," the dwarf said, leaning his axe on the wall. "Bloody cold weather to travel, though. Glad I am for the warmth of thy forge."

Two centuries before Angus Peterka had gotten so enraptured by the traditional image of dwarves that he had Changed and started his own dwarf colony in the Steel Hills of Sylva. The hills had been mined out millennia before, but in the last half a millennia most of the materials had been reimplanted under a long-term ecological rebuilding program or through dumping into the hollowed out mines. He had added materials that were not original to the mountains, streams of silver, various jewels, gold and, deep, deep in the mountain a nanotech-based material that he had decided met the conditions for adamantine. All of the material was put in with a semirandom generator and for the last two centuries he'd been trying to find it all. He referred to it as "proper mining," his friends referred to it as "the world's largest scavenger hunt." Other "dwarves" came and went, but Angus stayed on, propping shafts, finding veins and quaffing beer.

As a hobby, Edmund thought that it ran to obsession. On the other hand, his own obsessions had driven away more lady friends than he cared to count, including the only one he had ever truly loved. He wasn't one to cast stones.

"I've your steel load," Angus said, walking over to the forge to warm his hands. "And I've finally found a vein of bloody adamantine. I'd be happy for your opinion." He held out a hand-sized bar of a dull gray material.

"Doesn't look like much," Edmund replied, tossing it in the air. Strangely, when he threw it it seemed to have almost no weight, but when it smacked into his palm the impact was palpable. "Nannite enhanced?"

"Enhanced, yes, but they aren'tin it, ya see," Angus said. "It was developed in . . . hmmm . . . the twenty-third century or so as a reactive material for powered body armor. So it's legal for nonpowered unlimited armor tourneys!"

"Ah," Myron said. "Doesn't matter, nobody else will like it as ugly as it is."

"It changes appearance when you final treat it," Angus said, taking the bar and tossing it in the forge. "You can't just heat it; no fire you can make in a forge, even a multistage one, will affect it. It's rated to stay intact in a photosphere; youhave to use nannites and electromagnetic fields to form it. But, oh, when youdo work it!" He drew his belt knife and flourished the blade. "Behold! Adamantine!"

The knife blade was bright silver with a rainbow shimmer running through it. Edmund took the knifeand ran his finger against it, drawing back a cut callus. Then he took up the sword blade he had been working on and scratched the knife blade against it. Instead of leaving a streak or a small cut it sliced deeply into the metal.

"Bloody hell," Myron said.

"Did I mention it will form a monomolecular edge?" Angus said with another beard-shrouded grin.

"Strange feel," Talbot said thoughtfully, tossing the knife up and down. After a couple of tosses he threw it to stick in the door. The knife sank up to its hilt. "Nonperiod metals. The Council won't permit it for tourney."

"Not regular tourneys, no," Angus said with a shrug. "But unlimited nonpowered, yes."

"Yah," Edmund said. "How did you say you form it?" he asked, plucking the material out of the fire.

He tested it with a wetted finger but as he half expected it was not even warm. "Strange stuff."

"Molecularly it's even stranger. Basically for the first run you set up a molecular lattice using nannites. After it's formed the first time, it's easier to work with. But on subsequent formings you have to convince it it's ready to be worked."

"Explains a lot," Edward grinned. "Ican look it up you know."

"Go ahead then," Angus replied with a broad smile through his beard. "One of the things the original researchers missed is that there's a way to make it from other ores. Naturally occurring ones."

"It's still not useable in tourney," Talbot said. "And it's not the best material available for unlimited combats. So it's cute, but that's about it."

"Not quite," Angus replied, pointing at his mail. "Genie, disengage personal protection field. Now, Edmund, take a whack at me."

"No way," Edmund said, glancing around the forge. "I don't have a finished blade."

"Use my axe," Angus argued. "Go ahead. It won't hurt."

"The axe will cut through the bloody armor, you idiot!"

"Nah, try it."

"It looks like steel," Talbot temporized, picking up the axe.

"You can make it look that way," Peterka said. "Strike!"

"Shit," Edmund said, drawing back the blade. "You asked for it." He swung hard, aimingthough the dwarf. Even in mail, even if the alloy held which, in all honesty it probably would, the impact was bound to at least crack a rib. At the very least, it would be painful as hell. But any damage he would do, the nannites would fix quickly enough.

The axe struck the mail and rebounded as if it had hit a wall of steel. He dropped it with a grimace at the harmonics.

