by E G Manetti
“Give them space,” Solomon orders quietly.
Lilian and the others have unconsciously crowded forward, riveted by the extraction process. No sooner has the tour moved back then the miners carefully pull two yards and nearly three hundred pounds of Vistrite core onto the waiting sled. The small group of observers gives a brief round of applause, led by Seigneur Solomon. Even the wager-losing guard joins in.
Attempting closer observation of the cross section, Lilian finds her vision clouded. Reaching a hand to her goggles she comes away with a layer of reddish-brown crevasse stone dust, the color the result of the gray crevasse stone interacting with the cutters. Taking a linen square from her satchel, Lilian clears her goggles and mask. Carefully folding the linen square to retain the dust, Lilian tucks it away for Chrys.
“Fifty refined,” the Southern Crevasse master murmurs over the earpieces.
“A bit more than that,” Solomon’s voice holds a smile. “As you will soon see.”
Fifty refined pounds? More like forty-eight. What thinks Seigneur Solomon? As the sled passes, Lilian spots a six-inch swath of exposed Vistrite. The cloudy dark gray of unrefined Vistrite is mottled with blisters from the cutters, damaged beyond use. The refiners will need to peel away at least ten centimeters to find viable crystal. Mayhap more. Other than that one spot, the Vistrite is encased in a thin layer of protective crevasse stone.
Falling in behind the others trailing the sled, Lilian removes her goggles and mask, breathing in the pleasantly dry scent of freshly cut core. The easy camaraderie among the highly placed warriors, the Crevasse and refinery masters, the miners, and the guards puts Lilian at ease. In this group, her ambivalent status as conservator and apprentice does not isolate her. They are all united in their commitment to Vistrite.
“I thought the cylinder would be smoother,” Fletcher comments to Irina about the wavy surface of the Vistrite core.
“Conservator, what think you of the core’s surface?” Solomon calls from the front of the formation where he strides along with the taller Chief Amanda.
When none answer, Lilian realizes that other than Solomon, she is the only conservator present. “The miners have demonstrated considerable skill, Seigneur. The core is nearly perfect and the surrounding stone so thin that very little Vistrite will be lost when the stone is removed.”
“I agree, Mistress Lilian.” Solomon turns his head to reveal a smile. “The sample is ideal for the demonstration.”
Noting Fletcher’s chagrin, Lilian adds, “Master Fletcher, you are correct in thinking a standard core will be smoother. It will also be at least four times the size of this sample. At that size, speed is more important than precision. More protective stone is left, but the total commission is high enough to warrant the deductions for the excess stone.”
“Working such a small section, the miners took the opportunity to shave as close to the Vistrite as possible,” Irina remarks, her intelligence filling in for lack of operational details.
“As you voice, Mistress Irina,” Lilian confirms. “It is not often miners are able to display their skills for the Vistrite seigneur. They would have been foolish to miss the opportunity.”
»◊«
Once again, Lilian’s ears ring as the riser carriage moves miles through rock. As the riser doors open, the tour is blasted by a wall of noise. The roar of the rushing fluid used in refinement and waste removal blends with the hum of the vacuums that pull the liquid into the recyclers. When compounded by multiple devices, the quiet buzz of Vistrite systems may be as soothing as the sea hitting the shore or as angry as a wasp attack. Somehow, the refinery equipment encompasses both.
Lilian firmly resets her headgear to take full advantage of the ear protection as she follows the group into the refinery. With each step, the astringent chemical smell increases, setting Lilian’s nose to tingling. Ahead of her, Fletcher is lightly rubbing his nose.
To the surprise and discontent of the entire tour, they are required to yield their slates and any other Vistrite-controlled devices. Seigneur Solomon is the first to yield his, explaining, “The experimental device has some unexpected side effects. It can disrupt or damage Vistrite-controlled devices.”
In an isolated section of the refinery, a technician waits by a small table containing a large box. In the crowded refinery, where every inch of space is utilized, thirty paces of vacant space surround the man and his mysterious box, enough to work two full-sized Vistrite cores.
