John Ringo - There Will Be Dragons

“Shit,” Edmund said, drawing back the blade. “You asked for it.” He swung hard, aiming though the dwarf. Even in mail, even if the alloy held which, in all honesty it probably would, the impact was bound to at least crack a rib. At the very least, it would be painful as hell. But any damage he would do, the nannites would fix quickly enough.

The axe struck the mail and rebounded as if it had hit a wall of steel. He dropped it with a grimace at the harmonics.

“Bloody hell!”

Angus had been knocked backwards by the blow but he grinned nonetheless.

“When two pieces of the material in contact are subjected to lateral motion, basically when they experience friction, they form temporary carbon to carbon covalent bonds. I said it was designed as reactive armor. When you hit it, it turns into plate. Diamond plate.”

“Now that’s interesting,” Edmund said, poking at the now supple mail. One of the buggers about using plate was that it didn’t flex. A person wearing it was locked into the form of the armor, sometimes uncomfortably. “What about when you’re moving, bending arms, stuff like that?”

“The energy isn’t high enough to matter. It’s a tad less flexible than standard mail, but not much.”

“Interesting,” Talbot muttered. “How do you work it?”

“It’s a proprietary program,” Peterka said. “But since you’re such a good friend…” he added with a grin.

“You’re going to go off playing with this and not work on my thresher, aren’t you?” Myron said.

“Nah, I can do both. Bring me over the pieces you need repaired and the specs and I’ll do them for you.”

“Right, that’s settled,” Angus said. “Now let’s go get us a drink and celebrate my finding the first vein.”

“How much of this is there?” Myron asked.

“Not that much in the first vein, but there’s more,” the dwarf replied. “We’ll find the rest. It’s bloody deep, though. We’re at a depth that period pumps don’t handle well.”

“There’s period and there’s period,” Edmund said. “Buy me a drink, and what’s more important get me some of this stuff to play with, and I’ll fill you in on some aspects you might not have considered.”

“Deal.”

“Deal,” Daneh sighed, terminating the call.

The job was not her favorite; a person wanted an “original” Transfer into something very much like a manta ray. But it was for a worthy cause — the form was a deep-diver and the person wanted to do deep sea research “on site” — and there weren’t any serious problems like Herzer’s to work on.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Azure lift up and shake himself, heading for Rachel’s room, which probably meant that she was back. Thinking about it, Daneh didn’t think she’d seen her daughter in a couple of days.

“Rachel?” Daneh called, and her voice was automatically transferred to the girl’s room.

“Yes, Mother?”

“Where have you been?”

There was a pause that caused Daneh to sit up and override whatever answer she was going to get. “Come in here for a moment, will you?”

“Yes, Mother,” Rachel replied with a sigh that was faithfully replicated by the transmission system.

As soon as the girl walked into the room, Daneh’s stomach sank. She’d already been feeling depressed about not having any projects to test her mettle. And now this.

“Rachel, I thought we had agreed no body sculpting?”

There wasn’t much, but to her expert eye it stood out like a lightbulb. Rachel’s eyebrows had been curved, her cheekbones sharpened and her nose slightly thinned. Furthermore, she had had her breasts reduced and her butt tucked even more than for Marguerite’s party.

“ I didn’t agree, you agreed,” Rachel answered hotly.

“I’m your parent, it’s my decision,” Daneh replied coldly. “Where did you have it done?”

“I don’t have to tell you that,” the girl said, crossing her arms. “I… I don’t have to say.”

“You could have gotten it off the Net,” Daneh said, tilting her head to the side. “It’s the sort of generic junk you can find there,” she added with professional disdain. “But the Net has my specific prohibition against it. So how did you get it done?”

“I Don’t Have To Say,” Rachel repeated. “And it’s not generic junk!”

“Well, it’s very poorly constructed,” Daneh said, coldly. “Give me the benefit of my expertise here, daughter. The eyebrows are badly balanced, the cheekbones detract from the nose and the combination makes you look like a short-beaked bird. I mean, it’s not well done.”

“Well, you wouldn’t let me get a well-done job, Mother,” she spat, furiously. Then she slumped shaking her head. “But… you’re right. It does look awful, doesn’t it?”

“Not awful,” Daneh said, tightly. “But it’s neither fashionable, not that I like the current fashions, they’re very unhealthy, nor is it particularly good looking on you . Face it, dear, unless or until you get a complete body and face sculpt, and end up looking like your friend Marguerite and all the other kids who were stamped out of the exact same genetic modeling kit, there’s not much you can do to look like current fashions. You’re too…” Daneh paused, searching for the right words.

“Fat,” Rachel said.

“Not fat, womanly,” Daneh replied. “Nobody these days is fat. Fat is when you have flabby bits hanging…” She looked at her stomach and arms and shrugged. “You’ve seen pictures. You’re beautiful dear. You know very well that at times you would have been considered beyond beautiful,” she added with a sigh.

“Sure, Mom, but these days guys don’t think in terms of women who are built to survive minor famines.”

“You’re not exactly a Reubens model,” Daneh replied. “Do you want it undone? Or do you want to keep it until you can get a proper bod-sculpt? I know some people who do very good work.”

“When?” Rachel asked, surprised.

“When you turn eighteen,” Daneh replied. “In the meantime, you’re grounded indefinitely . If you can’t keep a promise like this one, I’m not sure what promises you will keep.”

“Mother!”

“Don’t ‘mother’ me,” Daneh said. “The proof that you aren’t old enough to make the decision is that you went behind my back to do it and then got it done badly.”

“Oooo… I… I…” Rachel worked her jaw furiously and then spun on her heel and stalked out of the room.

“Genie, I’m serious about the grounding. Remind me of it in a week.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the program responded.

Daneh sighed and rubbed her temples. “What a day.”

Dionys’ surprise turned out to be… a girl. Or, Herzer thought much more likely, a homunculus. She, and about a half dozen of McCanoc’s usual hangers on, were in a wooded glen. She was small and fragile looking with a short black hair and an elfin face. And she looked frightened.

“Is that a homunculus?” he asked, just to be sure. Normally the homunculus would have been wearing a rather simple smile. This one looked downright terrified. Just to be sure, he sent a mental query to the Net and was assured that it was, in fact, a homunculus. Not a terrified preteen girl.

“Oh yes,” Dionys replied with a sardonic grin. “But a very special one. She has been programmed to fear sex. So much more… interesting.”

“I thought they were illegal?” Herzer said, breathlessly. His face and hands felt hot.

“Not… illegal so much as restricted,” Dionys said with another grin. “It helps to have friends in high places.”