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In an instant she was on him. She cast aside her unwieldy battle axe in these close quarters and slammed him in the kidneys with two Full Strength blows—her fists having the characteristic "stony" feel to them. He could hear her grunting as she hit him. She then reared up and drove the heel of her right Dora into his shoulder. Searing pain ripped through him as she twisted it around.

Reveling in the moment, she dropped her TK and tried to rope him with her Shadow tech whip—too slow, Davage pounced. Rolling to his left, he hooked her legs and sent her rocketing, robe and sash, to the ground. Using his own Full Strength, he smashed her across the throat and then followed up with a solid thudding blow to the jaw, sending her reeling.

Time for the Secret Weapon. He saddled his CARG, jumped on top of her, and lit his Sight, waiting for her to become lost in it.

She was ready; she must have been watching him fight Bethrael. She covered her eyes and blasted him off of her with a brutal Sten—the fastest he'd ever seen created.

Stenned hard and accordingly stunned, he flew back and landed in the black dust near Bethrael and didn't move.

* * * * *

The angry, muttering contingent of Fleet and Marines entered the half-moon-shaped maintenance bay in the "saddle" of the neck— oaths, curses, and insults being exchanged back and forth as they went. Nobody other than Fleet engineering members came here. Kilos had never even seen the place.

"Here, damn you," Mapes said, thoroughly enraged, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Here's the damn spar."

Sygillis looked around. The bay was long and dark, full of access panels, terminals, nodes, and bulkheads. It was all so bewildering for her, all this stuff. She allowed herself to momentarily admire Mapes for fully grasping all of this.

She looked up. Overhead, high above was a long series of stout metal bars and struts all linked together into an intricate, semi-solid mass. It gave her the impression of a backbone—the monstrous backbone of some huge, ephemeral creature.

It looked strong—unmovable. How could such a thing be broken?

"Is this it, Mapes? Is this the spar you mention?" Syg asked.

"It is," he spat, still locked in her Dirge.

"What is wrong with it?"

"It's broken, snapped in twain."

"It does not appear broken," she said, looking at it, trying to understand.

"Not here, Nimrod!" he shouted. "At Js 7 and 8, the next compartment forward."

"We
shall go there, then, and you will show me,
" she Dirged.

Mapes began moving. He looked terrified.

"We can't go in there—that compartment's breached, open to naked space. You'll kill us all," he shrieked on the march.

Syg's heart sank. She had a momentary mind to let him keep going, to march Mapes right in there and allow him to be sucked into space.

"S
top,"
she said finally. Dirged, Mapes stopped walking and looked relieved.

She looked up at the spar again and followed it forward with her eyes. It disappeared beyond a bulkhead and apparently continued on unseen.

This thing was Dav's salvation, she thought. She mustn't give up.

"So, through there is where the repair is needed, correct?" She pointed forward.

"Yes, tis as I have said. Now, release me at once!"

She took a deep breath and took off her blue shawl. She let it fall to the floor.

Again, she could feel Mapes eyes all over her. She didn't like it. There was only one man she wanted looking at her, and he was far away, possibly struggling for life—clawing for it.

She mustn't fail him.

She reached up with her left hand and let fly a small, tentative streamer of Silver tech. It floated merrily upwards, hit the various cross members of the spar, and began coating it with silver.

"What are you doing?" Mapes asked.

Ignoring him, she continued coating the spar. She increased the flow of her silver, and soon, the entire length of the spar, its strong intricate construction, was covered.

Syg closed her eyes and smiled.

"There, yes—yes I can feel it, in the next compartment, the broken pieces of the spar, the hanging metal, the coldness of space."

"You can feel that, Syg?" Kilos asked.

"Yes—there's a great deal of metal missing, many broken sections. Yes, yes I've bridged the gap—I can feel the spar continuing on past the other side of the gap."

"What are you doing?" Mapes asked again.

"I'm fixing the spar," she said vacantly. "I'm doing your job for you."

"It is not possible to fix the spar in space. There is too much material missing, and the torque pressures…"

The ship gave a groan—of twisting metal and grinding girders.

"What are you doing?" Mapes shouted. He looked over to one of his Fleet crewmen. "Magyart, man your console there."

Magyart ran over to a terminal. He looked at the screen and tapped some buttons. "Sir, Z axis stability … is returning. It is still 150 percent below minimum stability, but it is climbing."