As the miners position the core near the table, Amanda lectures, “The Laser Sting will peel the crevasse-stone case from the core with less than half the damage of current techniques.”
“Half? You jest,” the Ascendant refinery master scoffs.
“Not in the least,” Amanda frowns. “In peeling five centimeters of crevasse stone, the Laser Sting will only destroy two and a half centimeters of Vistrite.”
Lilian cannot repress a gasp as she runs the sums in her head. Seigneur Solomon was correct. Even with the losses from the section of exposed Vistrite, the core will yield at least fifty pounds of refined Vistrite and ultimately eight ounces of encoded Vistrite crystals. Multiplied by thousands of cores per year, that is a vast increase in Vistrite crystals. An increase that could extend the supply of Vistrite by a century or more. A supply that only the Vistrite conservators know is not projected to last more than another millennium, if that long.
It is not merely a matter of Blooded Dagger survival. Vistrite is the cornerstone of modern society; without it, Anarchy is inevitable. There is no more to be found in the Twelve Systems, and even stellar exploration is not a guarantee. It has been six systems and eight centuries since Vistrite was discovered on Desperation.
“That’s a laser cutter?” the Southern Crevasse refinery chief blurts out as a slender rod is pulled from the box.
“It looks like a big scalpel,” the Southern Crevasse master adds.
The cutter does resemble a scalpel, even though it has the length of Lilian’s arm. In amazement, Lilian watches as the wand moves cleanly through the clinging stone, shaving only two centimeters of Vistrite while leaving undamaged crystal in its wake. Milord must be beyond pleased by this development. Pride flows through Lilian as she realizes that she is being trusted with such a secret. A secret shared by only a select few. The protégés and Crevasse masters are also learning this for the first time.
As the refinery tech works the core, Chief Amanda opens a small metal box she has been holding, pulls out a handful of refined Vistrite scraps, and sets them on the table. Under Lilian’s mesmerized gaze, the gray-green Vistrite blisters along the surface while a shatter pattern forms within.
Shades protect us. The Vistrite is dead.
“We are attempting to refine the Laser Sting resonance and focus,” Amanda announces to the stunned observers. “As it stands, any Vistrite within fifteen paces will be damaged.”
Adelaide’s warbelt, it is a demon design. The miracle of the Laser Sting can cause unimaginable destruction. Between one breath and the next, Lilian runs the equation. Desperation would need a dozen Laser Stings deployed in the heart of the refinery. One mistake, one misdirected peeling beam, and the Vistrite in an essential system could crash. The ensuing explosions and toxin release would destroy the refinery and poison the surrounding area for seasons, if not years. Has Seigneur Solomon run mad?
Desperate, not mad. A century or more of extended supply is too great a buffer against Anarchy to ignore. Milord’s Vistrite conservator and kinsman knows the risks and will take precautions. Chief Amanda has voiced they continue to refine the device.
As the refinery tech finishes peeling the core, Amanda grins at the Ascendant refinery master. “I believe you owe me fifty.”
»◊«
“Mistress Lilian, may we carry you to the Garden Center District?” Fletcher’s pleasant voice cuts through Lilian’s thoughts as she follows him and Irina to the refinery exit.
Shaking off her fixation with the Laser Sting technolo
gy and its implications, Lilian replies, “I beg pardon, Master Fletcher, I was not attending. What is your wish?”
“Only to carry you with us to the Garden Center.” Fletcher smiles as he indicates Irina. It finally occurs to Lilian that the protégés arrived together and may be exploring a personal relationship.
“My thanks, Master Fletcher, whenever you please.” Lilian eagerly accepts the offer of a speedy return to Katleen’s house and a bath.
Exiting the refinery at shortly past fifth bell, Lilian shrugs out of her soiled linen shirt and folds it to keep the dust trapped in the interior before draping it over her satchel. Fletcher gives his beloved suede a shake and then a sniff. With a resigned shrug, he tosses it in a waste container where it is joined by Irina’s jacket.
Designed for speed and maneuverability, Fletcher’s transport has but a token second section. Twisting sideways in the cramped compartment, Lilian sets her satchel on her knees as the sleek vehicle glides smoothly from the refinery complex.
