Author's note: A weakness of mine, when it comes to writing, is the ability to accurately imagine/predict just how advanced technology would be in a fictional setting. As I've already said, in my review of the novel, the whole Fabric thing blew my mind. I did not expect anything like that. Wasn't the only instance where I misjudged the level of technology of a fictional universe would have. Here, though...I'd like to think I did a pretty good job, this time. And my 3rd installment actually turned out a lot better than initially thought it would. I always have largely vague ideas, and a few concrete scenes that I want to write, that are completely unconnected, at the start. And I basically just fill out the in-between parts to make it into a coherent, continuous story, with admittedly still little imagination for an overarching plot and the twist therein.
Ember Story #3
"The Forge"
Advancements in technology, automation combined with artificial intelligence, have long removed the human element from production-lines. Fabricating anything of any material, shaping and assembling them into whatever was required happened independently from any person's input, unless they were control-freaks or old-fashioned. The former could be said of Carmen, who was now standing across from Forgemaster Bjorn Colborn, in one of Home Station's large hangars, where all armaments were created. Her curbed impatience she tried to pass off as an expectant gaze raised to meet the reflection of plasma-torch bursts in a pair of protective goggles worn by the two-meter tall mountain of a man, in front of her. A large left hand, with fingerless gloves, lifted the eyewear to reveal the piercing sky-blues behind it. His graying, ash-blonde beard and mane draped over broad, rippling shoulders that could have supported a frame's heavy weaponry, even without a geesuit's micro-servos. Half-naked, he was glistening with a sheen of sweat, in the haze around his personal anvil, Ragnarok, both it and him a sight apart from the rest, both giving form to things that destroyed others. He inspected the peculiar glowing piece of rock their head of research brought to him. He was holding it in his right hand, his suspension-glove keeping it afloat in a finely manipulated containment-field above his palm. 'Finewield' the tech became known as, although people rarely referred to it outright, like that, anymore.
Tiny arcs of electricity were still coursing through and around the broken-off fragment of fused igneous rock, metal and alien flesh he was scrutinizing, the storm in it dancing in the skies of his eyes. His mustache twitched.
"Hmmm." He was rarely impressed or intrigued, anymore, but the prospects of "Ember" were starting to reignite the long-unfed fires of his inner forge. A challenge churning passion. Something that may have been a foreign feeling to the stoical brunette, he reckoned, as she waited with her arms folded, two lab aides on either side of her, with a grav-tray they used to move the potentially still very dangerous object.
"Subjecting it even to careful incision caused...'an instability'." Carmen was merely informing rather than warning him, brushing away burned tips of some lose strands of her hair that she did not have time, or care, to cut and correct through accelerated growth. "Will you be able to work with it?" she asked, though its application in combat did not interest her nearly as much as what unknown avenues of scientific research it could open that were not immediately related to warfare...and explosions. She concerned herself, enough, as much as anyone, with their lofty goals for salvation that everyone expected to come from conquering and taming EM-8ER. Her field of work facilitated their progression more than anything. Naturally. Though the satisfaction she took from it came not from any sense of altruism, as one would have expected.
"Will it put a smile on that face if I can?" Colborn gestured with the rock at her passionless countenance that failed to feign more mirth. He turned and withdrew his hand from under the fragment that continued to levitate in place, held up in a field generated by the anvil itself. "You said it didn't like to be cut?" he asked, but did not need a reply. "Well, then..." He flexed both his hands. A twitch from his fully gloved index-finger summoned an additional field more tightly wrapped around the object, another from his left index-finger called down several robotic arms to dangle around it, some had micro-field and catalytic injectors that had been one of the biggest technological leaps, in centuries. A new, finely-contained version of explosive forming, which completely replaced even refined hydraulic presses in every area. Other arms had plasma-emitters for heating and cryonic for cooling; his hammer, hearth and water in modern form. One more twitch, this time, on the Fabric, queued in audio from the speakers, which all the forge-technicians knew was a sign that the master was about to make art.
He tentatively began heating the surface with the plasma emitters, seeing the material respond with a rewarding change in color, to a brighter shade, vibrating in the undulating heat.
The injectors came in, the arms and hands moving as Colborn's own, with every pull-back and swing they struck, as if he was hammering down on it himself, looking like an odd cross between a smith and a conductor of an orchestra. Down and also up, then, from the side, he swung his tool-slash-instrument wherever the surface needed it, to take the shape he desired.
The entrance, on the far-side, opened. Chase Cullman, in his vermilion-on-black geesuit, took a few considerate steps inside, making sure it was even safe to go further in. Then seeing and hearing the work in progress, he raised a brow, at the rhythm of the atmosphere, before strolling up next to Carmen, to bear witness to creation.