Mapes looked at the spar, now coated in silver. He watched Syg with an open mouth, no longer mocking or arrogant.

Sygillis added more silver to her stream. She grunted and strained. Again, the ship lurched.

"Sygillis…" some of the Marines began to chant, becoming excited in the moment. "Sygillis …"

"Ninety-seven percent of minimum and climbing!"

Mapes stared at Sygillis. "Magyart," he barked, "is it straight and true?"

"No sir, bent to the starboard at fifteen minus two Y axis."

"Lady Sygillis," Mapes said, "you must true the spar, bend it to your right and up a bit. Listen to Magyart, and he will guide you. Magyart, provide her with constant updates!"

Sygillis closed her eyes and strained. The ship gave a loud clank.

"Seventy-two percent of minimum! Eight minus two Y axis!"

"You're getting there," Mapes said. "Continue bending to your right and up."

Something appeared to break, and a huge breach opened high overhead.

"Breach!" one of the Marines yelled.

Hardly giving a second thought, Syg, with her right hand, threw up a blob of silver and plugged the hole. It flexed and held fast.

"Thirty-two percent of minimum! We are reading straight and true!"

"Lady Sygillis, stop bending. Now concentrate of shoring up the spar!" Mapes said.

She raised her other hand and joined its silver. More complaining from the ship.

"Minimum stability reached! We are straight and true and climbing to max hold!"

"Sygillis … Sygillis!" the Marines shouted.

The door to the bay opened and several Sisters came in. They looked at Syg.

One of the Marines spoke up. "What is this?" the Marine said for her.

Mapes turned to the Sisters. "Sisters, let her continue. She is correcting the spar. I know not how, but it is being done."

The Sisters watched Syg launch her silver. They were clearly confused by what they were seeing. They'd never seen Silver tech.

Magyart turned from his screen. "We are 100 percent max stable. Straight and true."

Sygillis stopped and staggered. Kilos caught her.

Released from the Dirge, Mapes went to the console and looked over the readings himself. He then took off his hat and looked up at the now-silver, shining spar, mouth open.

"Remarkable," he said.

"Are you all right, Syg?" Kilos asked.

"I'm fine … just a little winded."

"Will this hold? Do you have to maintain it?"

"It will hold on its own."

Mapes strode toward her. "Lady Sygillis, let me assist you."

"I'm fine," she said in a harsh voice, not wanting him anywhere near her. He stopped.

Kilos turned to Mapes. "Mapes, I want this vessel sounded from tip to top and I'll expect your report at the top of the hour. If, at that time, you determine we are fit to travel, I want mark set for full revolutions back to Ergos, understood!"

"Aye, Lieutenant!" he said.

With that, Kilos, Sygillis, and the Marines left the bay. The Marines, always a boisterous lot, cheered Syg's name the whole way.

The Sisters stood about, looking up at the silver spar, arguing silently amongst themselves, debating whether such a thing was legal or not.

Mapes watched Syg leave, his eyes never leaving her. No Blanchefort was worthy of a woman like this, he thought.

* * * * *

He had one of those dreams as he lay there in the dust—one of those dreams that fully unfold and play out, yet last only a moment.

He dreamt of Syg and his castle in the summer—still a cold place in the summertime, but very bearable for the non-Blancheforts. They sat in the Telmus Grove, amid the flowers and the old Vith splendor, ready to enjoy a meal. His sisters, Poe and dear Pardock, were there, all smiles as usual. Poe was having a good day; she seemed almost normal, her affliction held at bay for the moment. Kilos and her husband were also in attendance—Mr. Kilos, the small librarian and professor from Tusck, a man whom he liked very much but rarely got to see. Kilos was out of her Marine uniform for once, lovely in a colorful summer dress.

And Syg sat next to him, her green eyes full of happiness and love.

He said something to her.

He said, "I love you …"

The dream was over. He was pulled back from the happy scene at Blanchefort Castle to the dull, dreary, pain-filled landscape of Metatron.

What happened? His mind was lost in fog.

aptain!>

Metatron—someone was talking to him.

Ergos, Loviatar … or both at once?

Davage opened his eyes and there, charging toward him at a howl, was the tall Black Hat, her battle axe once again in hand high over her head. She was ready to pull it down in a sickening death stroke, cleaving him in twain.