"Bloody hell!"

Angus had been knocked backwards by the blow but he grinned nonetheless.

"When two pieces of the material in contact are subjected to lateral motion, basically when they experience friction, they form temporary carbon to carbon covalent bonds. I said it was designed as reactive armor. When you hit it, it turns into plate.Diamond plate."

"Nowthat's interesting," Edmund said, poking at the now supple mail. One of the buggers about using plate was that it didn't flex. A person wearing it was locked into the form of the armor, sometimes uncomfortably. "What about when you're moving, bending arms, stuff like that?"

"The energy isn't high enough to matter. It's a tad less flexible than standard mail, but not much."

"Interesting," Talbot muttered. "How do you work it?"

"It's a proprietary program," Peterka said. "But since you're such a good friend . . ." he added with a grin.

"You're going to go off playing with this and not work on my thresher, aren't you?" Myron said.

"Nah, I can do both. Bring me over the pieces you need repaired and the specs and I'll do them for you.""Right, that's settled," Angus said. "Now let's go get us a drink and celebrate my finding the first vein."

"How much of this is there?" Myron asked.

"Not that much in the first vein, but there's more," the dwarf replied. "We'll find the rest. It's bloody deep, though. We're at a depth that period pumps don't handle well."

"There's period and there's period," Edmund said. "Buy me a drink, and what's more important get me some of this stuff to play with, and I'll fill you in on some aspects you might not have considered."

"Deal."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

"Deal," Daneh sighed, terminating the call.

The job was not her favorite; a person wanted an "original" Transfer into something very much like a manta ray. But it was for a worthy cause-the form was a deep-diver and the person wanted to do deep sea research "on site"-and there weren't any serious problems like Herzer's to work on.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Azure lift up and shake himself, heading for Rachel's room, which probably meant that she was back. Thinking about it, Daneh didn't think she'd seen her daughter in a couple of days.

"Rachel?" Daneh called, and her voice was automatically transferred to the girl's room.

"Yes, Mother?"

"Where have you been?"

There was a pause that caused Daneh to sit up and override whatever answer she was going to get. "Come in here for a moment, will you?"

"Yes, Mother," Rachel replied with a sigh that was faithfully replicated by the transmission system.

As soon as the girl walked into the room, Daneh's stomach sank. She'd already been feeling depressed about not having any projects to test her mettle. And now this.

"Rachel, I thought we had agreed no body sculpting?"

There wasn't much, but to her expert eye it stood out like a lightbulb. Rachel's eyebrows had been curved, her cheekbones sharpened and her nose slightly thinned. Furthermore, she had had her breasts reduced and her butt tucked even more than for Marguerite's party.

"Ididn't agree,you agreed," Rachel answered hotly.

"I'm your parent, it'smy decision," Daneh replied coldly. "Where did you have it done?"

"I don't have to tell you that," the girl said, crossing her arms. "I . . . I don't have to say."

"You could have gotten it off the Net," Daneh said, tilting her head to the side. "It's the sort of generic junk you can find there," she added with professional disdain. "But the Net has my specific prohibition against it. So howdid you get it done?"

"I Don't Have To Say," Rachel repeated. "And it'snot generic junk!"

"Well, it's very poorly constructed," Daneh said, coldly. "Give me the benefit of my expertise here, daughter. The eyebrows arebadly balanced, the cheekbones detract from the nose and the combination makes you look like a short-beaked bird. I mean, it'snot well done."

"Well, you wouldn'tlet me get awell-done job, Mother," she spat, furiously. Then she slumped shaking her head. "But . . . you're right. Itdoes look awful, doesn't it?"

"Not awful," Daneh said, tightly. "But it's neither fashionable, not that I like the current fashions, they're very unhealthy, nor is it particularly good looking onyou . Face it, dear, unless or until you get a complete body and face sculpt, and end up looking like your friend Marguerite and all the other kids who were stamped out of the exact same genetic modeling kit, there's not much you can do to look like current fashions. You're too . . ." Daneh paused, searching for the right words.

"Fat," Rachel said."Not fat, womanly," Daneh replied. "Nobody these days is fat. Fat is when you have flabby bits hanging . . ." She looked at her stomach and arms and shrugged. "You've seen pictures. You'rebeautiful dear. You know very well that at times you would have been considered beyond beautiful," she added with a sigh.

"Sure, Mom, but these days guys don't think in terms of women who are built to survive minor famines."

