by Frank Morin
“Looks like Dierk took his team to the other workroom,” Jean said as she led him through the clutter. “He’ll be happy to see you.”
“Dierk’s the best,” Hamish agreed.
She placed a hand on his arm, her expression turning more serious. “Having you here for a while will hopefully cheer him up. He is still so torn up about Ingrid’s death and so angry at the Obrioners. It’s not healthy.”
“I’ll do what I can to help,” he promised. Thinking about Ingrid still filled him with aching sorrow. He still felt like he should have figured out a way to save her.
Jean gave him a hug and said softly, “We all miss her, but it was no one’s fault that she’s gone but the elfonnel.” Then she forced a smile and drew him deeper into the workroom. “Come on. There’s so much to see.”
Hamish decided the best way to honor Ingrid would be to keep developing amazing mechanicals. So he forced a grin to math Jean’s. “I wouldn’t have believed that you could capture the heart of Schwinkendorf in a barn in Faulenrost, but you did. I can imagine we’re back in the Builder compound right now.”
The comment obviously pleased her, and Jean led him around a pair of tall standing cabinets. On the other side, in an open workspace that seemed a little less cluttered than the rest of the workshop, stood Hamish’s new suit.
He laughed. He’d been a fool to doubt that there was anything Jean couldn’t do.
“It looks amazing!” But no doubt she hadn’t thought of enhancing it like he planned to.
With a flicker of thought, Hamish triggered the quartzite blocks in his jacket and jumped. With loud, whooshing jets, each of the quartzite stones ignited for just a second in a tight sequence he’d worked out in Emmerich. The brief but intense thrusts catapulted Hamish into a half-twisting somersault, right over the suit to land on the opposite side. He landed on his feet, facing back at Jean, and extended his hands in victory.
Looking dutifully impressed, Jean clapped. “That’s new.”
“I’ve got plans to enhance my next suit,” he told her as he slowly walked around the fantastic suit.
Jean’s smile turned a bit mischievous. “I’m sure we can fit that in somewhere between the other enhancements I already added.”
That piqued his interest, so he studied the suit more closely. It looked similar, but he instantly spotted several improvements. An outer layer of leather and steel now covered the armored jacket of overlapping, hardened granite leaves. She had lined the inside of the jacket with more leather, then with an enhanced water bladder, followed by another padded jerkin. It would be a little bulkier than his last suit, but he could already tell that she’d at least doubled the stop-bash properties.
Jean showed him the water bladder. “We added some ribbing within the bladder to increase strength and encourage better force dispersion. That gave us another fifty percent improvement.”
“Wow.” Hamish whistled softly in appreciation.
The water bladder was a key component. He already could have taken a punch from a max-tapped Rumbler and survived, but might have cracked some granite leaves and gotten bruised. The hard outer layer transferred the impact into the water, which dispersed it around his body to dissipate the force. With a fifty percent better force dispersion, he could stay in the fight unhurt a lot longer.
“And since we already knew the performance targets as we built it this time, we were able to test each component more thoroughly and calibrate everything for additional improvements.”
She’d suggested that with rigorous testing she could improve his last suit dramatically, even more than they’d manage in the hectic days before the battle of Altkalen.
The new boots were slightly bigger too. In addition to the large quartzite thruster he expected to find in each one, she had added three smaller blocks. She explained how he could use those blocks to fine-tune his directional control or amplify the force of the main block. The new configuration resulted in thirty percent more power.
“You might be able to keep up with the Storm now.”
Hamish whistled again. His suit had performed remarkably well, especially given the fact that he had done no specialized testing. He had just attached the biggest block he could fit without it getting in the way of walking.
This was as much Jean’s suit as his now. He squashed an unexpected flash of annoyance that she’d done so much and made so many decisions without him. No doubt he would have agreed to every suggestion had he been there with her. Instead he focused on how proud he felt of her. His Jean was becoming a top-rate mechanical designer. He itched to put on the suit and test it out.
