“So this exploding material is already in the hands of the gnomes of Nevermind?” the human asked. Surely if the gnomes had a super-weapon, they would have used it by now.
The fidgeting gnome shook his head. “They don’t know how to make it work. It is harmless in their hands. My notes have likely been misfiled, and my prototype has probably been turned into a lamp or something.” He giggled again, and Moros was reminded of metal claws scratching on a chalkboard.
“You said the rock would not explode unless refined. Now you’re saying that the refined product won’t explode either?” Moros was too weary to hide the tired tone in his voice. This was just another gnome pipe dream-all moonbeams and guesses.
“Let me start again,” said the gnome, picking up the rock with one hand, and draining the mug with the other. “When you cut this rock in two, what do you get?”
Moros shrugged. “A smaller rock?”
“And if you cut that in two?”
“A smaller rock still.”
“And if you keep splitting the rock in two?”
The mild pain in Moros’s head was starting to blossom into a full-fledged ache. “Eventually,” said the wing captain, “you’d get a piece too small to cut, a piece that would be smaller than the blade you’re cutting it with.”
“Good, good,” said the gnome. “Now assume you have some type of vorpal weapon, a sword of amazing sharpness, that can cut anything, no matter how small the fragment. What then?”
“I suppose,” said Moros, “you would end up with flecks of dust.”
“And if you split the flecks of dust?”
“Smaller dust?”
The gnome nodded in enthusiastic agreement. “At some point you’ll come to the smallest possible particle of the rock. If you cut this, it will cease to be a rock entirely. I named this smallest particle after the smallest member of the pixie family, the atomie.”
The ache was reaching its tendrils through Moros’s brain, curling behind his sinuses. “What happens then?” he said.
“You split the atomie in two,” said the gnome.
“And?”
“Boom,” said the gnome, cackling and leaning back. He grabbed the second mug of ale the barkeep had brought and downed it twice as quickly as before.
Moros made a growling noise. “So you have a material that causes an explosion only if you have a sword of amazing sharpness to cut it with. Now, why do I need such an explosion if I have a sword of amazing sharpness in the first place?”
The gnome held up both hands, a sour-milk look on his face, “That’s background. I want you to understand what I am saying.”
“Background,” muttered Moros, and looked at the sergeant, who was staring into space. It was clear the subordinate had stepped out of the discussion about the time they began cutting things that were too small to cut.
The innkeep set another foaming mug down before the gnome, recovering the empties with a single swipe of his massive hand. From the innkeep’s face, Moros assumed that the fat human understood something of what the gnome was saying.
Which put him one step ahead of the wing captain.
The gnome ignored the reactions of the humans and grabbed at the newly proffered mug. “Now, you’re right, it’s very difficult to cut something into so many pieces that it gets down to the atomies. In fact, some materials provide new homes for atomies, preventing them from flying off into space. But other things, like the metal refined from the hunk of Gnomite here, aren’t as well held together as others. Their atomies are loose, unstable, and easier to cut.”
Boom the gnome pulled what looked like a small insect from a shirt pocket, and set it on the table. “Another device of mine.” He beamed proudly. “It lets out a chirp whenever it consumes an active atomie, one that has escaped from rocks like this.”
The gnome flicked a switch on the insect’s back, and it let out a bored chirp. After a few seconds, it emitted another metallic chirp.
“Watch what happens when I bring the rock near it,” said the gnome. “It will become more agitated, more eager to consume atomies.”