Neither Carmen nor Cullman gave any indication they even acknowledged each other.
"That's pretty good." Cullman commented and Carmen shot him a squint of a glare from the corner of her eyes, as the song started crossing its long bridge.
"It's...appropriate." Carmen allowed herself to say, fighting it all the way.
Colborn was in a forging fever, flailing or flinging massive arms to make the extensions of himself even out and temper what was now finally taking on a form everyone could easily recognize and some could even appreciate. A short blade the length of his forearm. Its surface, the freshly heated edges, glowed like a white star submerged in a deep ocean and his eyes could almost cry one, in the euphoria he worked himself into.
First, the plasma-emitters lined up, one more time, and the blade was slowly moved back and forth in the heated sheath they created. Then came the injectors, completely evening out any irregularities on a microscopic scale, as the blade was put in between them and was drawn back out. Finally, the cryonic cooling came, turning its cyan glow cerulean.
The Forgemaster drew out the blade, as if he was pulling it from a proper sheath and slowly turned with the motion to present it, pride writ large on his face, after so long. The whole of it was faintly pulsing with barely perceptible bolts of lightning intermittently striking across its length, while it was held still. The slightest motion seemed to stifle the building storm inside, but that, Colborn could feel, was a lie. It was ever-present. And now they knew how to tap its power and let it out. Acting on more than just a whim, he spun and threw the blade at a large plate of armor, which practically could have been a section of a wall, easily three or four inches thick, that was hung up as a test-target, a good 50 meters from them. The blade flew through the air and embedded itself, almost cutting clean through the entire plate, then, an explosion ripped the plating open, like a can, slightly folding its edges back from the blade. It fell out, falling to the ground, undamaged, leaving a hole twice as wide as itself, to the shock of the technicians. Even Carmen could only stare at the damage. Colborn took a deep breath and exhaled.
"If that had been a bullet..." Cullman thought, out loud.
Author's Note: At first, I thought the material of the rock would be used as coating for an already existing sword, to give it the "high-frequency" treatment, a la Jetstream Sam, in Metal Gear Rising Revengeance. But, then, I thought, the smith will have enough to make a whole new blade out of it that would be even more ridiculously effective than a "simple" high-frequency conversion.
Ember Story #3
"The Forge"
Tiny arcs of electricity were still coursing through and around the broken-off fragment of fused igneous rock, metal and alien flesh he was scrutinizing, the storm in it dancing in the skies of his eyes. His mustache twitched.
"Hmmm." He was rarely impressed or intrigued, anymore, but the prospects of "Ember" were starting to reignite the long-unfed fires of his inner forge. A challenge churning passion. Something that may have been a foreign feeling to the stoical brunette, he reckoned, as she waited with her arms folded, two lab aides on either side of her, with a grav-tray they used to move the potentially still very dangerous object.
"Subjecting it even to careful incision caused...'an instability'." Carmen was merely informing rather than warning him, brushing away burned tips of some lose strands of her hair that she did not have time, or care, to cut and correct through accelerated growth. "Will you be able to work with it?" she asked, though its application in combat did not interest her nearly as much as what unknown avenues of scientific research it could open that were not immediately related to warfare...and explosions. She concerned herself, enough, as much as anyone, with their lofty goals for salvation that everyone expected to come from conquering and taming EM-8ER. Her field of work facilitated their progression more than anything. Naturally. Though the satisfaction she took from it came not from any sense of altruism, as one would have expected.
"Will it put a smile on that face if I can?" Colborn gestured with the rock at her passionless countenance that failed to feign more mirth. He turned and withdrew his hand from under the fragment that continued to levitate in place, held up in a field generated by the anvil itself. "You said it didn't like to be cut?" he asked, but did not need a reply. "Well, then..." He flexed both his hands. A twitch from his fully gloved index-finger summoned an additional field more tightly wrapped around the object, another from his left index-finger called down several robotic arms to dangle around it, some had micro-field and catalytic injectors that had been one of the biggest technological leaps, in centuries. A new, finely-contained version of explosive forming, which completely replaced even refined hydraulic presses in every area. Other arms had plasma-emitters for heating and cryonic for cooling; his hammer, hearth and water in modern form. One more twitch, this time, on the Fabric, queued in audio from the speakers, which all the forge-technicians knew was a sign that the master was about to make art.
(Twilightning - At the Forge)
He tentatively began heating the surface with the plasma emitters, seeing the material respond with a rewarding change in color, to a brighter shade, vibrating in the undulating heat.
When the heat rises up to the point
of maximum temperature,
To give birth to the flame
The fountain of passion showers high
New ways emerge, in the endless search
For the expression supreme
and the true value of art.
of maximum temperature,
To give birth to the flame
The fountain of passion showers high
New ways emerge, in the endless search
For the expression supreme
and the true value of art.
