"Duke Edmund," he said in deep velvety baritone while bowing at the waist.
"What do you want, Dionys?" Edmund asked.
When Dionys had started showing up at tournaments, Edmund had taken the time to do some research. They had never ended up in competition, but Talbot was always careful to check out potential opponents, and problems, and Dionys had "problem" tattooed to his forehead.
Talbot had determined that Dionys was a fairly recent pseudonym, as was the general elven appearance. He had heard rumors that McCanoc's previous incarnation had gone so far off the permissible track that it had actually come to the attention of the Council.
Whether he had actually been remanded to therapy or simply placed on probation was unclear, just as the crime for which he had been accused was buried under privacy restrictions, but as soon as he entered the recreationist sub-culture the reason for his problems became obvious: Dionys was just bug-house nuts.
He had started his career in recreationism by trying to force a duel with the King of Avalonia. Since the king had no reason to accept the challenge of a duel from a person who hadn't even won his spurs, he rather pointedly declined.
Dionys then proceeded to start a whisper campaign against the king, accusing him of everything from cowardice to pedophilia. At the same time he began gathering a group of henchmen-who were immediately dubbed "The Young Louts"-and used them to sow discord far and wide in Avalonia. Throughout this period he either avoided tournaments or participated only against the weakest possible opponents, especially when the rules permitted enhanced weaponry. With excellent power-blades and his Changed size, he swiftly crushed all his opponents.
Finally the situation reached a condition of crisis and the king banished him from the kingdom. Not content to rest in banishment, Dionys continued his verbal, political and physical assaults from the fringes of the group until the king eventually gave up and agreed to a personal combat.
However, due to the ability for people to Change and enhance, formal challenge had changed over the years. What Dionys did not realize was that in such a challenge, the Net, which had full access to Change data, determined handicaps based upon the degree of Change of each fighter. It went without saying that enhanced weaponry was banned.
When he went into battle against the king, McCanoc's absolutely mundane armor and weapons were loaded down with nearly a hundred kilos of weight.
Because of his avoidance of the challenge ladder, it was unclear how good McCanoc might have been. His few battles had ended in massacres, but they were always against lighter, unskilled opponents. Whatever his actual ability, the challenge against the King of Avalonia was brief. The two met in ground combat against one another, both using Ropasan broadsword, mail and shield. Their swords, befitting the ritual nature of the challenge, had blunting fields on them and the battle was decided on points.
Despite that fact, Dionys was not only defeated but defeated quite bloodily. The King of Avalonia had been in a thousand similar battles over the previous century or twain and he knew every legal trick, and most of the illegal ones. He used them to not only win on points, but win in such a way that Dionys was going to remember the pain for some time. At the least he was never again going to consider a shield as a purely defensive weapon. When McCanoc stumbled off the field his helmet was streaming blood out onto his armor. He teleported out and wasn't seen on the fields again for months.
That had been nearly a year before and only in the last few months had the Louts and their ringleader been seen. This time Dionys seemed serious about moving up the challenge ladder and had been fighting opponents who were of similar mass. As it turned out, he was fairly good. But since his opponents tended to have weaponry that was just as enhanced as his, when enhanced weapons were permitted, he was moving up the ladder very slowly.
Which appeared to be the problem.
"I want you to make me a set of turbo armor and a power sword," the fighter said.
Talbot couldn't help himself; he laughed out loud.
"You have to be joking," the smith finally chuckled. "Why on Earth would I make you anything?"
"Well for one thing, the credits," Dionys said, apparently unfazed by the laughter. "I can pay you handsomely for it, I don't think you'll believe how much."
"I don't think you have any idea how much it is worth," Edmund replied. "I don't just conjure armor out of the air or you wouldn't be here. Every piece is custom constructed from the base iron and for enhanced armor, which I assume is what you want, I use customized nannites. A full suite takes nearly three months to complete. What could you possibly offer me that would be worth three months of my precious life?"
"Two hundred teracredits," Dionys said promptly.
"What?" Talbot snapped. "That's a noticeable slice of the planetary budget! There is no way you can find that sort of money!"
