March to the Sea - Empire of Man Book II

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Krindi Fain stood braced outside the company commander's office and willed his heart to stop. It had been three days since the fight in the bar, but he was certain the Guard had finally tracked them down. He'd heard through the grapevine that the cavalry shits were still in the hospital-one of them had been touch and go, according to the scuttlebutt-and two guardsmen had been in with the CO since early morning. That could only mean one thing, and when the summons had come, he'd nearly run for it. K'Vaern's Cove was an easy city to get lost in, after all, but he'd finally decided it was better to face his punishment.

"Fain. Come!" the CO called.

The commander was a regular, a young officer who'd been a sergeant in the Guard of God before the humans turned up. He'd initially resented being placed with the pikes, until it became clear that the New Model Army was where everything was happening. He had, however, already had quite a career before his posting to the regiment, including a brawl in the distant past with some Northerner cavalry that had left him with only one horn and blind in one eye. Maybe that would mitigate the punishment.

"This who you're looking for?" the commander asked one of the guardsmen with a head jerk in Fain's direction.

"You Krindi Fain?" the guardsman asked.

The corporal knew he was in trouble now. It wasn't just a couple of guardsmen, but one of the Guard's underofficers.

"Yes, I am," he answered. Best to keep it simple. The more you said, the more likely you were to make a mistake.

"Good," the underofficer said. "Little thing, aren't you? Sergeant Julian made it sound like you were five hurtongs high and breathed fire."

"I don't know how I'm possibly going to run a company if my best people keep getting pulled out from under me," the CO groused.

"So this isn't-" Fain stopped and backed up before an over-active mouth could get him in the trouble he might just have skated out of after all. "What is this about? Captain?"

"We're going to change weapons again-you knew that, right?" the company commander asked.

"Yes, Captain. Muskets, or some word like that."

"Well, that's been changed again," the Guard underofficer said. "The weapon's still being designed, but it's going to be something else-something called a 'rifle.' " He snorted. "Arquebuses may be all very well for those pussies in the Navy, but they've never worked half the time in the field, so I don't see these 'rifles' working any better. But you're one of the ones pointed out by the humans as a good person to participate in what they call 'weapons development.' "

"Oh," Fain said faintly.

"You're to take one other member of your squad, as well," the CO informed him. "Who?"

The young NCO hesitated for only a moment.

"Erkum," he said.

"Are you sure?" the CO asked with a laugh.

"Yes, Captain," Fain replied. "I know it sounds fu

"Good enough." The officer stood up behind his low desk and offered his true-hand, human fashion. "Good luck, and do the Regiment proud."

"I will, Captain." The NCO turned to the guardsmen and made a gesture of question. "What now?"

"Get your gear loaded up," the underofficer said, and jerked a true-hand's thumb at his fellow guardsman. "Tarson here will escort you to your new quarters." The officer grunted a laugh. "Congratulations, you're moving down in the world."

The workshop was deep beneath the Citadel, a natural cavern filled with the whisper of winds flowing through ancient limestone passages. Besides a long, deep light well, at least partially manmade, the room was also lit by torches, candles, and lanterns until it was nearly as bright as day. All, apparently, to support the eyes of one Mardukan.

That person was standing in front of a large wall of limestone which had been smoothed to the consistency of glass. The white wall was heavily overlaid with black charcoal scribbles, and those scribbles were getting thicker as the ancient Mardukan covered the wall in meandering doodles like a cave painter of old.

Most of the scribbler's constant mutter was directed at Rus From, who was following him around with a bemused expression. Other than that, Fain recognized a couple of other members of the pike regiment. And, especially, a couple of the humans.

Pol followed him like a shadow as he walked up behind sergeant Julian.

"Pardon me, Sergeant," he whispered. "Do you perhaps remember me?"

Julian turned and gave him one of those strange human tooth-baring smiles.

"Fain, glad you could come," the human whispered back. "Hell, yes, I remember you. I was the one who suggested you for this."

The sergeant turned back to the show and waved at the gathering around the white wall.

