Steel and Stone: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  “Yes. This way, please.”

  Stone supposed it wouldn’t do him any good to take out his growing irritation on Anzo. The construct only did what it was programmed to do, after all.

  Anzo rolled to the end of the hallway and stopped before yet another set of double doors. “Just through here.”

  “It’s—as simple as that?” Stone regarded the doors suspiciously, wondering whether, if he’d lost his temper a couple of weeks ago, he could have cut this whole thing shorter.

  “I do not understand the question,” Anzo said. “As simple as what?”

  “Never mind. You can leave now. Thank you. Off you go.”

  Anzo remained for a few more seconds, then its eyes flashed briefly and it rolled off down the hall, back toward the teleporter pad.

  Stone raised his hand to knock on the door, but then his anger rose again. Damn it, Harrison wasn’t going to have the chance to duck out some hidden exit and avoid him. He wrenched the door open and strode inside the room.

  And stopped.

  The space inside the door was cavernous. Not in the sense of a large room, but in the sense of an aircraft hangar. The ceiling rose so high Stone couldn’t even see it in the faint light; likewise, it was hard to tell how far off the black walls were. This room, unlike most of the others Stone had encountered inside the tower, did not have any windows, floor-to-ceiling or otherwise.

  Scattered around the floor were what looked like various projects in different stages of completion: more of the mechano-magical automobiles; consoles with their panels opened and their parts spread over large tarps; half-assembled engines. There were even a few anthropoid constructs, some like Anzo, others even more human-looking. He didn’t see any sign of any living beings inside, but music—was that Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata?—echoed its haunting strains through the space.

  His gaze skated over all of the machines, but the thing that riveted his attention instantly was the massive—what? Vehicle? It was hard to tell from where he stood—crouching in the middle of the floor, held upright by a metal framework. The thing rose at least two stories tall; it had a sleek, black hull similar to a ship, but it didn’t have the design of any sailing ship Stone had ever seen on Earth. It also looked unfinished, with large skeletal sections uncovered and open to the outside. Beyond it, a much smaller but similarly-shaped craft stood.

  He was about to take a step forward when a spray of sparks erupted out of the side of the larger ship high above, catching his attention. He looked up, and only then did he spot the shadowy figure hovering near the top of the structure. Something looked wrong about its proportions—its head looked too big for its body—but it was too dark up there to be sure. “Harrison? Is that you?” he called over the music.

  The sparks stopped, and so did the music. The shadowy figure set something down inside the hull of the ship, then slowly lowered toward the ground. As it did, it pulled something from its head and held it in one hand.

  Stone approached warily. “Harrison?”

  “Dr. Stone.”

  It was indeed Harrison. When he touched down near the structure, Stone stared at him in surprise. “Er—”

  In the small number of times Stone had been in Harrison’s presence, he’d never seen the man dressed in anything but a fine, tailored suit, or at least spotless creased trousers and a crisp formal shirt. He didn’t know how much of it was magic and how much was just that Harrison was one of those guys who’d apparently been born in a full set of formalwear, but either way, seeing him now was jarring.

  The thing he’d taken off and now held was some kind of welding mask. In place of his usual suit he wore heavy trousers, stout black work boots, and a snug-fitting white tank top. His arms, face, and shirt were smudged with dirt and streaked with oil, a wrench poked out of his back pocket, and his hair was in disarray. Whatever he’d been doing, he looked like he’d been at it for quite some time.

  Nevertheless, he still carried himself as if he were wearing the tailored suit. His chill gaze settled on Stone as he put the welding mask aside. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  Stone’s anger rose again, jolting him from the shock of seeing Harrison looking so uncharacteristic. This was what he’d been doing, instead of keeping up his end of the agreement? Poking around at some grimy machine? “Yes. There is. I want to talk to you.”

