Warp by Lev Grossman Page B

yellow sand. Shreds of foam arise and subside upon a field of green-and-blue swells.
    I am Chingachgook—the Last of the Mohicans.
    â€œIt’s not like a horse is going to be much help in a dungeon,” Blake was saying. “It’s just going to fall in a pit or something. Step on a caltrop. Then you basically have to shoot it.”
    â€œWhat’s a caltrop?” Basil asked.
    â€œIt’s a trap. Ah—a little spiky thing.”
    He looked around for something to illustrate with.
    â€œIt has four points, like a pyramid. They make it so however it lands, there’s always a spike pointing straight up. And it’s small: you just drop a whole bunch of them on the ground if someone’s chasing you on horseback, and the horse steps on them.”
    â€œJesus Christ.”
    â€œOr in a car,” said Peters. “It works on tires. They still use them, actually.”
    Blake sipped his martini and made a face.
    â€œIs it bad?” Basil asked.
    â€œToo strong.”
    He took another sip and shivered.
    â€œYeesh.” He shivered again. “Too much vermouth.”
    â€œAnd what are you going to do with it?” Hollis said. “Even outside a dungeon. The horse, I mean. Joust? There’s no point in jousting in D&D. I doubt I ever even owned a lance. All your adventuring gets done in a space that’s relatively tightly circumscribed—”
    Rob snorted derisively. “All your adventuring, maybe—”
    â€œBut it doesn’t have to be a horse anyway,” Blake said. “It can be anything you can ride. Like a hippogriff. Or—”
    He thought hard for a second.
    â€œOr a pseudo-dragon.”
    â€œOh, sure,” said Basil. “A pseudo-dragon. Good thinking.”
    â€œGentlemen,” Peters said, raising his glass. “Please. I give you caltrops.”
    They all drank.
    Hollis closed his eyes and opened them again. Time seemed to be accelerating.
    â€œFair knight,” said the Maiden, “if you would agree to tarry with me here, and leave aside your questing ways, I should be most grateful.”
    â€œThat shall I not,” said the Knight.
    He made as if to fasten on his helm.
    â€œOh please, fair knight,” said she, her bosom heaving. “Leave aside the ways of battle!”
    â€œThat shall I not,” repeated the Knight. “For I do seek the Grail.”
    â€œFirst of all,” he heard Blake saying, when he focused again, “there’d be no noise in space. No torpedo noises, no explosion noises. Right? If you don’t have any air you can’t have noises, right? There’s no medium to … whatever. Propagate it with. The noise. No big roaring noise when the Enterprise goes by, or anything like that. None of those signature Star Trek subsonics.”
    His pale skin was flushed pink under his goatee. The waiter brought more drinks. Blake kept talking while he unloaded them with both hands.
    â€œIn fact”—he held up his finger—“you don’t really use engines in space that much at all, really, since”—he stabbed his finger down on the table—“a ship proceeds at a constant velocity in free fall. In a vacuum. Right? There’s nothing to slow it down.”
    He took a sip.
    â€œMicroparticles,” Rob said. “Maybe. Actually, they can carry sound, too—”
    â€œIt just keeps going by itself. You only use engines when you accelerate or decelerate. None of this fucking ‘She can’t take much more o’ this, Cap’n!’ It’s space, right? You just coast, all the way!”
    â€œThat’s it, Blake,” said Peters. “Get angry.”
    â€œWell, but think about it,” Hollis said. “What do we really know about warp anyway? They might be right.”
    He sat back against the back of the booth. He hadn’t said anything for a while, and suddenly everybody was looking at him.
    â€œWhat