believe it. The great Granite Crankenshaft was threatened by
his
work.
Crankenshaft unhooked a cord from his belt and threw it at them. It landed at Jato's feet, a leather thong with ceramoplex balls on each end that could have been anything from decorations to superconducting webs.
"Tie her hands behind her back," Crankenshaft said.
Jato crossed his arms. "No."
Crankenshaft touched a panel on the console. A giant globe crept through a slit in the thermoplastic wall and floated to the center of the studio.
"Non-linear dynamics and metapsychology," he commented. "Do you know that with detailed enough initial conditions, you can model procreation? The correlation between the calculated results and an actual act that proceeded from those conditions is quite high."
Jato scowled. "What are you talking about?"
"Sex," he said. "Establish the initial scene well enough and you can model the rest with amazing accuracy."
"Go to hell," Jato said.
"Tie her hands."
"No."
"Commence protocol," he said.
Three syringe guns slid out of the globe. Jato didn't duck fast enough, but it didn't matter: none of the shots were aimed at him. Soz moved in a blur, but she couldn't go anywhere with her ankles chained to the ledge. One shot missed her, but judged from her reaction, the other two hit home. She jerked as if she had been struck and her entire body tensed.
"What are you doing?" Jato shouted at Crankenshaft.
"Jato, it's all right," Soz said. "I'm fine."
"It's a clockwork venom," Crankenshaft told her. "Even your meds can't adapt enough to deal with it."
She said nothing, just focused her attention on him with an unsettling intensity.
"What's a clockwork venom?" Jato asked.
Soz glanced at him. "The name comes from clock reactions." Although she sounded cool, sweat was beading at her temple. "Combine certain chemicals under proper conditions and they cycle through a series of reactions. In human blood, clockwork venoms undergo a cycle, each step producing a different poison."
"Can your nanomeds fight it?" Jato asked.
Crankenshaft answered. "Even sophisticated meds have trouble with complicated cycles. This one has hundreds of steps, all with varying duration lengths and side reactions that change from cycle to cycle. It's a brilliant work of chemistry." He gave Jato an appraising look. "You've felt one poison in the cycle. Last time you were here. Perhaps you recall?"
Jato remembered all right. It had burned like hell.
"The others have different effects," Crankenshaft observed, as if Soz were a lab experiment. "Nausea, muscle stiffness, dizziness, pain. She'll start vomiting soon. Eventually she will die."
Soz remained calm, but sweat was running down her temples. When she wiped at it, the motion looked mechanical, as if she had let the hydraulics in her body take over.
"As soon as her hands are bound," Crankenshaft said, "I'll give her the antidote."
"Jato." She spoke quietly. "Do what he says. Please."
There was no mistaking the strain in her voice. Jato grabbed the thong off the floor and wrapped it around her wrists. The broken lock mechanism on her manacles felt warm, probably from the energy released when her chompers ate it. He tied the thong loosely around her wrists, making no attempt to knot it. But the ceramoplex balls activated and yanked the cords tight, binding her wrists and then locking into each other.
"Leather," Crankenshaft said.
Jato straightened up. "What?"
"In molecular terms, it's complex," he said. "More heterogeneous than, say, manacles. Not as strong, but a logical backup when dealing with disassemblers."
Jato gritted his teeth. How did Soz stay so cool? She just watched Crankenshaft, intent and quiet. Crankenshaft took a ring with two mag-keys off his belt and threw it to them. As the keys hit the floor near Jato's foot, a syringe on the globe hissed. Soz moved like an automaton, trying to duck, but the shot hit her anyway.
"That had better be the antidotes," Jato said.
"The red key
his
work.
Crankenshaft unhooked a cord from his belt and threw it at them. It landed at Jato's feet, a leather thong with ceramoplex balls on each end that could have been anything from decorations to superconducting webs.
"Tie her hands behind her back," Crankenshaft said.
Jato crossed his arms. "No."
Crankenshaft touched a panel on the console. A giant globe crept through a slit in the thermoplastic wall and floated to the center of the studio.
"Non-linear dynamics and metapsychology," he commented. "Do you know that with detailed enough initial conditions, you can model procreation? The correlation between the calculated results and an actual act that proceeded from those conditions is quite high."
Jato scowled. "What are you talking about?"
"Sex," he said. "Establish the initial scene well enough and you can model the rest with amazing accuracy."
"Go to hell," Jato said.
"Tie her hands."
"No."
"Commence protocol," he said.
Three syringe guns slid out of the globe. Jato didn't duck fast enough, but it didn't matter: none of the shots were aimed at him. Soz moved in a blur, but she couldn't go anywhere with her ankles chained to the ledge. One shot missed her, but judged from her reaction, the other two hit home. She jerked as if she had been struck and her entire body tensed.
"What are you doing?" Jato shouted at Crankenshaft.
"Jato, it's all right," Soz said. "I'm fine."
"It's a clockwork venom," Crankenshaft told her. "Even your meds can't adapt enough to deal with it."
She said nothing, just focused her attention on him with an unsettling intensity.
"What's a clockwork venom?" Jato asked.
Soz glanced at him. "The name comes from clock reactions." Although she sounded cool, sweat was beading at her temple. "Combine certain chemicals under proper conditions and they cycle through a series of reactions. In human blood, clockwork venoms undergo a cycle, each step producing a different poison."
"Can your nanomeds fight it?" Jato asked.
Crankenshaft answered. "Even sophisticated meds have trouble with complicated cycles. This one has hundreds of steps, all with varying duration lengths and side reactions that change from cycle to cycle. It's a brilliant work of chemistry." He gave Jato an appraising look. "You've felt one poison in the cycle. Last time you were here. Perhaps you recall?"
Jato remembered all right. It had burned like hell.
"The others have different effects," Crankenshaft observed, as if Soz were a lab experiment. "Nausea, muscle stiffness, dizziness, pain. She'll start vomiting soon. Eventually she will die."
Soz remained calm, but sweat was running down her temples. When she wiped at it, the motion looked mechanical, as if she had let the hydraulics in her body take over.
"As soon as her hands are bound," Crankenshaft said, "I'll give her the antidote."
"Jato." She spoke quietly. "Do what he says. Please."
There was no mistaking the strain in her voice. Jato grabbed the thong off the floor and wrapped it around her wrists. The broken lock mechanism on her manacles felt warm, probably from the energy released when her chompers ate it. He tied the thong loosely around her wrists, making no attempt to knot it. But the ceramoplex balls activated and yanked the cords tight, binding her wrists and then locking into each other.
"Leather," Crankenshaft said.
Jato straightened up. "What?"
"In molecular terms, it's complex," he said. "More heterogeneous than, say, manacles. Not as strong, but a logical backup when dealing with disassemblers."
Jato gritted his teeth. How did Soz stay so cool? She just watched Crankenshaft, intent and quiet. Crankenshaft took a ring with two mag-keys off his belt and threw it to them. As the keys hit the floor near Jato's foot, a syringe on the globe hissed. Soz moved like an automaton, trying to duck, but the shot hit her anyway.
"That had better be the antidotes," Jato said.
"The red key
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