  “This is not a good time, Dr. Stone. Perhaps we can—”

  “It is a good time. Listen—I won’t take much of your time away from—whatever the hell it is you’re doing here—but this is getting ridiculous. I’ve been patient for a long time, but I want answers.”

  Harrison regarded him for several seconds with his unsettling, unblinking gaze, then nodded once. “Come, then. I want to finish this tonight, so we will have to speak while I work.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and disappeared through one of the openings in the ship’s scaffolding.

  Stone hurried to follow him, growing more frustrated as it seemed he was destined to spend his time chasing after the people who had the information he needed.

  As he stepped over the scaffolding, a light flared in the open space inside, illuminating a large, intricate-looking machine that might have been an engine near the back end. It too was held in a smaller version of the same framework that supported the ship itself; Harrison floated up to the first level of this scaffolding and pulled the wrench from his pocket.

  Stone, currently unable to do any floating of his own, climbed up the framework and stood a few feet away from Harrison. “What is this thing, anyway?”

  “It is an airship. Or, rather, it will be when it is finished.”

  “An airship. Like something out of H. G. Wells?”

  “Somewhat.” Harrison made an adjustment with the wrench, then held out his hand and another tool sailed into it from a nearby array of them on a table.

  “Is this another of your magical-mechanical inventions?”

  “It will run on magical power, yes. This one is a joint project, with Errin. She designed the mechanical part of the engine, and I designed the magical part.” He made another adjustment, then turned back to Stone. “Why are you here, Dr. Stone?”

  As fascinated as he was by the concept of a magic-powered airship, Stone refused to let that sidetrack him. He glared. “I told you—I want answers.”

  “To what questions?”

  Was he serious? His face still revealed nothing; Stone got the sudden urge to grab him and shake him, to force him to display some emotion—even if it was only irritation at being interrupted. “You’re having me on, right? What questions do you think? It’s been over a month that you’ve had your people training me, and I haven’t seen even a hint of magic yet. I’ve been running, lifting weights, building your bloody wall for you—and you haven’t even turned up to check on how I’ve been doing. I don’t know you very well, Mr. Harrison, and it’s occurred to me more than once that you might be playing some sort of sick joke on me. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but whatever it is, I’ve had quite enough of it. Either keep your end of the agreement—teach me how to use your magic so it doesn’t burn me out—or send me home.” He gripped the scaffolding so hard his knuckles whitened and his hands shook. “Or—have you discovered that you can’t teach me after all, and you just haven’t got ’round to telling me yet?” His voice shook too, with growing anger.

  Don’t do this, his mental voice warned. You’re going to push him too far.

  I don’t give a damn how far I push him. He’s pushed me too far!

  Harrison watched him without expression, his posture relaxed and attentive. He looked like an anthropologist observing a primitive but fascinating ceremony. When Stone finished, he said softly, “You’ve been drinking, Dr. Stone.”

  “Damn bloody right I’ve been drinking! What else have I got to do around here, but work out and drink? Nobody will tell me a damned thing! I keep thinking this is going to be over soon and we’re going to get on with it, but it ju
st keeps going on with no end in sight. I can’t keep this up forever. I’ve got places to be. Responsibilities. They probably think I’m dead back home, and I’ve not even got anything useful to show for it.” He took a step forward. “So what’s it going to be, Mr. Harrison? Are you planning to keep your end of the bargain?”

  Harrison turned away from him and picked up the wrench, then floated a few feet up and made another adjustment to the weird engine. “I was the same way…” he said, barely loud enough for Stone to hear.

  “What?” The sudden shift startled him. For the first time, he glanced at the table where Harrison had been picking up tools, and saw not just a half-full glass, but a bottle next to it. He narrowed his eyes and looked up at Harrison. “What are you talking about?”

  “When I arrived here. I was like you—impatient. Skeptical. Angry.”

  “You aren’t making sense.” Stone paced back and forth along the narrow catwalk. He had a hard time picturing the intense, controlled Harrison ever being visibly angry about anything. “What are you talking about, when you arrived here?”