They spent a few more minutes discussing other enhancements. The suit carried better armaments and more of them, including defensive stones like marble puking dooms, gushing soapstone, and blind coal worked into the arms and helmet.
She pointed out several shieldstones. “We built on the research you started on shaping shieldstones to affect the shape of the resulting shield. Brilliant work, by the way. We proved your theories and fine-tuned them. We can produce stronger defensive shields using less than half the power output. So you can generate more shields, they can last longer, but consume less stone.”
“I was planning on testing the use of shaped shields while flying. If I could use them to cut air resistance when I reach full speed, I might be able to accelerate even more, but with less power consumption.”
She kissed his cheek. “Great idea. We hadn’t gotten that far yet, but it’s the next logical step.”
“Have I told you yet today that I love you?”
“Saying it again never hurts,” she said, giving him that special smile that melted his insides.
So he told her. Twice. That earned him another kiss, but did not distract her from the suit for long.
When she detailed the offensive weaponry, he almost wished they had not signed the peace treaty so he could test it against real Petralists. The suit now sported two side-holstered speedslings with longer revolving canisters that held more hornets. Several little diorite-tipped missiles were recessed in each arm. They were propelled by marble or quartzite. Spikes could snap into position to extend beyond his knuckles to allow him to punch with devastating force.
Hamish laughed. “It’s going to take me three days to test all this out and make sure I understand how all of the enhancements work.”
She grinned. “I’m glad you like it. There’s more we haven’t even covered yet, but maybe now you’ll stick around for a little while.”
He took her hands and turned serious. “Now that we have peace, I’m hoping I’ll get to spend most of the winter here.”
She sighed. “I hope you can visit a lot. There’s so much I can’t do without your here, but with the queen returned, Connor is going to need you too.”
“I’m sure he will, but I’m hoping we’ll still find some time to relax.”
She took his face in her hands and kissed him seriously. “You’re a good man. Once Verena is awake, Connor won’t need us quite so much, but for now he does.”
“He’s in Altkalen right now. I’ll need to head up there in a few days. What else are you working on?”
They exited the workroom and returned to Lord Eberhard’s manor where Jean had set up an office. Bruno, Artur, and Carolin were all there, discussing in rapid Grandurian one of their latest mechanical tests. Hamish greeted them all warmly and listened in amazement as they described all of the work they were doing to help rebuild the Builder workshops, New Schwinkendorf, and the school. Jean really had assembled a magnificent team.
Bruno, the huge master blacksmith, clapped Hamish on the shoulder and said with great pride, “I’m also spearheading an effort with your brilliant girl to develop an outer protective armor for when you need to do battle against the strongest Petralists.”
“That would be amazing.”
“We’re still brainstorming the best designs, but haven’t settled on a plan yet,” Jean said in Grandurian. Her accent was a little rough,
but Hamish adored it. He wasn’t surprised she’d started learning Grandurian. “I’m glad you’re here to help. We need that creative flair of yours.”
“Let’s see what you’ve got. How many cookies do you have handy?” Hamish always worked best when riding a sugar high.
Bruno extracted from a cabinet several square pieces of parchment and spread them on the table. They contained rough sketches and notes exploring possible armored frameworks.
As Hamish scanned them, Bruno jabbed one meaty finger at the parchments. “Your suit has tremendous agility and flexibility. For most encounters, that should be enough to keep you safe. However, if you get drawn into a long bash fight or have to face a tertiary, you’ll still be in great danger.”
“I’ve been thinking about that too,” Hamish admitted.
He had designed his suit to allow him to fight Petralists, but there were still things he couldn’t do. The ease with which Martys had ripped his suit apart in rampager form had highlighted that fact. Hamish had been thinking about additional enhancements he could make, but Jean and Bruno were proposing a whole new level.
