As the tip of the laser reached the end of the chalked line, Nylan eased it back along the second line, then along the third, before releasing the stud. He wiped his forehead with the back of his forearm, then knelt, adjusted the powerhead, and positioned the laser for the undercut.
Still concentrating, he powered the laser, smoothed the flow, and drew it along the line. Then he released the stud, and, using the gauntlets he had pressed into service to protect his hands from rock droplets, he tried to wiggle the stone. The whole line wobbled.
He nodded and began the cross-cuts.
When he finished those, the line of clouds had passed, and the sun was again beating down on him. The first individual building stone came away from the black rock easily, and Nylan smiled and lifted the goggles.
“Take’em away, Huldran.”
The stocky blond marine motioned to Berlis and Weindre. “You two-come and help.”
Nylan plopped down on a low stone and wiped his forehead, feeling even more drained than when he had ridden the Winterlance’s net, more drained than from overuse of reflex boost. His eyes flicked downhill. Through the narrow opening in the gorge he could see most of the field to the east of the tower site. Thin sprigs of green sprouted from the hand-furrowed rows. To the north, where he could not see, there were longer green leaves from the field where the potatoes and other root crops had been planted in hillocks.
“These are heavy,” grunted Weindre, staggering down to the sledge with a single block.
“That’s the idea,” said Huldran. “We can’t waste power on small blocks. Besides, bigger blocks are harder to smash with primitive technology. So stop complaining and get on with carrying.”
When the three had cleared out the half-dozen blocks, Nylan stood and chalked more lines, longer ones, and went back to work.
By the time he had finished the next line, his knees were wobbling. He sank onto the stone after he depowered the laser and pushed the goggles onto his forehead.
“Darkness-the engineer’s white like a demon tower.” Huldran looked at Nylan. “Don’t move.” She turned to Berlis and Weindre. “You can still load those blocks on the sledge. Berlis, you can lead the horse down the gorge and out to the tower site.” The stocky blond marine looked at Nylan. “I’ll be right back. Just sit there.”
Nylan couldn’t have taken a step if he’d wanted to, not without falling on his face, not the way the gorge threatened to turn upside down around him.
He sat blankly until Huldran returned and thrust a cup in front of his face. He drank, and the swirling within his head slowly subsided enough for him to take a small mouthful of the concentrate-fortified sawdust called energy bread. He chewed slowly.
Ayrlyn walked up the gorge carrying a medkit, steppingaround Berlis and the slowly descending horse and sledge.
“What happened to you? You look like you stayed on boost too long.”
Nylan finished the mouthful of bread. “I think I overdid it.”
“What do you mean?”
“A variation on the law of conservation of energy and matter, or something like that.” Nylan wiped his forehead with the back of his forearm.
Ayrlyn looked at Huldran, who looked at Weindre. Weindre shrugged.
“This place allows me to operate on something like the neuronet, and I can smooth the power flows to the laser and focus the laser into a tighter beam. That lets me cut with about half the power. It’s not free, though.”
The flame-haired former comm officer nodded. “Heavy labor? Like boost?”
Nylan nodded.
Huldran’s blond eyebrows knitted in puzzlement.
“On the ship’s net,” Nylan tried to explain, “the fusactors supply the power to sustain the net. It’s a small draw compared to the total power expended by the system, but it’s real. This … place … is different. I can replicate the effect of the net-but I have to supply some form of power, energy-and it’s just like working.”
“That local in white …?” began Ayrlyn, her eyes widening.
“Probably something like that, but I don’t know.” Nylan finished off the chunk of energy bread, and took another gulp of the nutrient replacement. “It’s frustrating. I find a way to save power, and it’s limited by my strength.”
“It’s a lot faster than using a sledge and chisel to quarry the rock,” pointed out Ayrlyn.
“It’s slow.”
“Can anyone else do it?”
“I don’t know.” Nylan shrugged. “I’d guess it’s like being an engineer or a pilot or a comm officer. If you have some basic talents, you can learn it, but …”
“Can you use the laser again, and let me try to watch or follow?” Ayrlyn looked around. “You two try also.”
Nylan stood and stretched. “I’ll cut a few.” He used the chalk and roughed out the lines he needed, then picked up the powerhead. “Ready?”
“Go ahead.”
He dropped the goggles in place, touched the stud, and began to smooth the fluxes, trying to be as gentle as possible, and realizing that the gentle efforts were nearly as effective and not quite so draining.
After the first cut, he stopped. “Well?”
“I couldn’t see or feel anything,” said Weindre.
“No,” added Huldran.
“There’s a sort of darkness around you,” said Ayrlyn, “and that darkness seems to focus the whiteness-it has a hint of an ugly red-of the laser.”
Nylan nodded. “That feels right. Do you want to try it?”
“No!” Ayrlyn’s mouth dropped open after her involuntary denial. “I … I don’t quite know why I said that.”
“Something in you feels rather strongly. Do you have any idea why?”
“The white of the laser. It feels wrong … really wrong … disordered … ugly.” Ayrlyn shuddered.
“I couldn’t see anything like that,” said Huldran, “but I watched the power meter, and you’re using a little less than half what’s normal, except for the first few instances. It seems to be cutting better than I ever saw.”
“What is this place, anyway?” asked Weindre.
“Who knows? A different universe, maybe, where the laws of nature, physics, are different. Not a lot different, or we wouldn’t be surviving, but different.” Nylan picked up the laser again. “And if we don’t get enough stone for the tower, we won’t be surviving.” He disliked his own tone, perhaps because it reminded him of Ryba’s attitude. What was happening to him? He was seeing patterns and neuronets that couldn’t be and getting ever more critical of Ryba. And yet he worried about sounding like her.
“You’ll have to take it slowly,” insisted Ayrlyn.
“Unless you can find someone else who can do it,” pointed out Huldran.
“Why don’t I see if I can rotate some of the marines up here, just to see if anyone can do it-or even sense what you’re doing?” asked Ayrlyn.
“Fine. But there’s only so much power here.”
“I’ll send them,” said Ayrlyn firmly. “Take your time.”
“Yes, mother fowl.”
“Cluck, cluck …”
Nylan grinned and readjusted the goggles. “Ready?”
“Yes, ser.”
He lifted the powerhead again.
XV
“HOW DID PEOPLE come here?” asked Ayrlyn, moving back from the heat of the cook fire.
“The old ones?” Narliat edged toward the heat and half turned to face the redhead. “The old ones came a long time ago.”
In the growing late twilight of early summer, Nylan sat behind the two, concentrating on Narliat’s speech and trying to catch the meanings of the slurred and modified Rationalist words.
“ … like you strangers, they came from the skies … not in tents of iron, but upon the backs of iron birds …” Narliat gestured with the healing hand, and the missing thumb and forefinger did not seem to hamper him as much as the stillsplinted broken leg.