Read Online Posleen War: Sidestories The Tuloriad by John Ringo, Tom Kratman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Ringo, Tom Kratman
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Himmit go?”
“Golo,” Aelool chided, “if you were the sole Kessentai aboard a ship full of Himmit, would you leave your ship?”
“Since you put it that way,” Golo conceded, “I suppose not. Damn! If we could just get one kessentai safely into one of the hulks, I'm sure he could find a suit bay that's more or less unscathed. Just . . .” Goloswin looked again at the view screen showing the metallic cylinder. He cocked his head, inquisitively. “Ask the pilot, would you, Aelool, just how that lump turns into a tunnel?”
“What the fuck is that?” Tulo asked.
Goloswin didn't answer immediately, but just stared down a rectangular lump of silvery metal, about the size of a human loaf of bread, or a construction worker's lunchbox, sitting on the deck of the cargo compartment and doing precisely nothing. The tinkerer shook his head and said, “I wish I knew. Here, let me show you.”
Taking out his boma blade, Golo set it carefully edge down atop the lump and pressed down. Nothing happened, a fact that caused Tulo's yellow eyes to widen.
“Now watch this,” Golo said. He turned the blade on its side and pressed. The weapon passed through the lump easily. Then he put the blade away and placed his hand atop the lump. It immediately began to flow around the hand until the tinkerer withdrew it. Even as the hand was withdrawn, the lump tried to extend itself to wrap around it.
“It's a bit like what our Sohon masters do with nanotech,” Aelool offered. “But it doesn't require or respond to Sohon.”
Sohon was the mental discipline by which the Indowy manipulated energy and matter. It was especially useful in manipulating nanites to act upon other matter.
“How do you know?” Tulo asked.
“I've a little of the craft,” Aelool answered. “Not master level, no, but enough to tell if this lump works via something like Sohon. It doesn't.”
“Is the Himmit captain of any help?” Golo asked.
“No. His skill set is different. He knows how to use the material for its intended purpose, but not how it works. 'Next promotion,' so Argzal says. And, 'No,' he says, we can't partly disassemble the controls of his ship to make something to manipulate the material.”
“How about the spares?” Goloswin asked. “Doesn't he have some parts I might be able to make use of? And maybe some tools?”
“I didn't think to ask,” Aelool admitted. “Our ships really don't carry spares. It's expected that nothing will go wrong that the ship's engineer can't fix by manipulating bare stock.”
Binastarion had graduated to galloping around the bay, bouncing his food balls off the walls and ceiling before catching them on the fly. Brasingala polished his boma blade without surcease, muttering over it constantly. The Essfour had taken to painting geometric designs on the walls with his grasping members and claws. This would have been no problem but that the only materials available to paint with were waste product and the flow from the food dispenser. Binastarion used the open spaces defined by the Essfour's shapes as aiming points for his solitaire game of “I Hate This Fucking Place.”
The Rememberer played a game something like chess with himself—Goloswin had made the pieces and board in an attempt to stave off madness. This also would not have been bad, if the Rememberer had not switched sides after each move, then lectured and argued with the invisible Posleen on the other side.
And those were among the ones who were taking their boredom relatively well. Those who had done not so well Tulo had begun sending into hibernation, shortly after Essone decided that Essfour could use with a little trim . . . of the latter's head from his neck. Unfortunately, the more of his followers he put away, the faster and worse the effect of boredom on the others. He'd pretty much reached the tipping point, he decided.
“Stand over that,” Golo ordered, pointing at the lump for the nameless cosslain who had once served
“Golo,” Aelool chided, “if you were the sole Kessentai aboard a ship full of Himmit, would you leave your ship?”
“Since you put it that way,” Golo conceded, “I suppose not. Damn! If we could just get one kessentai safely into one of the hulks, I'm sure he could find a suit bay that's more or less unscathed. Just . . .” Goloswin looked again at the view screen showing the metallic cylinder. He cocked his head, inquisitively. “Ask the pilot, would you, Aelool, just how that lump turns into a tunnel?”
“What the fuck is that?” Tulo asked.
Goloswin didn't answer immediately, but just stared down a rectangular lump of silvery metal, about the size of a human loaf of bread, or a construction worker's lunchbox, sitting on the deck of the cargo compartment and doing precisely nothing. The tinkerer shook his head and said, “I wish I knew. Here, let me show you.”
Taking out his boma blade, Golo set it carefully edge down atop the lump and pressed down. Nothing happened, a fact that caused Tulo's yellow eyes to widen.
“Now watch this,” Golo said. He turned the blade on its side and pressed. The weapon passed through the lump easily. Then he put the blade away and placed his hand atop the lump. It immediately began to flow around the hand until the tinkerer withdrew it. Even as the hand was withdrawn, the lump tried to extend itself to wrap around it.
“It's a bit like what our Sohon masters do with nanotech,” Aelool offered. “But it doesn't require or respond to Sohon.”
Sohon was the mental discipline by which the Indowy manipulated energy and matter. It was especially useful in manipulating nanites to act upon other matter.
“How do you know?” Tulo asked.
“I've a little of the craft,” Aelool answered. “Not master level, no, but enough to tell if this lump works via something like Sohon. It doesn't.”
“Is the Himmit captain of any help?” Golo asked.
“No. His skill set is different. He knows how to use the material for its intended purpose, but not how it works. 'Next promotion,' so Argzal says. And, 'No,' he says, we can't partly disassemble the controls of his ship to make something to manipulate the material.”
“How about the spares?” Goloswin asked. “Doesn't he have some parts I might be able to make use of? And maybe some tools?”
“I didn't think to ask,” Aelool admitted. “Our ships really don't carry spares. It's expected that nothing will go wrong that the ship's engineer can't fix by manipulating bare stock.”
Binastarion had graduated to galloping around the bay, bouncing his food balls off the walls and ceiling before catching them on the fly. Brasingala polished his boma blade without surcease, muttering over it constantly. The Essfour had taken to painting geometric designs on the walls with his grasping members and claws. This would have been no problem but that the only materials available to paint with were waste product and the flow from the food dispenser. Binastarion used the open spaces defined by the Essfour's shapes as aiming points for his solitaire game of “I Hate This Fucking Place.”
The Rememberer played a game something like chess with himself—Goloswin had made the pieces and board in an attempt to stave off madness. This also would not have been bad, if the Rememberer had not switched sides after each move, then lectured and argued with the invisible Posleen on the other side.
And those were among the ones who were taking their boredom relatively well. Those who had done not so well Tulo had begun sending into hibernation, shortly after Essone decided that Essfour could use with a little trim . . . of the latter's head from his neck. Unfortunately, the more of his followers he put away, the faster and worse the effect of boredom on the others. He'd pretty much reached the tipping point, he decided.
“Stand over that,” Golo ordered, pointing at the lump for the nameless cosslain who had once served
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