  He lowered back down, put the wrench back in his pocket, and selected a larger one. “I had wondered when—or if—you would come to me.” He seated the wrench around the head of a large bolt, gripped it with both hands, and pulled, the muscles in his arms and back straining against it until it broke free. He removed it, examined it, and pulled a small panel free of the structure.

  Stone watched him. The suits had hidden it well, but the man was definitely drinking his own Kool-Aid regarding physical fitness. Like Stone himself, he looked like he had next to no body fat; he was still slim but carried more muscle than Stone did. Maybe there was something to this whole magic/fitness thing after all. But his anger rose again at Harrison’s words. “What do you mean, you wondered? Did you expect me to come to you? Were you waiting to see when I’d finally have enough and call you on this rubbish?”

  Harrison’s expression chilled. “I’ll remind you, Dr. Stone, that you agreed to my terms.”

  “I did. You’re right. But that was with the assumption that you were playing straight with me. So—were you? Are you going to teach me magic, or was this all a waste of both our time?”

  “By the terms of our agreement, I could send you home tonight.” Harrison leaned in closer to the open panel, levitated a screwdriver to his hand from the table, and made another adjustment.

  “Yes. You could. If you were just waiting until I reached my wits’ end and tracked you down, then okay—this is me at my wits’ end. You win, Mr. Harrison. Either show me there’s some reason you’re waiting so long to teach me, or I’m ready to call it a bad job and go back home. I don’t like it, but at least I’ll have my life back.”

  Harrison turned back around, and now there was something challenging in his eyes. “You are giving up, then. I am disappointed, Dr. Stone. I thought you had more…conviction.”

  Stone’s anger, already simmering, boiled at his words. “Conviction? What kind of bloody conviction do you want me to have? How long do you want me to wait, with no information? How long am I supposed to follow along with this absurd course your underlings have got me on, without any solid information about why I’m doing it? Be honest with me, Harrison—would you do it? Would you put up with this kind of nonsense, or would you demand some explanation? I said I would do what it took to learn to control this magic—and I will. You can push me as hard as you want. I won’t break, I promise. But I need reasons!”

  Harrison had turned away from the panel and continued to watch Stone’s outburst, arms crossed, expression once again neutral. “Is that your final decision?”

  Don’t do this, the little voice said. You’re throwing away everything you’ve worked for.

  Bugger everything I’ve worked for. This bastard is playing with me, and I’ve had my fill of it. “Yes! That’s my final decision.”

  “As you wish.” Harrison’s gaze shifted to a point somewhere over Stone’s shoulder. “Anzo. Escort Dr. Stone back to his suite. He will be leaving us tonight.”

  Something inside Stone froze, and clenched. So that was it. He’d taken things too far, and now Harrison was calling his bluff.

  Good one, Stone, said the drawling, mocking little voice in his head. Trying to bluff a world-class poker player. Brilliant job, that.

  He didn’t move. “No. I’m not leaving.”

  “Stay, then. It doesn’t matter to me either way. But if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He turned back to the panel.

  Stone glared at him, heart pounding, fists clenched.

  He was being dismissed. After everything he’d done, everything he’d endured to get here, Harrison was disregarding him as if his presence meant nothing more to him than one of his tools.

  Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the frustration. Maybe it was Harrison’s insufferable calm. Whatever it was, something snapped inside him.

  Growling, he launched himself across the platform, grabbed Harrison’s shoulder, and spun him around. “Don’t turn your back on me, damn you! You are going to tell me what this is about!”

  Harrison barely reacted. His jaw tightened infinitesimally, and his chilly gaze grew even colder. With an offhand gesture, he sent Stone staggering back toward the edge of the platform.

  “Go home, Dr. Stone. I was wrong—I cannot teach you. You don’t have the will.” His voice was as emotionless as ever, but a faint hint of contempt tinged its edges.

