Pathspace: The Space of Paths (53 page)

“
How did it feel to kill the Honcho?” Lester
countered.

“
That was different,” said Xander. “It wasn't revenge, just
something that had to happen. He'd never have given up his dreams
of Empire.”

“
I never killed anyone before, but I think I can live with
it.”

“
But it wasn't even a duel, really. You gave him no chance at
all.”

“
Should I have? I gave him as much chance as he gave my
father. All right, I didn't do it for the Governor. It was revenge,
pure and selfish. I'm not sorry I did it.”

“
Well,” said Xander, “you might have a delayed reaction. Still
might feel guilty.”

“
I doubt it.”

“
Maybe you should take some time off from your studies, just
in case.”

Lester leaned back in his chair. “Oh,
I intend to. Before we get started with the school, I need to go
back to Inverness and tell my mom he's dead.” He glanced at Xander.
“Okay, maybe it won't make her happy. But she'll have
closure.”

“
Either way, it'll be good for her to see the man you're
becoming. I know you didn't intend it, but the way Brutus died got
you some attention. There's a newsman, a fellow here with a manual
printing press, and his latest handbill calls you 'LeStar', if you
can believe that.”

“
Great,” Lester groaned. Made famous by someone who can't even
spell my name.”

“
Just be sure you get back here soon,” said Xander. “We need
to start the school, and I think it's time to start you on
learning
spinspace
. Since one day you'll be teaching it.”

“
I know. There's always more work to do.”

---- 6:21PM EST 10/22/2014
Crystal River, FL

Keep reading for a peek at the next novel in
The metaspace Chronicles: SPINSPACE

Spinspace: The Space of
Spins

Volume 2 of The Metaspace
Chronicles

by Matthew R.
Kennedy

Copyright © 2015 by Matthew R.
Kennedy

A Smashwords version.

“
The most beautiful thing we can
experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and
science.”

–
Albert Einstein

It wasn't the beginning of
the end. It wasn't even the end of the beginning.

The collapse of Earth's
technology, the Fall that we blamed on the Tourists, had happened.
You could call it an end, of sorts. It was an end to the world that
was, a world that might never return. Had millions, maybe even
billions starved? Certainly. Had the globe-spanning networks of
commerce and communications died, when alien technology failed?
Undoubtedly. Had all the nations splintered into tiny kingdoms and
city states? Of course.

But was it the end of
humans? No. We could live without the technology of the Ancients.
Just not as well.

Older technologies
resurfaced to take the place of what we had lost. As automobiles
failed, horse populations rose. Vacant hardware stores were
replaced by a new generation of blacksmiths. Pharmaceutical
companies perished, herbalists took their place. Everywhere,
low-tech alternatives that predated the Age of Machines filled the
gap left by vanishing infrastructure.

The question was not
whether we would recover, but how, and how long it would take.
There were those like the former Honcho of the Lone Star Empire who
dreamed of restoring our former glory by eliminating the alien
technology, and rebuilding our technology without it. They sought
to unify the splintered nations by conquest.

They were not always
successful.

But there were also those
who knew that the Fall was not caused by the alien technology, but
by our failure to replicate, develop, and maintain it, once the
aliens left the solar system. And it took a while, but long-term
exposure of humans to the alien tech caused, in some, the
development of the very abilities whose lack had caused the
fall.

Once they manifested,
these abilities, though rare, were frightening to many
people.

Some of these
wonder-workers were killed, out of fear.

Some obtained the
protection of local rulers.

A few of them gained safety by
becoming
the local rulers.

And a few, very few, had
the foresight to pass on their knowledge, to take on apprentices,
and even, in some cases, to begin to set up schools to teach their
discoveries.

Wizards were among us
again.

And that
was
a new beginning.

Lester:
The Thin Ice of The New Day

The last rays of the sun
were yielding to the coming of night when the daily express from
Denver pulled into the village. The team of horses clattered to a
stop by the watering trough. “Inverness! Get and stretch yer legs
if you want, We're movin' on in ten minutes.”

Clem looped the reins
around a knob on the dashboard and climbed out of the driver's
seat. He ambled around to the passenger exit in case anyone needed
helping down and stamped snow off his boots. At first, no one
budged, and he was about to duck into the inn for an ale for the
road when the vehicle resounded to the steps of a passenger who
might have changed his mind about staying put.

Lester stepped down
carefully, leaned on his staff, and looked around the place. Little
had changed in the months he had been gone. Not that he had
expected it to. He brushed back the hood of his gray robe, smelling
the clean cold air. “Thanks for the ride, Clem,” he said, and
strode off toward the front door of the inn.

He kicked his boots
against a hitching post to loosen the snow they had picked up and
reached out to open the door.

Before he could pull on it
the door flew open and his mother embraced him. “Oh my baby!” she
cried into his shoulder. “You're home! I was so
worried.”

He hugged her back. “I'm
fine,” he told her. “And I'm sorry I couldn't write. You've no idea
how busy I've been.”

