The War Of The Lance (11 page)

“Thank you so very much,” Standback said feebly. “The Thudbaggers are nearly perfect - I
don't have a bruise on me - but I couldn't really breathe in there.”

“You could make a snorkel,” Mara said sarcastically.

She had grown up near the sea, “ - a short breathing tube.” There was a hiss, then
another. The balloons were

deflating. Standback appeared among them, stuffing them back below floor level. He said
dubiously, “That's an awfully simplistic answer. You should leave design questions to the
specialists. On the other hand,” he added thoughtfully, “if it had reserve tanks - and an
air pump - and free-swinging gimbals to keep it upright. . .” He sketched it all out on
the only clear portion of his shirt.

Mara, who needed a rest, sat beside him, her chin in her hand. “I see why you're having
problems getting promoted. Do you have to get these all working to win approval?”

“Oh, my goodness, no.” Standback caught himself and added, almost defensively, “Besides,
they all work wonderfully!” He stared out at the smashed furniture wistfully. “No, it's
simply a matter of getting the Committee's stamp of approval. Unfortunately, I can't even
get their attention. They completely ignore me.”

“Do you do everything by committee?” “Some humans think we invented the committee.” "And
until you get their approval, poor Watchout can't

be betrothed to you?“ ”Nor should she be,“ Standback said glumly. ”After

all, would you agree to marry a gnome with no credentials?"

Mara didn't think she would marry a gnome at all, but decided it wouldn't be polite to
point that out. “You're very nice just for yourself, credentials or no. And now,” she said
firmly, “what about the weapons?”

“A bargain's a bargain.” Standback, making a final note on his shirt, opened the rear door
of the Thudbagger room, and Mara found herself in a branch of the main tunnel again. They
walked back toward the place where the tunnel split in two. Mara looked interestedly at
the piles of debris and the bulky inventions half hidden under canvas or in shadow.
Several of them were labeled, but life's too short to spend reading gnome labels.

“Wait.” Mara had noticed a device carelessly tossed to one side on the tunnel floor.

It had a shiny black hand-grip butt and stock that supported a shining tube-and-yoke
arrangement of blue steel and black wire, which was topped by a small sighting

tube and a tiny ring with crossed hairs in it. The whole effect was remarkably menacing.

“What is it?” she asked, staring at it in awe.

“What? Oh, that.” Standback nudged it with his foot disdainfully. “A co-worker made it.”

“You disapprove of him?” Mara hazarded.

Standback nodded, his beard whipping up and down rapidly. “It was to be his Life Quest,
and he abandoned it. Can you imagine, abandoning your Life Quest? He's always sworn that
he'd fix it some day, but I doubt if he can; it has too few parts, it's far too small, and
it can't even carry itself.” He finished indignantly, “It doesn't even have a place for
the operator to sit!”

Mara bent over it. “It fits in your hand.” “You see what I mean?” She didn't, but only
asked, “What's it for?” The gnome snorted. "It's supposed to dowse for water,

but it's hopeless. I can tolerate a few false starts, or a near miss, or the occasional
explosion or dismemberment, but this - "

“It doesn't find any water, then?”

Standback said disgustedly, “Just diamonds, emeralds, rubies, other rocks . . .” He shoved
it aside with a kick.

Mara looked back at it longingly, but kept walking.

Leaning alongside a hanging drop cloth on the tunnel wall was a human-size mannequin with
some sort of backpack on it.

“This,” Standback said as impressively as a gnome can be, in brief, “is the Mighty
Thunderpack.”

Mara examined the three nozzles connected to two tanks and what looked like a
fire-starting flint. Near the top of the unit was also the now-familiar bulge of one of
Standback's sensors. She gingerly touched the directional fin, like a fish's, on the
Thunderpack. “How do you aim it?”

Standback laughed tolerantly. “It's not a weapon; it's personal troop transport.”

Mara put it on her shoulders. For metal work, particularly for gnome metalwork, it was
surprisingly light. “Very impressive,” she said. She pictured an army (led by herself,
naturally) swooping through squadrons of draconians and cutting them into small,
non-combative strips. “How does it start up?”

“From the mere touch of an iron weapon,” Standback said proudly. “I used a special kind of
rock in it. Do you have a dagger?”

Mara hesitated.