"Look at that guy, will you? Amazing."

"Who is it?" the corporal asked. He knew better than to ask why he was here; the humans would tell him that when they were ready.

"Dell Mir. The local equivalent of Rus From, except that that's like comparing a hand grenade and an antimatter missile." The Marine shook his head again. "Rus From had barely started showing him a couple of outlines of what we were talking about, and he just took off, dropping ideas like rain."

"So is he going to make all the stuff they're talking about?"

"Nah. See the people following him around?" The sergeant pointed to a group of Mardukans with scrolls and tablets trailing along behind the two mechanical geniuses.

"Priests?"

"Nah. More like technicians, or maybe mechanical engineers. This guy, Wes Til, apparently set this up. Dell Mir spouts ideas all day long, and those guys write them all down and then go see how well they really work."

"Cool," Fain said. It was a human expression that meant "interesting" and "unusual" and several other things. Like "okay" it was such a good expression that it had been adopted by the entire New Model Army, and Julian gave a grunt of laughter when he heard it.

"We're going to be on the trigger team. Once the design is finalized, we'll be working with the job shops that are going to make the trigger mechanisms."

"I don't know anything about triggers or mechanisms at all," the Diaspran confessed. "Just because I'm from Diaspra doesn't mean I'm some sort of mechanical genius."

"Don't worry," Julian replied. "I'll handle all that. You're going to be a gofer."

"Gopher?" the Mardukan asked in some confusion. The human translating device sometimes used words that were just as alien as the humans themselves, but it was odd the way that even the strangest word seemed to carry hints of other meanings. "Some sort of basik?"

"No, a 'go-fer,' " Julian corrected. " 'Krindi, go-fer coffee. Krindi, go-fer lunch.' "

"Oh," the corporal said with a laugh. "Okay."

"Don't worry, it'll be more than that. In fact, we'll probably be bumping you up to sergeant to give you a bit more weight dealing with the locals. We'll be making sure the shops are supplying quality parts and that assembly shops are using only the specified materials. Everything's going to be standardized with interchangeable parts, so we can produce it in quantity."

"Big ... ummm," the Diaspran struggled for a word.

" 'Project' would be the human term. Like building a dam or a major dike. Yeah, it is, and a rush one, too. We're about out of time."

The Marine broke off as Captain Pahner stepped to the front. The Marine CO looked at the sketches on the wall and shook his head.

"Simpler, Rus, Dell. Simpler. This thing has too many parts. Every one of them will tend to break in the field, and every one has to be made, adding to cost and time. So look at something like this and say to yourself 'How can I get rid of parts?' "

The slight K'Vaernian with the piece of charcoal in his true-hand turned and looked at the Marine with his head cocked to one side.

"But your techniques of industry and mass production will cut the production time, surely?"

"True," Pahner said, "but they're not magic, and there's something called lead time to allow for. The more time we spend here, working out potential bugs in the designs, the less time we spend working them out in the foundries, and the fewer we get into the field. Don't forget, 'mass production' requires us to design and set up the production lines before we get to the 'mass' part of the equation, and the more parts we have to make, the more setup time we'll need. So cut down on the complexity and find some way to get rid of parts. You did a good job of that with the new breech design, so I know you can do it here, too. Let me show you what I'm thinking about."

The captain stepped forward, took the charcoal from the Mardukan's unresisting hand, and began marking on the wall.

"See this? You've got a double set of springs here. But if you move the lever to here, you can eliminate one spring entirely."

"Yes!" the K'Vaernian said, taking the charcoal back. "And eliminate this-what did you call it? Sear? Take this one out, and extend this lever ..."

"As you can see," Julian whispered again, "we have our work cut out for us."

"Sergeant, how are we going to train on these if they're not even produced yet? And how long are we going to have? I mean, the Boman could move out at any time."

"That's somebody else's problem," the Marine said with an evil grin. "You concentrate on ours."

The long, low boat grounded on the mud of the riverbank, and D'Estrees slipped over the side and into the underbrush.

Gu