She didn’t, but only asked, “What’s it for?”
The gnome snorted. “It’s supposed to dowse for water,
but it’s hopeless. I can tolerate a few false starts, or a near
miss, or the occasional explosion or dismemberment, but
this – ”
“It doesn’t find any water, then?”
Standback said disgustedly, “Just diamonds, emeralds,
rubies, other rocks . . .” He shoved it aside with a kick.
Mara looked back at it longingly, but kept walking.
Leaning alongside a hanging drop cloth on the tunnel
wall was a human-size mannequin with some sort of
backpack on it.
“This,” Standback said as impressively as a gnome
can be, in brief, “is the Mighty Thunderpack.”
Mara examined the three nozzles connected to two
tanks and what looked like a fire-starting flint. Near the
top of the unit was also the now-familiar bulge of one of
Standback’s sensors. She gingerly touched the directional
fin, like a fish’s, on the Thunderpack. “How do you aim
it?”
Standback laughed tolerantly. “It’s not a weapon; it’s
personal troop transport.”
Mara put it on her shoulders. For metal work,
particularly for gnome metalwork, it was surprisingly
light. “Very impressive,” she said. She pictured an army
(led by herself, naturally) swooping through squadrons of
draconians and cutting them into small, non-combative
strips. “How does it start up?”
“From the mere touch of an iron weapon,” Standback
said proudly. “I used a special kind of rock in it. Do you
have a dagger?”
Mara hesitated.
“Come, come,” the gnome said impatiently. “All
thieves have daggers.”
Embarrassed, Mara handed him the paring knife she
had brought with her from her mother’s kitchen.
Standback took it and said, “When I wave this near the
sensor, the Mighty Thunderpack will burst into action.”
He tensed his arms and said in a melancholy voice, “Well,
good-bye.”
Mara, seeing the knife wave and noticing belatedly
Standback’s emphasis on “burst,” lurched forward out of
the way as Standback’s arm moved near. To her relief, the
Thunderpack did not activate. “What do you mean,
‘goodbye?’ Has this thing been tested before?” she
demanded.
“Of course, extensively. Just look in the side room.” The
gnome gestured to the left, behind the drop cloth that Mara
had assumed was hanging against the tunnel wall.
Mara lifted the cloth. Stacked floor to ceiling were the
charred arms and legs of test dummies. Not one torso
remained. “Has it ever been tested by a living person?”
“Of course not; why do you think – Oh, you mean, ‘by
someone living at the time he tested it.’ Yes, once.” Stand-
back looked solemn. “Poor fellow. And so young.”
Mara took off the Thunderpack, and, to her credit, she
was barely shaking. “What else do you have?”
“I have other transport devices.” He escorted her to
what he called, “a variation on the gnomeflinger. I named
it the Portapult.”
IT looked more like THEM. The Portapult consisted
of two gnomeflingers, ingeniously and intricately linked
by cable, chain, and several pieces of fine wire, for which
Mara could imagine no purpose.
Each gnomeflinger rested on six wheels on three
axles. The front axle had a built-in pivot and the pivot
axle of each gnomeflinger was connected to the other by
chain.
Standback followed Mara’s confused glance. “Oh,
they’re inseparable,” he said proudly. “Linked in frame,
function, and trigger. The Portapult breaks apart for
transport” – it looked as though it might break apart as he
spoke – “but it re-assembles for synchronized action. The
Portapult can deliver six soldiers simultaneously, send
them hundreds of feet through the air. . . .
“Isn’t it wonderful?” he finished huskily, and patted
one of the delivery platforms affectionately. The platform
shot upward and the Portapult spun sideways. An
identical platform on the second gnomeflinger shot
upward and that unit turned sideways as well – sideways
toward the first – and the two platforms met with a
SMACK that blew Standback’s hair straight behind him
and made Mara’s ears pop.
“I should check that trigger again,” he said
thoughtfully. “Also, perhaps, the targeting ratchets.”
He sat in a narrow seat beyond one of the platforms and
pedaled strenuously. A chain on a toothed gear cranked
down one platform; the other inched down in time with it.