Arbalest

Christopher was noisily hammering away in his cramped workshop when Claire quietly entered the room.

He knew it was her, even though she didn’t say anything. “If it isn’t the Queen,” Christopher grunted as he reached for a nearby pair of pliers. “So how are you today.” Although Christopher was a stocky, muscled man, toned by years of blacksmith work, he still couldn’t help but be somewhat intimidated by the queen, as short and slim as she was.

“We agreed to meet at exactly two hours past noon,” she responded, slowly but surely. “You should not be busy now.”

“Well, excuse me, your Royal Queen Majesty of Timeliness,” the man retorted. “If you would just give me a little more time…” A sharp clang rang out through the room as Christopher popped a metal bolt into place.

“Done!” he exclaimed, turning to face the queen. He held a pistol loosely by the barrel in his worn hands. “Pass this off to William, would you? He somehow jammed the firing mechanism. It should work now.”

“Thank you,” Claire responded as she took the gun. She cradled its smooth metal grip for a brief moment before slipping it into a pocket.

Now that Christopher had a good look at her, he couldn’t help but sigh at the fact that she was still wearing her Maverick armor. When was the last time Claire wore the royal queen’s dress, passed down for generations? She used to be such a lovely person back then, but now there was nothing lovely about her. Nothing but cold determination and smooth precision, just like the guns she wielded.

“So when are you going to stop wearing those outdated rags?” Christopher remarked. “Every Maverick in the field has technology ten times better than yours. Give me a day or two and I can upgrade your gear. You’d be unstoppable.”

Claire shook her head. “If you have time to be upgrading my gear, spend it on someone else. They need it more.” As usual, Christopher couldn’t tell if she was being compassionate or condescending.

He could tell that his visitor was done with small talk. Claire strode over to his work bench and gently set down several sheets of paper. Christopher crossed his arms and peered over her shoulder at the papers. They were blueprints. “Blueprints for what?” the man asked.

“Do you remember Irene?” Claire asked in response. “Irene Ostler.”

Christopher looked down slightly and shuffled his feet. “Broke her back trying to escape when Mageknights attacked her during a rescue operation,” he said. “If only the torque on her hook’s firing mechanism had been increased a bit more…”

“It’s not your fault,” Claire said, cutting him off. Christopher didn’t feel very comforted, but she went on. “I want to bring her back into the field. This armor will let that happen.”

If Claire’s face hadn’t been as resolute as it was, Christopher never would have believed her. Bring a Maverick with a broken back into the fray? Absolutely impossible. But he had already learned that the word “impossible” did not exist in the queen’s mind.

“This armor has… wings,” he noted. “We’ve tried wings before. They’ve never worked.”

“They’ve never worked because we still rely too much on upper body strength,” Claire responded. “Every Maverick is instinctually trained to use their shoulders and back muscles when they grapple. But that is the opposite of how wings must work. We must rely on the wings, lean into them. Use our arms and legs to guide them, and let them carry us into the air. Controlling them with pure muscular strength will not work.”

Christopher scratched his stubble. He wasn’t one for engineering or physics: he was just the blacksmith.

“That’s where Irene comes in,” Claire continued. “I have already designed supports for her condition into the armor itself. It will protect her and enable her to fight even with her broken back. Rather, her broken back is the reason why she is the only Maverick capable of using this armor.”

“But she’s still half paralyzed!” Christopher protested. “Irene might never recover! It’s been a year since she broke her back and she’s barely able to walk with crutches! You expect her to fight? You expect her to fly?”

“That depends on the strength of her will,” Claire responded simply.

The queen sometimes failed to realize that other people weren’t as monstrously headstrong as herself. Christopher sighed in exasperation. “Well, I’ll still do it. But just don’t fly too close to the sun, or you get burned.”

“Thank you,” said Claire. There was no point in trying to oppose her or understand her. If he refused to build the armor or was unable to do so, she would just do it herself. The end result would be the same, but this way, Christopher could at least take some of the load off of her shoulders. She turned to leave, and the blacksmith sat down to inspect the blueprints more closely.

“Just a moment!” exclaimed Christopher as he suddenly thought of something. “Do you have a name for this armor?”

Claire turned to look at him from the doorway. “Arbalest,” she said.

