by Frank Morin
"It passed the initial test on the ground," Verena reminded him.
Jean didn't want their flight test to fail, but she was actually looking forward to testing the catch-fall in an actual jump. The simple harness secured to her back held a quartzite thruster, just big enough to arrest her fall and bring her to a hover. To activate the stone, she'd use the same keystone that Verena had developed for controlling the windrider.
Jean touched the second, tiny quartzite block set into the center of the chest strap that linked to the catch-fall thruster. "How does this work again?"
"I created a power matrix in that stone." Verena didn't seem to mind the question, even though she had already explained it three times. "When you twist that stone so the top end makes contact with that vein of quartzite in the strap, it'll activate."
Hamish said, "Simply brilliant. Would've taken me a lot longer to figure out."
Verena grinned. "If I'd let you continue working on your original plan, activating this thing would accelerate her fall."
"Everyone gets things backwards sometimes," Hamish said defensively.
"Except you had it backward, upside-down, and inside out."
Jean smiled along with Verena but said, "So turning this stone links the currents of power you activated inside of it to the thruster, right?" She traced the crystalline quartzite vein worked into her strap.
"More or less. It's a multi-faceted, layered build, far more complex than any mechanical we've used before."
If they could prove it worked reliably, both with the catch-fall harness, as well as with the levers controlling the windrider, the concept could open up nearly endless possibilities for what they could do with their mechanicals, and who could run them.
Jean felt deeply grateful for the opportunity to participate in proving these advanced principles Verena and Hamish were rediscovering. They possessed the gift for pure creation, but she could help bring their ideas to mature fruition.
"I know your builded stones work," Hamish assured Verena. "Just let me worry a little, all right?"
"While you're worrying, come up with some new ideas for 'builded'," Jean offered. "We still need a new word."
He grumbled, "I like builded. Our mechanicals are special. They're Builder-built."
Jean giggled. "I don't think that's an improvement. How about Builder-powered?"
"We don't power the stones, we unlock their power," Verena said.
Jean sighed. "We'll figure it out. Maybe we need to take the Builder out of the name."
Verena grinned, "First, let's take the Builder out of the flight."
Jean touched the cool quartzite worked into the wooden shafts. "I'm ready."
Verena pointed to the recessed tops of each lever. They still bore some chisel marks from the quick, recent work done to prepare them for the test.
"This set-up is still a bit crude, but it should work to prove the concept." She extracted from her satchel a small piece of quartzite and handed it to Jean.
Jean had studied the stone closely while they were planning for the flight. It was the keystone, similar to the one in her harness. All she had to do was place the rounded, bottom edge of it into the recessed top of each lever that she wanted to control, with the side containing the engraved quartzite symbol facing her. That would link the keystone to the control levers in a neutral release position.
The tiny symbol engraved onto the stone looked like the eye of a storm, with streamers of wind rippling away on one side. "I saw this symbol in my research, but there was no explanation."
"I doubt even many Petralists recognize the ancient symbols any more," Verena said. "I found them in one of the few tomes of notes from the original Builders that were preserved." Her eyes widened. "I bet Kilian himself rescued those from the Great Purge."
Hamish said, "Probably belonged to his sister. I wish he'd gotten all of them."
Jean nodded. The thought of destroying books filled her with seething fury.
"Let's start with some more lift," Verena said, gesturing toward the fourth lever. Jean decided she needed to add labels to each of them until she developed the intuitive understanding of which lever controlled which function.
Verena jumped into the back of the wagon, then took Jean's place when she slid to the pilot position in the center. Jean settled the little stone into place over the correct lever.
Verena leaned a little closer, eyes fixed on the lever in Jean's eager hands. Hamish was leaning in from the other side, eyes wide, a breadstick hanging from the corner of his mouth.
Verena said, "Twist the keystone to the right to increase release. The power currents augment the thrusters by degrees, depending on how far you turn it. Turning the stone the other way will have the opposite effect."
"Have I told you today that you're brilliant?" Hamish asked.
Jean couldn't understand how the magic worked, but she was impressed by Verena. "How did you determine the amount of extra thrust to release as I turn the stone?"
"It's still guesswork. Right now, it's split from neutral to full power across about a hundred degrees of arc. To reduce power, return the stone to the starting position, then rotate back the other way."
"We should have a keystone for every lever," Jean said. She should have thought of that sooner.
Verena nodded. "We'll probably settle on an entirely different configuration, but we have to start somewhere."
"So let's test," Hamish urged, his excitement overwhelming his worries.
Jean twisted the keystone. She planned just a little change, but it turned in the socket easier than she expected. She ended up turning it almost all the way. The roar of the powerful lift thrusters doubled and the wagon ascended sharply. The force pressed against her shoulders like a heavy weight.
"Too much," Hamish said, one hand reaching for the lever.
"Let her figure it out," Verena cautioned.
Jean turned the stone back to center, then twisted it the other way. She figured half a negative turn would bring them back to the previous hover, but the turn cut too much, and at the abrupt decrease of power, she slammed up against the restraining straps that held her to the seat and prevented her from soaring right off the seat.