“Here we go,” Fletcher calls from the controls as they turn onto Stellar Transitway, the main route through the Refinery District.
The transport leaps forward at a daunting speed, and Lilian quickly braces against the walls of the compartment. In the distance, the slender reed of milord’s penthouse building appears and then grows as they race toward Crevasse Boulevard and the Commerce District.
“There is nothing like an empty transitway on Seventh Day!” Fletcher calls happily from the controls. Sweeping past the exclusive building that requires a seigneur’s signet to occupy, Fletcher turns onto Jonathan Avenue, whipping past Serengeti Headquarters as they proceed into the Garden Center. Reaching the lower edge of the Garden Center, Fletcher makes a quick right and less than a minute later turns to pull up in front of Katleen’s house.
Sevenday 64, Day 1
As Lilian enters milord’s commerce suite, Mistress Marieth’s quick and thorough inspection results in a slight nod of approval. As Lilian passes the executive servitor’s worksite, however, Marieth’s interrogative sniff is followed by a raised eyebrow. Casually pulling forward her warrior’s queue as she takes a seat on the reception bench, Lilian sniffs the tip delicately. Tucked under her safety helmet, her hair was protected from the grit of the mine. Somehow, the refinery scent penetrated deeply. Is there a distinct odor of the refinery? She cannot be sure. Mistress Marieth’s suspicious sniff certainly suggested it, but Lilian cannot tell. Mayhap it is her imagination, the refinery scent retained in her nostrils.
At the sound of the eighth-bell chimes, Lilian springs to her feet. Perhaps milord will not notice.
“Tell me your thoughts on Seigneur Solomon’s Laser Sting.” Milord settles back in the scarlet chair, his legs outstretched, head tilted slightly in curiosity.
There is naught amiss with your hair. Answer milord. “The projections on waste reduction in the Vistrite peeling process are impressive, and the demonstration supports them completely. I found the destructive impact on refined Vistrite disturbing. Deliberately deployed to disrupt Vistrite-controlled technology, the results would be disastrous. I imagine Seigneur Thorvald could do much with such an ability.”
“Why do you find the militia potential disquieting?” As Lucius hoped, Lilian has grasped the implications of the technology. Her discomfort with the information is surprising. As far as Lucius is concerned, martial advantage is a bonus.
“It is secret now, milord. However, it is inevitable that the Laser Sting and its abilities will become known as it is deployed in the Crevasse,” Lilian explains. Even Blooded Dagger’s formidable security-privilege is not proof against the tens of thousands who will come to know of the Laser Sting. ”Once invented, it can be reinvented, perhaps by those who would use it against Blooded Dagger or Serengeti.”
Lucius is delighted. His prodigy’s mind is as aggressive in martial realms as it is in commercial. “As it happens, Seigneur Thorvald agrees with you. Serengeti is making a significant investment in countermeasures as well as discouraging reinvention.”
As he speaks, Lucius watches Lilian’s concern shift to speculation and then quiet satisfaction. Lilian likes the idea of Serengeti holding such an advantage. “What think you? Shall we deploy the Laser Sting for trial at Desperation?”
Lilian knew the question would arise before she left the refinery and carefully crafted her response. “It is a difficult question, milord. The technology has risks.”
At Lilian’s pedantic tone, Lucius settles into his chair to enjoy her well-reasoned discourse and her long legs. Does it please Lucius to prolong his enjoyment of Lilian’s scholarly treatise and lovely legs, a question or two will elicit excessive details.
Lilian does not disappoint as she continues, “To deploy it at a small, remote holding mitigates some of that risk. The lack of sophistication in the Desperation operations in comparison to that of the Great Crevasse creates additional risk. Significant training will be required. Should this be milord’s will, I recommend the countermeasures be proven before introducing the Laser Sting to Desperation.”
Lilian knows it is irrational to be so protective of Desperation, but the thought of the industrial accident a mishandled Laser Sting could cause has her hoping the Laser Sting trial will be elsewhere. She cannot restrain her question. “May I be permitted to know Seigneur Solomon’s thoughts?”
