Read Online Empire of Man 01 - March Upcountry by David Weber, John Ringo - Free Book Online

the impact, but Poertena dropped the ersatz hammer and shook his hands.
    "Pocking vibration."
    He looked at the disconnected arm in satisfaction, then picked the wrench up and maneuvered to the other side.
    "I used to use a hammer fer t'is." The right biceps was disconnected with another grunt of effort and another noisy clang. "But my cousin-in-law, he said, 'Ramon. Gets you a wrench, pudder-mocker.' So I gets a wrench. An' tee pudder-mocker was right." He dropped the wrench and reached up into the gap created by the detached arm piece. "Wonce you get tee arms detached, it all over but tee counting." He slid his small hand and forearm up along the prince's back. Roger could feel him fumbling for something, then there was a release of tension as the seam along the rear of the suit's carapace opened. Unfortunately, the suit bent at the shoulders, and that trapped the armorer's forearm in the gap. "Pock," was his only comment. Then—
    "Prince, can you sock it op an' push you shoulders pack?"
    * * *
    With a few more contortions, the prince found himself standing in the middle of scattered bits of powered armor. He looked down at his singlet, and chuckled. "So much for modesty."
    The armory hatch whooshed opened and a female sergeant in chameleon dress stepped in. She had a cool face with high Slavic cheekbones, and her long brown hair was done up in a bun at the back of her head. The rippling distortion of the chameleon fabric denied any impression of shape, but her quick tread and lithe movements indicated a high level of athleticism. She didn't bat an eye at the half-naked prince or the scattered armor.
    "Your Highness, Captain Pahner requests your presence on the bridge."
    "Com the Captain and tell him that it took a bit to get out of the armor," Roger said testily. "I'll be there in a minute."
    "Yes, Your Highness," the sergeant said blandly and tapped the transmitter button on her side as Roger began getting dressed in the clothes he'd chosen for these few, tense hours. He'd considered combat dress, but decided that it was just too uncomfortable and finally chosen a safari outfit made of a brushed cottonlike material. It wouldn't be appropriate for combat, but it gave a fine aura of adventure and was much more pleasant than the chameleon cloth everyone else had changed into.
    Roger watched the sergeant surreptitiously as he dressed. At first, he thought that she was wiggling her jaw to work a bit of food out of her teeth, but he eventually realized that she was having a long subvocal discussion or argument with someone. The throat microphone was almost invisible against her long, tanned neck, and the receiver, of course, was embedded in her mastoid bone.
    Finally he was dressed, and he gave the multipocketed shirt a tug and flipped off a bit of lint.
    "Ready."
    The sergeant touched the hatch control, but stayed behind as the prince left, escorted by the two guards in the passage outside. As the hatch closed, she turned to the armorer who was reassembling the suit on a mannequin rack.
    "Poertena," she said in severe tones, "did you do the hammer thing to the Prince?"
    "Of course I didn' do tee hammer ting," the armorer said nervously. "I don' do tee hammer ting no more."
    "Then what the hell is that wrench doing on the floor?"
    "Oh, t'at. I don' do tee hammer ting, I do tee wrench ting."
    "Poertena, you start fucking around with the Prince, and Pahner will have your ass for breakfast."
    "Pock Pahner," the armorer snapped, gesturing around the compartment. "You see t'at? I got six pocking sets of pocking armor to get ready. You see Pahner helping? You see you helping? I gonna go get reamed by Pahner, or I gonna pix suits?"
    "If you need help, ask!" The sergeant's blue eyes flashed, and she crossed her arms and glared at the half-pint armorer. "We're finished loading the boats. I've got two squads sitting around with their thumbs up their butts. They can be down here in a second."
    "I don' need a buncha ham-fist clowns pocking