---

The Arbalest armor was ready a week later. All of the components were collapsible and could fit in a suitcase, albeit a large and heavy one. Claire took this suitcase with her as she made the journey to Irene’s cabin.

Irene had been one of the best Maverick field agents in her time. When she had to be decommissioned, she was given a luxurious cabin and a pension to live off of. She would live out the rest of her days in peace as an honored hero.

Her cabin was carved directly into the cliff face on the outskirts of the Zenith District. It was isolated and serene, with a wonderful view of Westfall and the ocean stretching past. Claire slowly made her way up the stone path leading to the cabin, carrying her heavy luggage behind her.

When Claire reached the foot of the cabin’s stone entryway, she found Irene already waiting there for her. She had let her hair grow out, and it framed her sharp face. Her eyes were tired, as if she wanted to sleep but couldn’t. The two Mavericks, who once fought side by side, looked each other in the eyes for a long moment. No salutes, no handshakes, no hugs were necessary.

“As punctual as ever, my Queen,” Irene said softly, breaking the silence. “And still wearing the same armor you wore back when we fought together. Long time ago.” She tried to smile, but Claire could tell that she hadn’t used those muscles in a long time. “It’s good to see you again. Would you like to come in? I’ve prepared tea.”

Claire shook her head. “You should know why I’m here.” The queen laid her suitcase on the ground beside her.

Irene nodded solemnly and stepped out of the doorway. She leaned on a heavy crutch, and was unable to bend her right leg properly. Every step she took was made deliberately, carefully. Claire made no movement to help her, and she made no request for help.

It took several minutes for her to descend the stairs to stand in front of Claire, panting and out of breath. In her prime, Irene could have easily crossed the distance in one jump, but now ten meters seemed like an eternity. For a Maverick, moving so slowly meant death.

The queen watched silently as Irene caught her breath. “No matter what you ask of me,” Irene said, before stopping to inhale a gulp of air. “No matter what you ask of me, I will say yes. If you can put me back in the field… if you can give me that power again, I won’t ask for anything else.”

Claire stared unemotionally at her former comrade. “Are you not satisfied with the cabin I provided for you?”

“This is wonderful, but…” Irene paused for a moment. “No… no, I lied. It’s not wonderful. I’m not satisfied,” she admitted. “Every day, I lounge around. I do nothing. I crumble. I don’t belong here. I was never supposed to be living like a rich person. I need to be doing what I can for the other people who aren’t this fortunate. The other people like me.”

She lurched forward to rest a hand on Claire’s shoulder. “You told me that you could bring me back. You told me that you had a suit of armor that even someone in my condition could use. I don’t know how I could ever repay you, but please… give it to me. I won’t let you down again.”

Claire silently nodded, and with a deft flick of her fingers, released the clasp that held the suitcase closed. It popped open to reveal a complex assortment of plates, gears, and cloth.

“Of all the technologies I have ever invented for the Maverick cause,” Claire said slowly, “this is the most irrational.”

Irene smiled. “Give it to me.”

---

The former Maverick hero plummeted to the ground, breaking her neck instantly.

Claire shielded her eyes with her arm as shrapnel and metal bits blasted out from the impact. Irene had flown too high and lost control.

It was impossible for the Arbalest armor to have malfunctioned. Claire had tested it personally before bringing it to Irene. The auxiliary thrusters were functional, the wings deployed without a hitch.

Had Irene just been too reckless? Did she fail to catch the wind currents of the sea? That couldn’t be: the queen respected her as a Maverick whose skills equaled, perhaps even surpassed her own.

Was it truly too much of a fool’s pursuit to expect a warrior with a broken back to fight again? The armor’s supports and constraints had been adjusted and modified countless times.

Claire looked deep into the eyes of her dead comrade. One of the few people that the queen would trust her back with, killed by her own invention. Irene was smiling slightly: did the thrill of flight give her peace in death?

Whatever the cause was, the truth remained. The Arbalest armor was not viable.

Claire knelt and lifted Irene’s body. Shards of armor and chipped gears slipped off the former Maverick’s body, broken off by the impact. The Arbalest armor was still salvageable, but the queen made no effort to step around the pieces as she carried Irene down the cabin path. Expensive metal plates crunched and shattered under her feet with every step. If the armor could not help her people, it could not help her.