This was it.

Fully awake now, he did the only thing he could do—he lit his Sight, golden light flooding out of his eyes for possibly the last time.

Again, as before, the Black Hat covered her eyes to avoid his maddening, hypnotic gaze.

Her battle axe hitched in mid-swing.

He had a moment—a sharp second in which to act.

He un-saddled his CARG.

With both hands and an agonized shoulder, he sent it whistling upwards, a heavy coppery wave.

Copper CARG and Shadow tech battle axe met …

9

The CARG had been the ancestral weapon of House Blanchefort for hundreds of years, since the time of the Elders. A novel thing, it squarely belonged to a family of weapons called LosCapricos, being of those weapons conceived in the heady time of the Elders not necessarily for functionality but instead for uniqueness, to bear a symbol for the House that created it. Each Great House had its own LosCapricos, for better or for ill. There were hundreds of them. They were afforded a special place in law. No murders could be committed with LosCapricos weapons, only noble killings, and because the Elders had a hand in their creation, they were always spelled using upper-case letters.

It was said that the CARG had originally been designed by Lennibus, Lord of Blanchefort, and it had met with the approval of the Elder Nylax himself—a rare and lofty honor.

There had been many CARGs created through the centuries, all forged by Blanchefort hands. Though the metals used and the devices varied, all CARGs were generally of the same configuration. It was a hilted, extendable, hollow metal tube, with a radius of about two and a half inches. It was usually adjustable from a fully collapsed length of two and a half feet to nine feet at full stretch. The end of the tube was always capped with either a sharp point or a gilded horn. Except for the hilt at the bottom, it was ramrod straight, like a pole, and indeed, the word CARG came from the old Vith word
cargengian,
which meant simply: long pole.

To the novice, to the unfamiliar and untrained, the CARG was nothing more than a collapsible, cylindrical metal pole with a pretty hilt at the bottom. To the touch, it was perfectly smooth, like the slippery, cool surface of a water pipe. To move it about in one's hand offered nothing more—cool and smooth.

Certainly, if used as a bludgeoning weapon, like a club or heavy bone-breaking metal bar or spear, the CARG could be thought of as an effective weapon—even a deadly one. There was no question of that.

But, place it in the hands of a master, a Blanchefort with years of training, the CARG assumed a much more deadly pose.

The apparently smooth surface of the metal tube was microfacetted, covered with millions of tiny indentations—a Blanchefort trademark and specialty. When moved in just the right fashion, those facets engaged and severed anything they came into contact with. When moved correctly, the CARG "sang"; the frictionless cutting stroke made a whistling sound that was unforgettable.

In short, the CARG, wielded by a master, could slice through solid rock.

There were certainly a great number of the LosCapricos weapons that were so strange, so bizarre, that they could never really be considered anything more than a ceremonial weapon and symbol. The GRAMPA of House Vincent was a beautiful five-segmented axe that could be more dangerous to its wielder than to the enemy. The VERDIS of House Fallz was a bladed, jeweled net that, while elegantly macabre, was virtually impossible to use.

The CRANIMER of House Durst was not really classifiable as anything in particular, weapon or not. A collection of tubes, metal balls, and wire—no one recalled its lore. Lady Hathaline of Durst, Captain of the Fleet, often told her childhood friend, Captain Davage, that if she ever figured out how to use it, he would have to marry her— that he'd promised her. She wasn't joking either, but unfortunately, she never did solve its inscrutable mystery.

Others, though, were brilliant and quite deadly. The CEROS of House Probert was a small handheld device composed of sharp, interlocking metal arms. When thrown, it took on a life of its own—it became almost as energy and always returned to its master's hand. The BEOL of House Conwell was the famous "Wind Cannon" of old that had won many battles. The elegant VUNKULA of House Grenville was a type of belt equipped with a long, segmented tail. When the belt was worn, the tail, through means unknown, sprang to life and unerringly follow its master's commands like a third arm. The tail could be fitted with any number of attachments and could strike like lightning—Sixtus of Grenville was deadly with it. It was said he was rarely without his gold and silver VUNKULA, hidden deep under the folds of his garish clothes—never used but always ready to strike. It was said he maintained a number of hidden pockets in his coat full of powders and substances that his VUNKULA could dip into and strike for a variety of effects.