“Come, come,” the gnome said impatiently. “All thieves have daggers.”

Embarrassed, Mara handed him the paring knife she had brought with her from her mother's
kitchen.

Standback took it and said, “When I wave this near the sensor, the Mighty Thunderpack will
burst into action.” He tensed his arms and said in a melancholy voice, “Well, good-bye.”

Mara, seeing the knife wave and noticing belatedly Standback's emphasis on “burst,”
lurched forward out of the way as Standback's arm moved near. To her relief, the
Thunderpack did not activate. “What do you mean, 'goodbye?' Has this thing been tested
before?” she demanded.

“Of course, extensively. Just look in the side room.” The gnome gestured to the left,
behind the drop cloth that Mara had assumed was hanging against the tunnel wall.

Mara lifted the cloth. Stacked floor to ceiling were the charred arms and legs of test
dummies. Not one torso remained. “Has it ever been tested by a living person?”

“Of course not; why do you think - Oh, you mean, 'by someone living at the time he tested
it.' Yes, once.” Stand- back looked solemn. “Poor fellow. And so young.”

Mara took off the Thunderpack, and, to her credit, she was barely shaking. “What else do
you have?”

“I have other transport devices.” He escorted her to what he called, “a variation on the
gnomeflinger. I named it the Portapult.”

IT looked more like THEM. The Portapult consisted of two gnomeflingers, ingeniously and
intricately linked by cable, chain, and several pieces of fine wire, for which Mara could
imagine no purpose.

Each gnomeflinger rested on six wheels on three axles. The front axle had a built-in pivot
and the pivot axle of each gnomeflinger was connected to the other by chain.

Standback followed Mara's confused glance. “Oh, they're inseparable,” he said proudly.
"Linked in frame, function, and trigger. The Portapult breaks apart for

transport“ - it looked as though it might break apart as he spoke - ”but it re-assembles
for synchronized action. The Portapult can deliver six soldiers simultaneously, send them
hundreds of feet through the air. . . .

“Isn't it wonderful?” he finished huskily, and patted one of the delivery platforms
affectionately. The platform shot upward and the Portapult spun sideways. An identical
platform on the second gnomeflinger shot upward and that unit turned sideways as well -
sideways toward the first - and the two platforms met with a SMACK that blew Standback's
hair straight behind him and made Mara's ears pop.

“I should check that trigger again,” he said thoughtfully. “Also, perhaps, the targeting
ratchets.”

He sat in a narrow seat beyond one of the platforms and pedaled strenuously. A chain on a
toothed gear cranked down one platform; the other inched down in time with it. Mara heard
the faintest of clicks as the minuscule triggers hooked over the platforms to hold the
bent, straining beams and cablework in place.

She helped the gnome as, very gently, he put the two units side by side again. “They look
dangerous,” she said.

Standback misunderstood. “Oh, yes,” he said happily. “Someday they'll have great strategic
importance.”

“But not yet.” Mara sighed. “Is there anything useful down here?”

The gnome considered. “There is,” he said slowly for a gnome, “a powerful defensive
weapon, designed to break through any surrounding force. I'm not sure that I should let
you see it - ”

“Please.” Mara had little faith left in gnome technology, but she wanted very badly to
leave with something.

“Very well.” Standback walked her down several bends in the corridor to a side tunnel. In
the middle of it was a tarpaulin covering something the size of a crouching man.

“Why isn't this one in a room?” Mara asked.

Standback shuddered. “In a room, with this? That would be far too dangerous.” He pointed
to the long horizontal gashes in the tunnel walls, and parallel marks on the floor,
chiseled into the rock. Some of them were bright and new.

Mara perked up. “Is it really so dangerous as all that?”

“Absolutely,” the gnome replied. “You can parry a sword. You can beat back a spear.”
Standback paused for effect, not an easy thing for a gnome. “But there is no way for your
adversary to fight off the astonishing Floating Deathaxe.”

He pulled a cloth off the axe.

In spite of her disappointment, Mara felt like laughing at the sight of a pendulum-shaped
axe, swinging from a framework of three strange oar-shaped wooden fans. The fans were
attached to a gear arrangement of spools of thongs and elastics.

“Good design,” she said finally. “If it's deadly, it hides its function well.”

“You think so?” Standback peered at it. “It looks like any other weapon's design to me.”

