“I won’t do it! I swore an engineer’s oath. I own obligations to my profession, obligations which bind me to practice my craft with integrity and to preserve the precious nature of the Universe.” Hardwir stabbed his gauntleted finger in the direction of the engine. “It poisons the environment, it’s horribly inefficient, and it runs on fossil fuels. It requires a finite, high-pollutant resource to function. What idiot would build an engine based on a finite non-renewable resource?”
“I don’t care,” Arland snarled. “You will fix it.”
Hardwir raised his chin. “No, I will not. You’re asking me to repair something that makes toxins. If this was an engine of war, it would outlawed.”
“You swore fealty to me personally. You swore fealty to our House.”
“I am an engineer. I won’t betray myself.”
Arland opened his mouth and said one word. “Ryona.”
Hardwir snarled, baring his teeth.
Arland’s face showed no mercy. “If we don’t fix this, we will be discovered, which means this peace summit will fail. All of the sacrifices of your sister on the battlefield will be for nothing.”
Hardwir spun away from him, glared at the exposed engine, and turned back. “No.”
Arland touched his crest. “Edalon? I’m sorry to interrupt your vigil. We need you. It’s an emergency.”
A single word emanated from the crest.
A moment later the inn chimed, announcing a visitor at the back of orchard. I opened the gates of the stables. A single vampire knight walked through the trees. He was of average vampire height, just over six feet, and lean, almost slender. His skin was the darkest of the vampire genotype, a grey with a blue tint, like the contour feather of a mature blue heron. His hair fell on his shoulder in a cascade of long thin braids. It must’ve been black at some point, but now it was shot through with grey. Vampires didn’t go grey until well into their seventies, but he didn’t look anywhere close to that. He wore long crimson and silver vestments over his armor, but unlike the single robe of a Catholic priest, this vestments were cut into long ribbons, eight inches wide. They flowed as he moved, streaming from his shoulders like an otherworldly mantle. Watching him approach was surreal.
Arland had called on his Battle Chaplain. They must have a spacecraft in orbit.
The chaplain strode into the stables. His face was completely serene, his eyes calm as he surveyed the cruiser, Officer Marais, and finally us.
Arland stepped closer to him and spoke quietly his voice barely above a whisper.
Odalon nodded and turned to Hardwir. “Your concerns do your credit.” His voice was soothing and even, a kind of voice that made you relax almost in spite of yourself.
“I won’t do it,” Hardwir said.
“Walk with me,” Odalon invited.
The engineer followed him out into the orchard. They stopped by one of the apple trees and spoke quietly.
Arland sighed. “All of this could’ve been avoided.”
Lady Isur shrugged. “If not this, then something else. Robart is going to make this as painful as possible. You knew this going in.”
Hardwir and the Battle Chaplain walked back.
“Even if I agreed to do this, it wouldn’t work,” Hardwir said. “I would need a molecular synthesizer to repair the parts…”
“They are standard issue on most military vessels,” Lady Isur said.
“I wasn’t finished, Marshall,” Hardwir said. “We have a molecular synthesizer on board, but the repairs must match the wear and tear of the engine. For that I must determine the age and the degradation of the current engine, which means I need an age sequencer and specialized software. We don’t have that. We’re a military vessel, not an archaeological exploration ship.”
The female member of Nuan Cee’s clan cleared her throat. We all looked at her.
“Uncle Nuan Cee has one,” she said. “It’s very complicated. Very expensive. Far beyond my understanding.”
George smiled. “Perhaps I can prevail on esteemed Nuan Cee to let us use it.”
“I’m sure he would,” she said. “For the right price.”
“The right price?” Arland growled. “More like a lung and half a heart. I’ve dealt with him before. He’ll squeeze the last—”
“I’ll take care of it,” I told him.
George and I found the esteemed Nuan Cee in his quarters. He was lounging on the plush furniture by a small indoor fountain. George sketched out the situation.
Nuan Cee leaned forward, the glint in his eyes clearly predatory. “Age sequencer is a very delicate piece of equipment. Very expensive. I carry one because people sometimes try to sell me objects and I must ascertain their authenticity. Can you imagine if I sold something that might be a reproduction?” He chortled.
This was going to cost us, I could feel it. “We are in awe of your wisdom,” I said.
“And we count on your generosity,” George said.
“Generosity is a terrible vice,” Nuan Cee said. “But of course, even I am not infallible.”
He had us by the throat and he knew it. I smiled. “You have a vested interest in this summit succeeding. After all, if the war continues, your spaceport on Nexus will be overrun.”
Nuan Cee waved his paws. “We have Turan Adin. Even if the Holy Anocracy and the Hope-Crushing Horde united, we would have nothing to fear.”
Who or what was Turan Adin?
“Still, the war is bad for business. I find myself being inclined to do you this favor.”