“Seigneur Solomon favors Wonder Crevasse on Metricelli Deuce.” Lucius does not fail to note the slight easing in Lilian’s shoulders at his words, and he is oddly pleased by her zealous protection of his property. Keeping his face impassive, Lucius continues, “Wonder is our least productive facility. It is remote enough from a major population center to limit the risk to others in the event of an error. It is also a great deal closer to Metricelli Prime than Desperation should assistance be required.”
Well pleased that Desperation will not be chosen, it is difficult for Lilian to maintain an impassive expression. “My thanks, milord.”
“I would hear more of your impressions of the mine and refinery, but there is no time now. Attend me at midday.”
»◊«
Chrys shakes the stoppered vial of red dust, watching in fascination as the powdery substance swirls, then settles. “You were able to collect this much from your goggles and helmet?”
“Somewhat more,” Lilian replies. “I retained about half that amount as a remembrance.”
“I am surprised the miners could see sufficiently to work,” Chrys comments, continuing to twirl the dust.
“They were less soiled than the observers. The cutting tools push the dust out and away to prevent blinding the miners.”
“Truly?” Chrys looks up from his vial. “In the visuals, the Crevasse floor appears free from dust.”
“It is not allowed to settle,” Master Simon adds, joining the conversation as he enters the Mercium lab. “It’s pulled into the air filtration system and recycled as an abrasive in cleansers.”
“Refinery scrubbing?” Chrys wonders. “I do not recall that from Mistress Lilian’s research.”
“Regular household cleansers,” Simon corrects. “The sale provides incremental income to Crevasse operations.”
“I suppose Serengeti, in turn, buys its cleansers from those who use crevasse stone dust in their products?” Chrys smiles at Simon.
“Indeed,” Simon smiles back.
Unable to contain his curiosity, Chrys releases the stopper and swirls a finger in the red dust, testing its texture. “It is softer than I expected. Powdery.”
Lifting his dust-covered finger to his mouth, Chrys touches his tongue to the red residue. “Sharp like stone, but with an odd hint of char. Heat cutters?”
“The miners used both hot and cold cutters,” Lilian nods. “The dust I pulled from my helmet and goggles would have been from both.”
“Chrys, I had not thought,” Simon frowns at Chrys. “You have yet to visit a Crevasse or a refinery.”
“If it pleases Seigneur Rachelle, I would dearly l
ike to, Master Simon,” Chrys admits. “I do not know if it is possible.”
“If your apprenticeship followed the standard protocol for the research and development function, you would have spent the past rainy season in the Great Crevasse refinery.” Simon continues to frown. “It is not essential for your Mercium duties, but it is part of the requirement for bond proof.”
Bond proof! Lilian’s and Chrys’ eyes meet in horror. When Chrys entered the Cartel, he was expected to be involved in the never-ending quest for mining and refining improvements that would increase the amount of refined Vistrite per ton of mined core. With his inclusion in Mercium, Chrys’ apprenticeship has veered into uncharted territory. It never occurred to them that a role in Mercium would risk Chrys’ bond proof.
“Peace, Chrys.” Simon correctly interprets Chrys’ shocked reaction. “This is but the second dry season. There are five more seasons before your bond completes. More than sufficient time to meet the requirement or have it changed, does it please Seigneur Rachelle. I will speak with her.”
“My thanks, Master Simon.” Chrys’ shoulders soften with his relief.
At a warning chirp from her slate, Lilian rises. “I beg pardon, Master Simon, I am required elsewhere.”
Skirt swirling and warrior’s queue swaying, Lilian darts for the exit.
Brow furrowed, Chrys takes an interrogative sniff of the open dust vial and then shakes his head.
“Chrys?” Simon asks.
“Naught, Master Simon.” Chrys shrugs and stoppers the vial. “I thought I detected an odd astringent scent. It must have been my imagination.”
With a small chuckle, Simon corrects, “It was likely Mistress Lilian’s hair. The refinery scent is extremely difficult to eradicate.”
»◊«
“Disrobe.” Milord’s eyes are heavy with desire as he lounges back in the scarlet couch, his chest bare of a tunic.