"I can get it," McCanoc replied. "I have. sources."
"Okay," Talbot admitted, grudgingly, "assuming you can lay your hands on it, that's a lot of credits. There's only one problem."
"What?"
"I don't want them," Edmund said. "I have nothing worth spending two hundred teracredits on. In fact, I have nothing to spend the credits I have on; I give almost all my surplus to my daughter. Who never manages to spend all of them. So I don't have any use for your fortune, whatever its source."
"All right then," Dionys said with a nod. "I can appreciate that. In that case, think of the challenge. I don't want just any set of weapons and armor, I want the most magnificent armor and sword ever created. The armor has to have self-contained power sources, be able to drain power from external sources, trade power and repair damage to itself and its user. The mail should be kinetic reactive and, of course, impenetrable. All of it proof against any field generation or energy weapons. The sword needs to generate a scything field and a power field as well as be able to drain and trade power. It has to be the finest, the best nannites, the best programs, capable of taking on any enhanced suits on Earth and defeating them. All of that invisible to casual inspection and, of course, it should look. good." He gave the battered suit of mail and half armor by the fireplace a dismissive wave.
"Challenge is for the young," Talbot said, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his feet. "When you get to be my age, you're either over doing stuff for the 'challenge' or you're dead. There is a reason the most common cause of death in our time is accident. Followed closely by suicide."
"So you won't do it?" Dionys asked.
"I doubt it," Talbot said. "And why in the hell do you want something like that? You can't use that in any tournament, anywhere. Not even ones that permit enhancements. The power drain function alone would preclude that. And that is more than a 'casual' inspection."
"It's not for a tournament," Dionys said. "Although, I'd want to be stealthed and be able to turn down the enhancements if I did use it in a tournament. But I intend to use it to become king of Anarchia."
Talbot was not one for expressive mirth but he couldn't help laughing out loud again.
"Oh, thank you for that, Dionys," he said, trying to get his breath back. "I haven't laughed this hard in forever."
"I'm serious," the visitor said with a glare. "I can make myself the first king of Anarchia since Charles the Great."
"With my help," Talbot said, still chuckling. "King of Anarchia. With stealth power-armor. I suppose it should glow, too?"
"Under the right conditions," Dionys said loftily.
"What's your favorite color?" Edmund grinned.
"I think it should flow out a midnight black cloud," Dionys said. "That would be. appropriate.
"Hah," the smith grunted. "No. Not black nor red nor royal blue nor even flaming pink. Go away."
"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 quo
te 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.
"I took a spill," Rachel called, shaking spray off her arm. "A pretty bad one," she added, pointedly.
"Sorry," Marguerite called, finally skidded to a stop and jetted over to her friend. "You okay?"
"Fine, I took it on the field," she replied. "It was a little hairy for a minute though. I'm going to quit for today; I'm tired."
"Okay," Marguerite said, waving with one hand as she jetted away. "Call me!"
"Sure," Rachel replied quietly. She looked around at the blue waves rolling from horizon to horizon. She never, ever, had considered what would happen if a bit of technology failed her. But she had today. If the field failed or the biological controls on a shark weren't working or even a hurricane was permitted to form, anything could happen out here. It was just such a. big place.
It was silly to worry about though. It was like worrying that a teleport would fail. The Net would n
ever let it happen.
With that thought she waved her hand. "Home, genie."
She was pretty sure it would work.
Daneh looked at the young man and smiled faintly.
"Herzer, I've thought of something that should work," she said. "I think we can not just improve the symptoms but maybe even cure your problems completely and forever."
The interview was taking place in a small room. The walls were carefully chosen viewscreens; one wall was a dim forest glade where a shallow brook ran down a moss covered waterfall, another was a gentle seascape, and the last two portrayed mountain tarns, their surfaces rippled by a faint breeze. The ceiling was an undersea view of a coral reef, the walls alight with schools of colorful fish. The combination was both pleasing to the eye and soothing, with the background noise of gentle music adding to the tranquilizing effect.
John Ringo - Council Wars 01 - There Will Be Dragons Page 4