“I don’t need your help,” McCanoc replied hotly. “Fukyama has agreed to construct me a set.”
“Fukyama has that ridiculous flying castle to support,” Talbot replied. “And he has a tendency to play the wrong ponies. Which is why he’s a credit whore. And you can quote me. He’ll be more than obliging for two hundred teracredits. He’d sell his soul for two hundred teracredits. Of course, his armor is second rate compared to mine, but you get what you pay for.”
“It will be the most famous armor ever constructed,” McCanoc pointed out. “Surely that is worth something.”
“Not much,” Talbot replied. “Damn sure not worth two, three months of my limited time left in this veil of tears,” he added, standing up.
“Get this straight, Dionys,” Talbot continued, placing his hand on the shoulder of the set of armor. “I don’t like you. I don’t like your attitude, I don’t like your actions and I don’t like your friends. I don’t care about the challenge of constructing the most massive set of cheats ever constructed. I don’t care about your money. You have nothing to offer me. I have no intention of constructing anything for you, much less power-armor. And I don’t want to see your face on my land again. Ever. Am I clear?”
“You had better rethink your position ‘Master Talbot,’ ” Dionys said, stepping forward to loom over the smaller smith. “You really don’t want to be my enemy.”
“Boy, I was threatened by people more scary than you before you were born,” Talbot said with a yawn. “Get out of my house.”
“Very well,” McCanoc said, stepping back. “But you are going to regret this for the rest of your life.”
“My only regret is letting you in the door,” Talbot replied. “And you are permanently shunned. Don’t get the idea you can come back.”
Dionys snarled at him, raised his hand above his head and snapped his fingers. After a moment he looked around in surprise.
“Among other things, I’ve got one hell of an apport block on my house,” Talbot said. “That’s the way out,” he added, pointing.
Dionys spun around in place, then stalked to the door, yanking it open after a moment’s fumbling with the archaic handle and leaving it open.
“That’s the quality of opponent you get these days.” Talbot sighed as the butler came back into the room. “He doesn’t even know enough about period to slam the door.” He flicked a finger at the door and it shut. Softly.
“Such a terrible person,” the butler said.
“Not so terrible, Charles,” Talbot replied. “Just young. And sociopathic. I wish they had cleaned that gene out, but it does have its uses from time to time. I think he enjoys expressing it a bit too much.”
He shook his head and stroked the set of armor, fingering a nick in the shoulder-piece. “Just young. Hah. He wants to be king of Anarchia. Don’t they all?”
The butler program sensed that this was one of the times it was supposed to engage in “small talk” and pulled up the appropriate sub-routine.
“King of Anarchia,” the program said in surprise. “Forsooth, there hasn’t been a king in Anarchia in over a hundred years! Not since Charles the Great conquered it all in but ten years. And then ruled it, in peace, for another ten before disappearing once again!”
“No, there hasn’t,” Talbot said, turning away from the armor and shaking his head again. “And I can do without the recap; I mean, I was alive then, remember?”
“Yes, milord. Sorry.”
Edmund stopped and stroked his beard for a moment in thought. “I need to call Fukyama and tell him to make sure to get the payment up-front.” He paused again, pulling at his beard. “King of Anarchia, hey?” He worked his face and pulled at his beard again then looked around as if surprised by his surroundings.
“I’m going to the pub for dinner,” he said abruptly.
“Yes, my lord,” the butler program replied.
“And Charles?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“ ‘Vouchsafe’ I can handle but ‘forsooth’ is overdoing it.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Don’t wait up. I feel a carouse coming on.”
“Yes, my lord,” the program said. “One item I should bring to your attention is that Miss Rachel has sent word that she will not be able visit next week. Her friend Marguerite’s birthday party will interfere.”
“Oh.” Edmund thought about that for a moment then sighed. “Definitely don’t wait up.”
CHAPTER THREE
Rachel realized as she reached the apex of the backflip that there was no way the power-ski was going to land in any semblance of an upright position.
She had been trying to keep up with Marguerite in a game of “follow the leader” but not only did her friend have far more time on power-skis, she was just naturally more adept at physical sports.
What came naturally to Marguerite was always a struggle for Rachel. Take for example power skiing. All that you had to work with was a small T handle. This generated a shield-shaped force-field under foot and an impeller wave. The impeller could be used to hover the craft or push it forward. By driving forward over the water, with the anti-gravity neutralized, the system could be used to ski across the surface of the water using weight to adjust the angle of attack and turns. From there, the rest was up to the imagination, balance and skill of the skier. In this case, Rachel had done her best to keep up as Marguerite had jetted off at nearly eighty kilometers per hour across the waves, jumping from wave-top to wave-top and spinning like an insane dervish.
But her best had just turned out to not be good enough.
She watched the pelagic water coming up towards her and considered her options. She had turned off the automatic stabilizing system, both because it interfered with the maneuvers and because it was more fun with it off. So the ski wasn’t going to save her. And no matter how she twisted or turned, she couldn’t seem to get out of head-down position.
Frankly, all she could do was take it on her personal secure-field so she tossed the control T to the side and tucked into a ball.
Just above the water an egg-shaped force-field snapped into existence, shielding her from any chance of accidental drowning and cushioning the shock of the six-meter-high, sixty kilometer per hour impact.
For just a moment Rachel had a perfect view of the pellucid blue water below her, with a green haze filtering through the water above. It was both eerily beautiful and terrifying because if one bit of technology failed she would be two meters under water and drifting down through another five thousand.
However, the shield held — it would have held against liquid magma or the photosphere of a star — and after a brief moment’s submersion she popped to the surface. At which point, the crisis being over, the field collapsed.
She paddled around in the water for a moment trying to get her bearings, then gestured at the hovering control T. After it was in hand she activated the controls and waited until it had lifted her out of the water. A few moment’s floating on the swells still didn’t reveal Marguerite’s location so she engaged the lift controls and rose until she was above the highest wave-tops. She finally spotted her friend nearly a kilometer away, flipping gracefully from swell to swell.
Cursing under her breath she tried to decide if it was worth catching up in the water. Finally she came to the conclusion that it was not and jaunted ahead of the rapidly receding blonde.
“Where were you?” Marguerite called, jumping off another swell and spinning sideways through the air. She hit, upright and still moving, damnit, in a massive explosion of water that carried as far as her hovering friend.