Hamish whooped as he soared into the air, then ignited his suit's thrusters to return. Verena used a small quartzite stone as a personal thruster to settle back to the seat.
She explained, "You have to slow gradually, especially with such a big wagon."
"I had no idea it was so complicated," Jean said, her heart pumping with the thrill of the experience. It wasn't going great, but she was really flying the windrider! "I'll need to document the amount of change at each degree."
"Try the other levers," Verena suggested.
Jean shook her head. "I should test the lift a few dozen more times and document the results thoroughly. We might need to add gradient lines to the quartzite to mark major units of change of lift rate. Maybe every twenty percent. What units do we use, anyway?"
Verena shrugged. "We don't have a name for it yet."
"Just try the other levers," Hamish pleaded. "We need to make sure they all work the same way. I don't think I can handle a few dozen more tests of the lift alone."
"Why not? Feeling sick?" Jean teased.
"You can't make me sick," Hamish laughed.
So Jean moved the keystone to the top of the third lever and gave it a savage turn. The corner thrusters ignited with a roar. The windrider began a slow, flat spin.
Hamish chuckled, leaning back against the seat. "I think I'll take a nap."
Jean glanced to Verena, who shrugged. "It's a big wagon. It takes time for it to build up momentum for changes, especially from the smaller directional thrusters."
Jean moved the keystone to the first lever, intending to lean the wagon a bit and give him a start, but she turned too far and the lift thrusters under the front of the wagon dropped to a low whine. The front of the wagon pitched down, throwing them all forward.
"What are
you doing?" Hamish exclaimed as Jean lurched against her safety straps and the two Builders tumbled right out the front.
"Oops," Jean breathed. "Definitely need labels." That had been the tip-over lever, not the lean-over one.
She twisted the keystone back the other way, but the wagon was nearly vertical by the time she did. So she twisted the keystone all the way to the right to max the front lift thrusters and tip them back the other way.
That's when she realized that the wagon was still spinning. The abrupt tip-forward motion seemed to have accelerated that spin, and she had left the slip-spin thrusters still activated. Verena had said the wagon took a while to pick up momentum, but the change seemed to accelerate with time.
The front thrusters roared and began to tip the wagon back the other way, but the spinning was accelerating so much that Jean started to feel sick. She moved the keystone to the third lever, but it took precious seconds to get it settled into place.
By that time the wagon was spinning like a top, and the front lift thrusters had fired too long, too hard. The wagon tumbled right over backward, somersaulting through the air in a back, rolling twist that overwhelmed Jean's ability to figure out how to respond.
The entire world was spinning around her, and Jean cried out with fear. Her initial exhilaration was already gone, and three seconds later, her lunch joined it as she reached the stomach-lurch point.
Jean clutched at her head as she vomited. Closing her eyes helped a little, but not knowing what was happening, not being able to see panicked her. The wagon was going to crash for sure, and she was going to die. Where was Hamish?
She'd killed him and Verena!
Filled with overwhelming fear, Jean pawed at the restraining straps, finally hitting the release latch. Instantly, she tumbled off the bench. The rear of the spinning wagon struck her as she rolled past, and she cried out as pain lanced through her ribs.
Then she was flying free, spinning wildly as she tumbled toward the ground. She clutched at her chest, her hands shaking with panic as she tried to twist the little keystone on the catch-fall.
With a welcome whoosh of air, it activated.
She was aimed headfirst at the ground.
The little mechanical only accelerated her fall. Jean screamed and flailed at the air, trying to right herself, but unable to manage it. How did Hamish soar like an eagle? All she could do was fall to her death.
Then Hamish swooped in and snatched her out of the air, pulling her close and twisting them both upright. The catch-fall on her back faded to silence, and the two of them hovered, blessedly motionless.
Jean clung to him, sobbing with relief.
"Are you all right?" Hamish asked.
"What do you think? I nearly killed us all."
"Stop exaggerating," Hamish chuckled, pointing to the right. Jean followed his gaze. Verena had somehow returned to the windrider, leveled out its flight, and was banking the big wagon around in a lazy turn toward them.
"I don't think I've ever seen anyone make a windrider do tricks like that," Hamish laughed.
"It's not funny," Jean said, not easing her hold on him. She couldn't if she had wanted to. Terror had locked her arms around him in a death-grip.
Hamish waved Verena to land the windrider and he settled the two of them to the ground nearby. Jean stepped away, her knees weak, barely restraining the urge to kiss the ground.
Verena hurried over and asked, "Are you all right?"
"I think so," Jean said as she vainly attempted to fix her windblown hair. "I'd say our first test can be classified a failure."
Hamish asked, "What are you talking about? Did you see the distance you got when you reached the stomach-lurch threshold? That was a perfect spray pattern with outstanding coverage."
Jean laughed, and her terror faded. She tried to see the flight from his perspective and to focus on the wonder of at least momentarily controlling the huge wagon.
"I learned a lot," she said.
"A lot about what not to do," Hamish said.