As he stared down at the rough sketches, new ideas started bubbling across his mind like chocolate pudding simmering over an open flame. He quickly discarded several of their initial ideas, including one that looked sort of like the Storm, but with wheels and heavier armor. Something like that could prove very effective on roads, but not in rougher terrain. He also pushed aside one design that looked like a huge humanoid suit, similar to his, but ten times larger.
“Wait, I like that one,” Jean protested, and Bruno nodded agreement.
Hamish shook his head. “Won’t work. My suit functions as well as it does because I do all the work to stand and move. A suit that big, shaped like a man, would be too unsteady. We’d spend so much power trying to keep it upright and moving like a person, it would become too complicated. Too much opportunity for failure.”
Jean sighed and exchanged a crestfallen look with Bruno. “That’s why we need you, Hamish. I can take your ideas and fine-tune them, but you’re the Builder. You’re the creative genius.”
Hamish marveled at her. He’d never imagined that he might be better than her at anything other than eating, or belching, or distance puking. To hear her admit she needed him inspired and daunted him more than a little.
“I really need a cookie.”
Bruno and Artur laughed and both extracted small coins from their belt pouches, then pushed them across to Carolin, who was smiling with victory. She extracted a small package wrapped in brown paper from her purse and passed it to Hamish. “I told them.”
Hamish eagerly unwrapped the package. It held a dozen crescent-shaped cookies, coated with fine, white sugar. The Grandurian vanillekipferl was one of his favorites.
He saluted Carolin with a cookie. “You’re a rare lady.”
The first cookie tasted like a dream come true. The soft, sugar-coated outer layer wrapped a crunchy heart. Hamish closed his eyes as he savored the cookie. Somehow he ate four more before opening his eyes.
The others watched him with open amusement, although Artur, the master carpenter, was starting to look concerned by how fast the pile of cookies was disappearing. Hamish sighed and offered the package to them all. One had to make certain sacrifices when working with a team.
As the others munched on cookies too, Hamish reached that state of cookie ecstasy, where he often found his best creative brilliance. And once again, the cookie did not fail to deliver. A simple, but brilliant idea struck like the smell of bacon in the morning.
Hamish grabbed a piece of parchment and one of Jean’s pencils and started drawing rapidly. The others drew closer, watching but not asking questions for several minutes until he completed the initial sketch. It was rough, but the more he thought about it, the more excited he felt.
“A ball?” Bruno asked, looking confused.
“A sphere,” Hamish corrected. “Think about it. It doesn’t need wheels. The whole thing’s a giant wheel.”
“Even you’d get dizzy spinning in a sphere long enough,” Carolin pointed out.
“But maybe we could set up some kind of harness to keep you upright,” Jean said thoughtfully, her pencil poised over her notebook, quivering slightly as she thought. Hamish hadn’t even noticed her pull it out. “A spherical shape could be very strong, could offer tremendous defensive potential.”
Bruno took the pencil and added a bunch of lines criss-crossing through the center of the sphere. “If we reinforced internally, it would be very hard to break, even for Petralists.”
“And between the support beams, we could pack it with offensive mechanicals,” Hamish added eagerly. He loved how quickly they were embracing the idea.
Jean said, “Especially if we design the outer shell with some kind of plates that could slide out of the way.”
That triggered a wave of suggestions from the rest of the team. Hamish grinned as they dove into the creative process he loved so much. They needed more cookies, or even better, a cake. But in the meantime, the team threw out dozens of great ideas, from the best ways to craft the shell, to the best mechanicals to include, to ways to power it and make it move. If they packed in half those ideas into that sphere, it would have to stand over ten feet tall.
Excellent.
Eventually Bruno’s sugar-induced enthusiasm faded and he sat back, his chair creaking under his weight. “This is a very ambitious project. We’ve never built anything like it. Nothing even close. We may not be able to make it work.”
