Delighted by the new protective shield, Tio Holtzman stood inside the half-reconstructed demonstration dome. He taunted his adversary, laughed at the deadly weapons. Nothing could harm him! The generator pulsed at his feet, projecting a personal barrier around his body.

Impenetrable . . . or so he hoped.

This test should prove that the concept worked. Even Norma believed in him this time. How could anything possibly go wrong?

The diminutive young woman stood at the other side of the reinforced building, throwing objects at him— rocks, tools, and finally (at his insistence) a heavy club. Each one struck the shimmering field and dropped away, its momentum stolen by the shield’s energy, leaving him completely unharmed.

He waved his arms. “It doesn’t hinder my mobility at all. It’s wonderful.”

Now she held a kindjal dagger, her face intent, clearly worried that she might injure him. She had gone through the equations herself and determined that the Savant had made no errors. According to her analysis and her instincts, the shield should work at the impact speeds they were using in the test.

But still she hesitated.

“Come, Norma. Science is not for the faint of heart.” She flung the kindjal as hard as she could, and he forced himself not to flinch. The sharp blade slid harmlessly down the outer film of the barrier. Holtzman smiled, wiggling his fingers. “This invention will change personal protection throughout the League. No longer will anyone be vulnerable to assassins or cutthroats.”

Grunting with effort, Norma hurled an improvised spear. It struck right in front of Holtzman’s eyes, making him jerk backward with a startled blink. When the sharpened staff clattered to the floor, he chuckled in surprise.

“I cannot disagree with you, Savant Holtzman.” Norma smiled in return, then finished throwing a flurry of objects at him like an angry fishwife. “Congratulations on your remarkable breakthrough.”

Without any apparent jealousy, the Rossak girl seemed truly pleased for him. At last he had a triumph of his own to present to Niko Bludd, just like in his glory days. What a relief!

When Norma had nothing left to throw, he shouted to the Dragoon guards who stood on the temporary bridge. “Summon the leader of my Zenshiite house slaves. That dark-haired man with the beard.”

As one guard tromped off to find the slave, Holtzman grinned mischievously at Norma. “We’ll play a little trick on him. He’s a surly sort, and I think he hates me.”

Bel Moulay came over to the demonstration dome, his beard like coal smoke drifting down his chin. He averted his smoldering gaze whenever Holtzman looked too closely at him.

Both Dragoons seemed suspicious of the slave leader, but Holtzman waved away their concerns, feeling safe behind his body shield. “Hand him your Chandler pistol, Sergeant.”

“But sir, he is a slave.” The guard’s face remained stony. Moulay looked even more surprised at the suggestion.

“I’m not concerned, Sergeant. Your partner can keep watch on him. Shoot him in the head if he does not follow instructions precisely.”

Norma said, “Perhaps we should test this further, Savant Holtzman. We could hook up a mannequin inside the shield and see what happens to it.”

“I agree, Savant,” the sergeant added. “Our charge is to protect you, and I cannot allow—”

Annoyed, Holtzman interrupted him. “Nonsense, the system can only be controlled from inside. My charge, given to me by Lord Bludd himself— and by the League of Nobles— is to develop and test a means by which we can protect ourselves from the thinking machines. Unless you want to be taken by robot raiders and made into a slave for Omnius, I suggest that you let me do my work. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

Still uneasy, the sergeant removed the high-powered needle pistol and placed it into the slave’s callused hands. Bel Moulay grasped the weapon, looking back and forth as if unable to believe his good fortune.

“Now then, you— Moulay, is that your name? Point that weapon at me and fire at my chest. Go ahead, you can’t miss.”

Moulay didn’t flinch. Everyone had heard the direct order. He squeezed the firing button. The Dragoon guards shouted. Norma cringed.

High-speed crystal shards shot out and struck the shield surrounding Holtzman, then tinkled to the ground like breaking glass. The scientist let out a quiet sigh, his knees suddenly weak with relief.

Barely concealing his anger and hatred, Bel Moulay squeezed the firing button again and again. A hailstorm of sharp crystals splattered against the body shield. He fired until the Chandler pistol was empty.

Two wary Dragoons appeared in the doorway, their sidearms raised to cut down the black-bearded slave where he stood, if necessary. But at the sight of Holtzman unharmed and laughing, Moulay lowered the weapon and glowered. The guards wrestled the pistol from his powerful grip.

All around lay the debris of broken-mirror needles. The Savant expected to receive another Poritrin Medal of Valor for this invention.

Brash, without considering the consequences, the scientist turned to the Dragoon guard. “Now, Sergeant, give him your hand explosive, the small grenade there at your side.”

The Dragoon stiffened. “With respect, Savant. I will not.”

“Your Chandler pistol was ineffective, and it will be the same with the grenade. Imagine how useful these shields will be to you and your men once their effectiveness is proven.”

Intervening, Norma said to the sergeant in a soft, reasonable voice, “It is all right. The Savant knows what he is doing.”

Moulay whirled like a snarling dog, extending his hand for the grenade, palm up.

The sergeant said, “First I want everyone on the other side of the bridge.” Leading Norma away, the other guards strode across to the main bluff.

The Dragoon finally removed the explosive and gave it to the Zenshiite. Without waiting to be told again, Bel Moulay pushed the button and tossed the explosive gently toward Holtzman. Norma felt a sudden fear that the grenade would roll slowly enough to pass through the shield before it detonated.

Knowing he was inside the blast zone, Bel Moulay rushed back across the walkway. From the other side of the bridge, Norma watched the blinking sphere bounce off the shimmering barrier like a rotten fruit.

A loud blossom of fire erupted inside the open demonstration dome. The sound and the overpressure wave was enough to send Norma stumbling. She fell to her knees, looking over the edge of the bridge to the river far below . . . thinking she should have brought her new suspensor device, and also recalling the slaves who fell to their deaths during Holtzman’s previous test.

Two of the newly installed windows had blasted out in a cloud of reinforced glass, scattering fragments that glittered as they caught sunlight. Smoke curled upward. Norma got back to her feet.

Unharmed, Bel Moulay stood with his hands clenched. The guards tensed, ready to take down the slave leader if he showed any sign of aggression.

Norma stumbled back toward the building. She knew intellectually that the shield should have held, but her heart feared that she had missed some subtle flaw in the scientist’s work.

Like a victorious soldier, Holtzman swaggered out, blinking and waving smoke away from his face. He had switched off the shield generator and left the apparatus in the center of the room. Trudging through the wreckage, he appeared somewhat disheveled, but unharmed.

“It works! Complete protection. Not a scratch.” He looked back at the ruined demonstration dome. “I’m afraid we’ve damaged some rather expensive equipment, though.” He frowned in consternation, then burst out laughing.