  Stone barely caught himself as he tumbled over the edge. He gripped one of the supports before he fell and hung there, holding on by one arm. He was stronger now, surprisingly so, a month into his accelerated physical training program. He certainly could have pulled himself back up by muscle power alone—but he didn’t need to. His rage made him stronger than he ever could have been under normal circumstances.

  “Like hell I don’t!” he yelled, flinging himself back up and scrambling to his feet. “This isn’t about will—it never was. You’re nothing more than another of those sadistic bastards back in the cities! The only difference is, at least they’re honest about it! Don’t talk to me about will!”

  Harrison sent him reeling again, with no more effort than he might use to brush dust off his clothes. “Show me, then.”

  “Show you what?” He scrambled up once more. He didn’t even feel like himself anymore. His body felt light, effortless. All his fatigue and despair had burned off, replaced by a kind of mad energy—a glowing hot core that originated deep inside him and radiated outward. It was the adrenaline, he knew, combined with the rage—but that was fine with him. Whatever it took to get the job done. He lunged at Harrison again.

  Suddenly he couldn’t move.

  He stopped in mid-step, one foot hovering a few inches above the ground, the other braced to launch him forward. “What the hell—?” His voice pitched louder, echoing around the cavernous space.

  “Show me, Dr. Stone,” Harrison said, calm as ever. His gaze was laser-focused, implacable, fixed on Stone’s eyes. “Show me you have the will. Show me you’re worth my effort.”

  “Harrison, damn you, let me go now!” Stone tried to fling himself free of the paralyzing grip, but no matter how hard he strained, his limbs refused to respond. It felt as if he were encased in a statue.

  “You have only to say the word.” Harrison turned away from him again, picked up the screwdriver, and returned to his work inside the panel. “Admit defeat, and I will release you and send you home.”

  “I am not admitting defeat!” Stone’s heart pounded harder than ever, until he feared it would burst free of his chest like that thing from Alien. Maybe if he was lucky it would hit Harrison and wipe that gods-damned calm off his face.

  “Then you will remain until I am finished here.” Still Harrison didn’t turn around.

  Stone could barely see straight now. How dare this arrogant bastard treat him like this? How dare he claim he could teach Stone magic and then use that promise to string him along, to play with hi
m like a cat with a gullible mouse?

  “Harrison!” he yelled, and didn’t even bother trying to temper how insane he sounded. He didn’t care how insane he sounded. All he wanted to do at this point was show this man what a bad idea this was.

  Harrison ignored him. He put the screwdriver down, levitated another wrench over, and removed a small assembly from inside the panel.

  “Harrison! Look at me, damn you!”

  No response. Harrison made an adjustment on the assembly, used magic to move it back inside the housing, then bolted it back into place.

  Stone, rage growing until he thought he might burst a blood vessel, strained against the iron-hard hold. He tried flinging his whole body forward. He tried rocking back and forth. He tried moving each limb individually, concentrating all his effort on it. All the while his heart continued to pound, and the red haze of anger scattered his thoughts. It wasn’t working—but he would not admit defeat. No way was he going to give this man the satisfaction of that. He’d bloody die here in this awkward, lunging position before he did that.

  You don’t have the will. Harrison’s calm, mocking words echoed in his mind, zooming around like frantic moths caught in a jar. You don’t have the will.

  Like hell he didn’t. He was all about the will. It was the cornerstone of everything he was. And damn it, he was going to make this bastard see it if he had to die trying.

  He clamped his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. He couldn’t clench his fists, but that didn’t matter—in his mind, that was exactly what he was doing. In his mind’s eye, he pictured Harrison’s face, his unruffled expression, his cold, contemptuous gaze.

  You don’t have the will.

  “I DO!” he screamed.

  In his mind, he drove back the rage, the humiliation, the despair, and shoved them aside. Instead, he reached out as he had done before when he’d been desperate and without any other options. He couldn’t feel the power, but he knew it was there, dancing tantalizingly just out of his reach.