She released him and put
her hands on his shoulders. “You look taller.”

“
That's just my new boots,” he said.
“How have you and Drew been? I need to speak with you in private,
when you get a chance.”

“
Oh, we're all fine,” she said,
ignoring the fact that he hadn't asked after Gerrold. “Where did
you get that robe? But what am I doing, keeping you on the street.
Come in and wash up for dinner, the stew should be ready in a few
minutes.”

“
In a minute. There's something I need
to do first.” He turned and strode off down the road.

The smithy was not far. It
was an old story. When coaches ran long routes and needed to stop
somewhere to rest the horses, a hamlet would form. The first thing
that appeared was always the inn, usually hardly more than a
watering trough and roofed room with a hearth. As the inn grew,
adding rooms and a larger kitchen, the next building to spring up
was the smithy. Even if there wasn't enough business out in the
middle of nowhere for full-fledged smith, you could usually rely on
a farrier to set up shop, eking out a living from horses that had
thrown a shoe or re-forging broken plows for nearby
farmers.

Once people noticed that a
way station was forming, the next building to appear was the
general store. It started with just feed for the horses and
branched out to supply the growing inn with foodstuffs and linen
and the life when traffic picked up.

From this point on the
growth of the rest stop turned hamlet would begin to accelerate.
The next building was usually a small church to serve the farmers
who were only too happy to stop driving all the way to the nearest
town. The appearance of even a small chapel officially transformed
the hamlet into a village.

Other buildings appeared
in short order, as the inn added more rooms and a stable for horses
to come in out of the rain. Soon there would be a local seamstress,
or even a teacher setting up shop teaching in the tiny church that
doubled as a one-room school. When the size of the settlement
justified it, a butcher's son would throw up a shed for farmers to
bring old or extra livestock that for various reasons they were to
busy to slaughter themselves. This, in turn, set the stage for a
tanner and a leather worker...since no one eats hide. Just as the
farmer's cast-off became the butcher's source, so the butcher's
unwanted hides became opportunities for a tanner.

His mind was wandering
again. By the time he forced himself to stop following that chain
of thoughts, he nearly passed the smithy.

The sun was nearly down,
and the air was already getting frosty, but Jonathan barely noticed
it. The glory hole of his forge was pouring hot air out into the
smithy, making it warm enough for Lester to begin sweating under
his robe as soon as he stepped in. Jon was hammering a piece of
iron shape Lester didn't immediately recognize, and wearing had the
thinnest of shirts under the leather apron that he wore to protect
his front from the occasional spark or metal sliver.

Lester knew better than to
interrupt a smith at his work, so he just leaned on his staff and
waited until the metal part's glow had died and Jon stopped to grab
the tongs and shove it back into the forge to reheat it. He seized
the handle of the bellows with his free hand and pumped the coals
brighter until he was satisfied.

When Jon turned away from
the glow of the glory hole he finally noticed his visitor. Without
putting down the tongs he wiped sweat from his brow with the back
of his hand. “What can I do for you?” Then he seemed to recognize
Lester. “Oh, it's you. Haven't seen you 'round here. Something
break at the inn?”

“
No.” Lester glanced around the
smithy. “Do you happen to have any pipe on hand?”

Jon eyed him. “I might,”
he said. “What diameter do you need?”

Lester shrugged. “Doesn't
matter much to me. It's more like a case of what diameter do you
need?”

“
Come again?”

Lester pointed at the
bellows. It was a small model. It lay on a square brick pedestal
next to the forge, parallel to the wall, with one handle lashed
down so that Jon could pump it with one hand. “What's the nozzle
diameter you use?”

Now Jon was staring at
him. “What are you getting at? Thinking of going into business for
yourself making bellows for smiths? Not much call for that around
here.”

“
No,” said Lester. “But as it happens,
I need a bit of pipe and since I've no money, I thought maybe we
could help each other out. What's the diameter?”

Jon's brows creased in
bafflement. “Inch and a half. “Look, I guess you heard my striker's
gone off to Denver to join up. But I don't think your ma can spare
you long enough for you to work off the cost of some pipe. If you –
“

Lester raised a hand.
“She's done without me for a few months now. But that's not what I
had in mind. We both know your everflame isn't as good as it used
to be, or you wouldn't have rigged up the bellows.”

Here Jon frowned. “So? I
ain't complaining. With charcoal and a bellows I do just fine.
Carolyn's been helping me on the bigger jobs since she was big
enough to reach the handle. When I'm between strikers, I
mean.”

“
I'm sure she has. What would you say
if I could give you something better than a bellows? Would that be
worth, say, a dozen feet of pipe?”

The smith pursed his lips.
“Dunno what you're thinking, youngster, but decent pipe ain't
cheap. It's not much fun turning it out myself, so I get mine from
the guy over in Farlow.”

Lester sighed. He could
feel his patience with this evaporating. “Have you got a short
piece the same diameter as the bellows nozzle? It's be easier for
me to just show you.”