Jean nodded. "I can see we need to teach people more basics to avoid those kind of mistakes. We need to study the physics of bird design and how they fly, air dynamics, and mathematics for a start."
Verena nodded, but Hamish frowned. "You're complicating things again."
"No, I'm trying to set up a school to teach safe flying."
"I hate school," Hamish muttered.
"We'll need one, though." Jean had realized it the moment she said it. "We need a structured way to test and to quantify our findings. We need a dedicated learning facility to explore the principles and understand them."
Hamish blew out a breath. "I never realized I was working so hard when I fly."
"You and Verena just picked it up." Jean leaned in to kiss him, but he recoiled and she realized her mouth tasted like bile. So she added, "You're simply brilliant. The rest of us need more structure to make it work."
Hamish beamed as they headed toward the laboratory and a crowd of gawkers who had watched the flight test. "You deserve a brilliant kiss for that. Once you rinse your mouth."
Chapter Thirty-Two
"The bucket does not command the river to flow. It is filled only when placed in the waters."
~Gregor
Connor rose from a comfortable chair in the third-floor library in the Harz central keep where he'd been sitting near Gisela, catching up on events at the Carraig. Ailsa had actually returned home to Raineach to focus on filling her large influx of new orders.
They sat in a cluster of comfortable chairs near a cheery little fire on the southern end of the long room. A large window nearby looked out over the expanse of Harz valley. Aifric had participated in the conversation for a few minutes, then had leaned back and fallen asleep.
The library was paneled in dark wood, with over a hundred precious books. Connor was surprised that so few people seemed interested in taking advantage of the peaceful spot. They were the only people in the room at the moment.
Then the door opened and Hamish and Jean entered, hand in hand, arguing about when to next test the windrider. They dropped into chairs near Aifric, who continued slumbering, despite the noise. Verena followed them into the room and settled into the seat to Connor's right.
"How did it go?" he asked. Jean's hair was tangled, her cheeks were still flushed, and her eyes looked a bit wild.
Jean grimaced. "There's more to flying than these two let on."
"You got lots of stuff for that notebook," Hamish said with a grin.
"Please telling us," Gisela asked eagerly.
Aifric snorted and snapped upright, looking around as if momentarily confused.
"I would've thought Assassins would sleep lighter," Hamish said.
"Right now I'm Aifric, and she doesn't worry about people sneaking up behind her."
"How do you keep it all straight?" Verena asked in a fascinated tone.
Aifric shrugged. "It's not that hard. When I'm Aifric, all I have to worry about is being me."
A subtle shudder passed through her frame and her features altered slightly. Her smile faded and her expression turned more predatory. When she spoke, her voice had lost its warm timbre. The words were sharper, her tone more coldly confident.
"When I'm Student Seventeen, all I have to worry about is my next mission."
"Student Seventeen?" Connor asked.
"That's me."
"Pleasure to meet you," Verena said formally.
"I never knew that was your name," Connor said.
"You never asked."
"That's an odd name," Hamish said.
"Not when you know my people," Student Seventeen explained. "All Mhortair children join the kill academy to see which have potential to become fully credited Assassins."
"What happens to the ones who don't make it?" Jean asked, shuffling her chair closer.
"Their lives are spent in supporting roles to our work." Her tone carried a hint of disdainful pride. It was fascinating to Connor to see the
startling differences in Aifric's different personalities.
"We still need carpenters, cooks, blacksmith, and all the other regular crafts and trades, but for students who show promise, they are all named Student."
"So Student Seventeen means you were the seventeenth student in your class?" Connor guessed.
She shook her head. "Every time a student does something that could potentially get them expelled or executed, but they are given another chance to remain in the academy, a number is added to their name."
"You could have been killed seventeen times in school?" Jean exclaimed. "That's horrible."
"It is the way. Most students do not survive past four or five."
"Then how did you get all the way to seventeen?" Verena asked.
She allowed a wolfish smile. "I pushed the limits of my training, but I also held the top spot in my class. Instead of discarding me, my death trainers began assigning challenge missions as punishment. That's how I ended up at the Carraig."
"That's amazing," Verena said, sharing an astonished look with Connor. "Did you learn other subjects besides killing?"
"Of course, but details are not discussed. If my masters knew I had shared this much, I might reach number eighteen."
Another shudder passed through her frame, and her features relaxed. She blinked a couple of times, then sighed and rolled her shoulders. "Seventeen can be so uptight sometimes." She grinned and leaned over to grip Jean's hand. "How did your flying go? I'm so excited to hear all about it!"
Jean hesitated for only a second, and Connor wasn't surprised. The abrupt shift was startling. Connor wanted to ask Aifric about that process of shedding one personality and slipping into another, but Jean was already launching into her tale. Her near-disastrous first flight was fascinating.
Connor marveled that none of them had gotten badly hurt. "Wow. I thought research was usually pretty safe."
Jean chuckled. "Not today."
"We definitely need to attach one keystone to each lever," Hamish said.
Jean nodded. "Fumbling with that keystone compounded the problems."
