Read Online Mech 3: The Empress by B. V. Larson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: B. V. Larson
Tags: Military
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them. Those things would have to wait. Worrying about such details lost fights. And Aldo Moreno had almost never lost a swordfight.
The Captain himself stood between the two men. “As the commander of this vessel, I will preside over the event. The blades are to be set to their third notch.”
Both men adjusted the studs on the pommels of their weapons. The swords blazed with colorful plasma. Each seemed to come to life in its owner’s hand. Setting three was low, but still the heat of the blade would cauterize a wound once it was made. At settings one or two, the blades were best used with covers over their points and edges to prevent injury. The shock received from touching them would sting mightily, but would not disable the muscles or burn the flesh. At higher settings, seven or more, unconsciousness or even death was likely from a mere slap of the flat of the blade due to the shock suffered by the victim.
Aldo raised his sword and briefly rasped it down the length of his opponent’s blade. It was a ceremonial motion, a customary salute before dueling with plasma-rapiers. Lavender sparks sprayed the room.
“Step back gentlemen, if you please,” said the Captain.
Both men did as they were told, but their eyes never left the other’s sword tip.
“Honor shall be served by first touch, or the agreement of both parties.”
There was a murmur at this. Normally, duels were fought until death, incapacitation, or the agreement of both parties. The Lieutenant flicked his eyes toward the Captain, casting him a frown which the older man ignored. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but seemed to think the better of it and closed it again. Aldo, for his part, never took his eyes from his opponent.
The customary silver flute warbled. Both men raised their guards, saluted one another and advanced. Aldo attacked first, lunging for the chest. If he could put some proper fear into his reckless opponent, he would fight poorly and the first touch would come sooner. The Lieutenant parried late, beating at Aldo’s blade, but then managed a stop-thrust which halted Aldo’s advance. Aldo parried and retreated a step.
They fenced tightly, shuffling back and forth with feet thumping on the deck plates. The men among the crew watched with squinted eyes, expecting to witness sudden death at any moment. The women watched with a different expression, their eyes glassy with fascination. It was clear the two men were in earnest and each was prepared to slay the other.
The swords clattered, rang and sizzled as they struck one another. To a casual observer from the hallway, it might have appeared that men were working in the mess hall with hammers and arc welding units. The blades were made of fine steel and were deadly in their own right. In addition to a precise mono-molecular edge, the rapiers ran with shimmering emanations of kinetic force. The slightest touch would deliver a serious jolt while a full-force slash might cut through flesh, bone or even steel.
The Lieutenant was the bigger man, and he beat at Aldo’s blade unmercifully. His strategy was easy to deduce: he planned to crash through the rogue’s defenses and weaken him over time. If a single assault made it through, the contest was over.
Aldo had a different plan. He deftly deflected each of the hammering attacks with an economy of motion. Soon, it was Lieutenant’s sides that were heaving, not Aldo’s.
The man’s face had started ugly and heavy with out-sized features, but as he divined the way of things, that changed into a twisted mask of hate. He thrust powerfully for Aldo’s face, a foul in a gentlemanly contest to the first touch. Startled, Aldo was forced to ram his blade upward, parrying in quinte . The tip of the Lieutenant’s rapier slid upward and pierced the curved ceiling overhead, and despite a three inch thickness, the hull was ruptured. Gases hissed as they escaped while the blade sizzled there, fixed in the roof. The Lieutenant growled in
The Captain himself stood between the two men. “As the commander of this vessel, I will preside over the event. The blades are to be set to their third notch.”
Both men adjusted the studs on the pommels of their weapons. The swords blazed with colorful plasma. Each seemed to come to life in its owner’s hand. Setting three was low, but still the heat of the blade would cauterize a wound once it was made. At settings one or two, the blades were best used with covers over their points and edges to prevent injury. The shock received from touching them would sting mightily, but would not disable the muscles or burn the flesh. At higher settings, seven or more, unconsciousness or even death was likely from a mere slap of the flat of the blade due to the shock suffered by the victim.
Aldo raised his sword and briefly rasped it down the length of his opponent’s blade. It was a ceremonial motion, a customary salute before dueling with plasma-rapiers. Lavender sparks sprayed the room.
“Step back gentlemen, if you please,” said the Captain.
Both men did as they were told, but their eyes never left the other’s sword tip.
“Honor shall be served by first touch, or the agreement of both parties.”
There was a murmur at this. Normally, duels were fought until death, incapacitation, or the agreement of both parties. The Lieutenant flicked his eyes toward the Captain, casting him a frown which the older man ignored. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but seemed to think the better of it and closed it again. Aldo, for his part, never took his eyes from his opponent.
The customary silver flute warbled. Both men raised their guards, saluted one another and advanced. Aldo attacked first, lunging for the chest. If he could put some proper fear into his reckless opponent, he would fight poorly and the first touch would come sooner. The Lieutenant parried late, beating at Aldo’s blade, but then managed a stop-thrust which halted Aldo’s advance. Aldo parried and retreated a step.
They fenced tightly, shuffling back and forth with feet thumping on the deck plates. The men among the crew watched with squinted eyes, expecting to witness sudden death at any moment. The women watched with a different expression, their eyes glassy with fascination. It was clear the two men were in earnest and each was prepared to slay the other.
The swords clattered, rang and sizzled as they struck one another. To a casual observer from the hallway, it might have appeared that men were working in the mess hall with hammers and arc welding units. The blades were made of fine steel and were deadly in their own right. In addition to a precise mono-molecular edge, the rapiers ran with shimmering emanations of kinetic force. The slightest touch would deliver a serious jolt while a full-force slash might cut through flesh, bone or even steel.
The Lieutenant was the bigger man, and he beat at Aldo’s blade unmercifully. His strategy was easy to deduce: he planned to crash through the rogue’s defenses and weaken him over time. If a single assault made it through, the contest was over.
Aldo had a different plan. He deftly deflected each of the hammering attacks with an economy of motion. Soon, it was Lieutenant’s sides that were heaving, not Aldo’s.
The man’s face had started ugly and heavy with out-sized features, but as he divined the way of things, that changed into a twisted mask of hate. He thrust powerfully for Aldo’s face, a foul in a gentlemanly contest to the first touch. Startled, Aldo was forced to ram his blade upward, parrying in quinte . The tip of the Lieutenant’s rapier slid upward and pierced the curved ceiling overhead, and despite a three inch thickness, the hull was ruptured. Gases hissed as they escaped while the blade sizzled there, fixed in the roof. The Lieutenant growled in
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