“We’ll make it work,” Hamish promised. It was too brilliant not to make work. They might need to eat a few dozen cookies to keep the pure, sugar-induced inspiration rolling, but that was a price he was happy to pay.
Gisela entered the room and waved. She handed a rolled scroll to Jean. “Ailsa has writing from Donleavy. She is bringing important news and information about speedcaravan.”
Jean took the scroll and Hamish asked, “What is Ailsa doing in Donleavy? That place sounds crazy-dangerous.” He didn’t know Ailsa well, but she’d always seemed more intelligent than that.
Gisela shrugged. “It is also the placing of most important information gathering.”
Jean unrolled the scroll and scanned it quickly. Hamish did not bother trying to read it too. Jean could read ten times faster, and she would share the important information with him.
She whistled softly. “We’ll need to copy this and send it on to Kilian and to Connor at once. The queen is more dangerous than I imagined.”
“I have already doing that,” Gisela said. “I am agreeing with you. The queen has making much turmoil in Obrion.”
Hamish started to ask for more details, but Jean interrupted. “By the Tallan’s glory, this is wonderful!”
She had only lived in Granadure for weeks, but she had already picked up on some of their sayings. No other Obrioner Hamish knew would use the Tallan’s name in a good way. Even Connor seemed to hesitate. Jean had already made the mental transition. Once she knew truth, she embraced it.
“What is it?” He and Bruno asked at the same time.
Jean gestured down at the parchment. “Ailsa sent information about the speedcaravan. How it runs, how it accelerates, and how it slows.”
“We know it uses quickened basalt, but I’ve never had a chance to study it,” Hamish said.
Jean handed him the parchment. “She included some diagrams. Look at that gearing. That’s exactly the kind of mechanical brilliance we need to make your big armor work.”
Bruno leaned over Hamish’s shoulder as he studied the scroll, and he recognized the importance of those gears quicker than Hamish. He laughed and clapped Hamish on the back so hard that he almost knocked him out of his seat.
“This Ailsa is a brilliant woman. Please make me a copy of this section too.”
“I will having it prepared within the hour,” Gisela said. She took the scroll and left. Jean looked like she wanted to chase after her to read it again, b
ut Hamish held her hand.
“We’ll learn more from it when we all have our own copies.”
Jean’s smile faded. “From what I read there, you’re going to need that armored shell sooner rather than later.”
17
Don’t Question Really Good Ideas
Connor was surprised to learn that Saskia had assigned him a comfortable apartment in one of the citadel towers. It was not exactly close to where Verena slept, but it wasn’t too far away either. Clearly she hadn’t consulted Mattias about the decision. No doubt he would’ve assigned Connor a sagging bunk in a shepherd stable down at the far southern edge of Altkalen.
The next day, after spending an hour at Verena’s side, he sent for Ivor. He was eager to speak with him.
Ivor looked surprisingly good when he stepped through the door into Connor’s sitting room. Instead of his battle-stained uniform, he wore a fashionable outfit, as if we was a minor Grandurian noble. His leather boots held a mirror shine and he wore an expensive fur-trimmed leather coat.
Connor grinned as he quickly crossed the room to grip Ivor’s extended hand. He felt immensely relieved to see Ivor looking so well. Even though he knew Ivor’s unmatched ability to read a situation and position himself advantageously, he had worried Ivor might have been treated badly. He was probably the most powerful Petralist captured in the battle of Atlkalen, and he’d done a lot of damage before Connor defeated him.
“Ivor, I’m so glad to see you.”
“You seem to be doing pretty well,” Ivor said approvingly as he moved deeper into the room.
“Me? Look at you. I thought you were a prisoner, but you look like you’re on vacation.”
Ivor gave him a confident smile. “It’s not my fault that some of the senior officers like to play cards.”
Connor groaned. “You’d think they’d learn.”
“Took them way too long. I even won a meteor hammer.”
“They let you keep a weapon?” Connor asked, surprised that even Ivor could manage that.