"You're not exactly a Reubens model," Daneh replied. "Do you want it undone? Or do you want to keep it until you can get a proper bod-sculpt? I know some people who do very good work."

"When?" Rachel asked, surprised.

"When you turn eighteen," Daneh replied. "In the meantime, you're groundedindefinitely . If you can't keep a promise like this one, I'm not sure what promises youwill keep."

"Mother!"

"Don't 'mother' me," Daneh said. "The proof that you aren't old enough to make the decision is that you went behind my back to do it and then got it done badly."

"Oooo . . . I . . . I . . ." Rachel worked her jaw furiously and then spun on her heel and stalked out of the room.

"Genie, I'm serious about the grounding. Remind me of it in a week."

"Yes, ma'am," the program responded.

Daneh sighed and rubbed her temples. "What a day."

Dionys' surprise turned out to be . . . a girl. Or, Herzer thought much more likely, a homunculus.

She, and about a half dozen of McCanoc's usual hangers on, were in a wooded glen. She was small and fragile looking with a short black hair and an elfin face. And she looked frightened.

"Is that a homunculus?" he asked, just to be sure. Normally the homunculus would have been wearing a rather simple smile. This one looked downright terrified. Just to be sure, he sent a mental query to the Net and was assured that it was, in fact, a homunculus. Not a terrified preteen girl.

"Oh yes," Dionys replied with a sardonic grin. "But a very special one. She has been programmed to fear sex. So much more . . . interesting."

"I thought they were illegal?" Herzer said, breathlessly. His face and hands felt hot.

"Not . . . illegal so much as restricted," Dionys said with another grin. "It helps to have friends in high places."

Herzer was not a virgin, at least with homunculi. There was some debate about whether that counted but with the onset of the worst of his symptoms, making friends, especially girlfriends, had been tough. So homunculi were the only route open to his developing teenage libido short of using his hand.

And he always cast himself in the role of the hero, the pure paladin on the white charger. But . . .

He knew the allure. The desire not just to be in a woman, be one with one, but to control her and dominate. To take instead of negotiate or, in the case of normal homunculi, be given freely. It was a secret he normally kept deep inside and one that he didn't discuss. Ever. There was no one to talk to about it. No one who would . . . understand. He'd heard rumors about homunculi being abused, some of them even having to be recycled and replaced. Now he understood why.

Hero? Or rapist? Sometimes . . . the line seemed so strange. The joy of battle was so close to how he felt when he fantasized . . . bad things. Even in his own mind he had a hard time saying "rape." To take the life of an orc, to slaughter his enemies and see them running before his charger, to throw a frightened girl to the ground and take what had been withheld. To get back at all the girls who sniggered at him when the convulsions would hit. All the girls who rejected him when he needed them most. To take and take again. To punish.

Was he a paladin or a villain? He just couldn't decide.

Especially now looking at this vulnerable, frightened . . . toy. She wasn't a real woman, a real girl.She was just an artificial construct. Somehow that both relieved him and made the . . . thing less illicit.

Almost less interesting. But not much.

"Please," the homunculus whispered, tears running down her cheek. "Please . . ."

He felt the heat rising in his body no matter how he tried to check it. This was just . . .

"There's nothing wrong," Dionys said. "Men have . . . needs. This is one way to let them out.

Women have . . . very similar needs you'll eventually find. But even that is so sterile. So many rules, so many precautions. This is the real." He tapped Herzer on the back. Lightly. "Go ahead. Take her. Enjoy."

Herzer took an involuntary step forward and reached out one hand to the girl's blouse. It was white silk with old-fashioned buttons to match the short skirt of the same material. He imagined himself ripping the blouse open, running his hand up her thighs . . . taking her.

"Please don't," the girl whimpered. "Please . . . ?"

He worked his jaw for just a moment and shook his head.

"No, Dionys," he said, harshly. "This isn't right."

"How can it not be?" The man sounded more surprised than anything else, as if the thought had never occurred to him. "She's only a homunculus."

"And her fear isn't real," Herzer agreed, although it was an intellectual agreement only. "But . . . it's still not right. I'm not . . . this isn't right." He looked at the two holding her arms but they just grinned. "It's not right."

"So you've said," Dionys replied, disapprovingly. "Very well, if you don't want to stay and enjoy yourself, you can go. Go to your meek little playthings and all the so-called friends who betrayed you."