“How does it work? No offense, but it looks as though it is designed to mix bread in some
demented kitchen. What do these little oars do?”

The gnome reached a stubby finger out and spun them fondly. “They're called propellers.
When they're in balance, they propel it.”

Mara stared confusedly at the propellers, which weren't attached to any wheels or rollers.
“How?”

“In a straight line, if it's properly adjusted.” “No, I mean, how can they move it?” “It
flies.” Now Mara did laugh. “And what makes it fly?” She

saw a pull-cord hanging from one of the spindles. “This?” “Yes, but only after it's
properly adjusted. If you - ” “Oh, leave it alone,” Mara said tiredly. Standback looked
crushed.

“I'm sorry.” Mara sighed. “I didn't mean that. It's just - I was going to bring back such
wonderful things, and save my people and make Kalend notice me - ” She choked back her
tears. Queens of Thieves don't cry.

Standback patted her sympathetically and they walked together in silence, two people with
little in common but the fact that life was not going well for either of them.

They returned to the skylight where Mara had first entered. She stood in the smoke and
steam-filtered daylight of the square hole above them and slumped against the rock wall,
looking at the hall of useless

inventions. From somewhere far overhead came a muffled

BOOM. The entire tunnel shook, dropping dust and cobwebs. A huge bell carillon somewhere
far above them clanged frantically, followed by some kind of trumpet, several clappers, a
siren, and numerous whistles.

Invisible creatures shook themselves free of the ceiling and flapped to and fro in panic.
Mara clapped her hands over her ears. Standback shouted in delight, “It works!”

“What?” Mara could read his lips, though that was hard because of the gnome's beard.

“The perimeter alarm. I set it up around the top of the mountain.” Standback was actually
dancing. “It notifies bystanders - ”

“I'll say.”

“ - locates the point of entry, and even seals off rooms and levels.” He pointed to the
stone trap door sliding slowly over the skylight to the crater floor.

Then he looked concerned. “They'll need me up there to shut it off. They're probably
completely deaf right now.”

“WHAAAT?”

“NOTHING.” Standback dashed over to the Gnomeflinger, leapt on the payload pad several
times and (amazingly enough) sailed easily through the half-shut skylight.
“Illbebacktheleverletsyouout - ”

The trap door slid shut and fell in place with a thud. The bells, whistles, clappers and
sirens above grew muffled.

Mara stared upward, her mouth hanging open. A gnome device had actually worked as it was
supposed to. But now how was she going to get out?

She examined the lever on the wall and tried to trace its relationship to the trap door.
She could see a slack rope that disappeared into a hole in the tunnel ceiling, and she
noted a rod leading from the lever up to a cantilever, but she couldn't understand how it
would work.

The alarm noises stopped abruptly. Standback or someone else had found a way to shut them
off or, more likely, had accidentally silenced them. Mara had seen enough of the gnomes to
hope that there were no casualties.

Her ears adjusted to the sudden near-silence; she heard the soft hum (and drip) of
ventilation devices somewhere, and the restless motion of invisible flying pests, and
something else: a rustling, back in the side tunnels.

Feet moving - a scraping sound, not quite boots and not quite barefoot. The clink of metal
on metal. It sounded definitely ungnomelike. At that point, it occurred to Mara that
SOMETHING had set off Standback's alarms. A REAL thief . . . Mara hid in a niche in the
wall.

A shadowy figure came into view, wearing a helmet with a dragon crest.

“These must be the weapons the knights spoke of. Quick!” he hissed, “While the gnome is
gone. Take what looks useful and leave.”

It was a draconian! Two draconians! “What about the girl we followed here?” The other
draconian asked.

Mara's heart sank. She heard again in her mind Kalend saying, THEY'LL CAMP AROUND US AND
WAIT FOR SOMETHING TO BREAK - REINFORCEMENTS, OR BETTER WEAPONS . . .

The captain shrugged. “She's served her purpose. If you see her, kill her, and don't waste
time.”

Mara pressed against the tunnel wall, hidden by the shadows of cable and hanging hardware.

Four other draconians marched out of the narrow side tunnel into the hall. They were all
carrying huge, cruel weapons. Their wings filled the tunnel. They had clawed hands and
horrid sharp fangs. One of them started right for her. Mara the Brave couldn't help
herself. She whimpered.