The injectors came in, the arms and hands moving as Colborn's own, with every pull-back and swing they struck, as if he was hammering down on it himself, looking like an odd cross between a smith and a conductor of an orchestra. Down and also up, then, from the side, he swung his tool-slash-instrument wherever the surface needed it, to take the shape he desired.
What does it take to feel it and make it real?
Maybe you must deal with insanity of steel.
When we are at the forge
Of creation, but who knows
What lights up the torch
Illuminating the process for all those?
Those who are at the forge
Maybe you must deal with insanity of steel.
When we are at the forge
Of creation, but who knows
What lights up the torch
Illuminating the process for all those?
Those who are at the forge
The entrance, on the far-side, opened. Chase Cullman, in his vermilion-on-black geesuit, took a few considerate steps inside, making sure it was even safe to go further in. Then seeing and hearing the work in progress, he raised a brow, at the rhythm of the atmosphere, before strolling up next to Carmen, to bear witness to creation.
When the steam burns your skin
And the mood is getting all so constrained
And the flame's dying down
The fountain of passion dried up...suddenly
NOOO way out, there's nothing you can do about it
But call it a day
And wait as long as you find another way
And the mood is getting all so constrained
And the flame's dying down
The fountain of passion dried up...suddenly
NOOO way out, there's nothing you can do about it
But call it a day
And wait as long as you find another way
Neither Carmen nor Cullman gave any indication they even acknowledged each other.
What does it take to feel it and make it real?
Maybe you must deal with insanity or steel
When we are at the forge
Of creation, but who knows
What lights up the torch
Illuminating the process for all those?
Those who are at the forge...
Maybe you must deal with insanity or steel
When we are at the forge
Of creation, but who knows
What lights up the torch
Illuminating the process for all those?
Those who are at the forge...
"That's pretty good." Cullman commented and Carmen shot him a squint of a glare from the corner of her eyes, as the song started crossing its long bridge.
"It's...appropriate." Carmen allowed herself to say, fighting it all the way.
Colborn was in a forging fever, flailing or flinging massive arms to make the extensions of himself even out and temper what was now finally taking on a form everyone could easily recognize and some could even appreciate. A short blade the length of his forearm. Its surface, the freshly heated edges, glowed like a white star submerged in a deep ocean and his eyes could almost cry one, in the euphoria he worked himself into.
When we are at the forge
Of creation, but who knows
What lights up the torch
Illuminating the process, whoa, oh!
With the crescendo came the careful contouring of the blade's cutting edge. Both of them. Followed by what was referred to as the 'three final passes.'Of creation, but who knows
What lights up the torch
Illuminating the process, whoa, oh!
When we are at the forge
Of creation, but who knows
What lights up the torch
Illuminating the process for all those?
Those who are at the forge
Of creation, but who knows
What lights up the torch
Illuminating the process for all those?
Those who are at the forge
First, the plasma-emitters lined up, one more time, and the blade was slowly moved back and forth in the heated sheath they created. Then came the injectors, completely evening out any irregularities on a microscopic scale, as the blade was put in between them and was drawn back out. Finally, the cryonic cooling came, turning its cyan glow cerulean.
To create or come up with something that is to thrill
One must place one's soul between
The hammer and the anvil
One must place one's soul between
The hammer and the anvil
The Forgemaster drew out the blade, as if he was pulling it from a proper sheath and slowly turned with the motion to present it, pride writ large on his face, after so long. The whole of it was faintly pulsing with barely perceptible bolts of lightning intermittently striking across its length, while it was held still. The slightest motion seemed to stifle the building storm inside, but that, Colborn could feel, was a lie. It was ever-present. And now they knew how to tap its power and let it out. Acting on more than just a whim, he spun and threw the blade at a large plate of armor, which practically could have been a section of a wall, easily three or four inches thick, that was hung up as a test-target, a good 50 meters from them. The blade flew through the air and embedded itself, almost cutting clean through the entire plate, then, an explosion ripped the plating open, like a can, slightly folding its edges back from the blade. It fell out, falling to the ground, undamaged, leaving a hole twice as wide as itself, to the shock of the technicians. Even Carmen could only stare at the damage. Colborn took a deep breath and exhaled.
"If that had been a bullet..." Cullman thought, out loud.
Author's Note: At first, I thought the material of the rock would be used as coating for an already existing sword, to give it the "high-frequency" treatment, a la Jetstream Sam, in Metal Gear Rising Revengeance. But, then, I thought, the smith will have enough to make a whole new blade out of it that would be even more ridiculously effective than a "simple" high-frequency conversion.
Likes:
Pandagnome
