Jess took the gun and was surprised at the weight of it-it had looked like a toy in Thomas's hand, but this had substance. Finely balanced, though. The weapon felt heavy and hot in his sweaty hands, and he looked carefully at the dial to be sure it was turned as far down as it could go.
It was.
"No point in waiting, English, unless you're worried it'll blow your hands off," Dario said.
"Want to try it first?"
"No, by all means. Your privilege. I wouldn't dream of taking the honor."
"That's exactly what I thought." Jess was stalling, and he knew it. There was a moment of truth coming, and it frightened him, just as Morgan must have been terrified of her ability to kill so easily. It wasn't the same, but he knew that pulling this trigger would change his world, too.
But there was no way around that. The world was shifting faster than he'd ever imagined it could.
Jess silently stepped away-far enough, he hoped, that any catastrophic disaster would spare the others-and raised the weapon to his shoulder. He braced it, as if it might kick (would it?) and took aim at the far wall.
He took in a slow breath and pressed the trigger.
There was no kick. There was a hum, something that he felt more than heard, and the brass fittings of the gun went from cold to skin warm . . . but no hotter, thankfully. He actually saw the beam that came from the barrel of the weapon, a pure reddish line pointing straight to the wall, and then . . .
And then nothing. There was no explosion. No devastating surprise. Jess let go of the trigger and lowered the weapon slowly, staring.
"Is that it?" Dario asked. "Disappointing."
"It's glowing," Morgan said, and Jess realized she was right. Santi moved toward the wall and held his hand about two feet from it.
"It's very hot," he said, and jumped back half his body length when the wall suddenly let out a sharp, percussive sound and a crack raced from the center of the wall from top to bottom. The entire workshop structure groaned, and for an insane moment Jess wondered if he'd just dropped the roof onto their heads . . . but then nothing else happened. The glowing point in the center of the wall began to fade. There was, he realized, a black scorch mark where he'd aimed the beam, and the wall had cracked in half at exactly that spot.
"¡Joder!" Dario came rushing up and stopped with his hand feeling the heat, just like Santi had. "That was the lowest setting?"
"Yes," Jess said, and checked it a third time. "Lowest." He looked at Thomas, who had no particular expression on his face at all. Certainly no triumph. "What happens if it goes higher?"
"I expect it will destroy things quite easily," Thomas said. "You remember the wall, in Philadelphia?"
Hard to forget. "Yes."
"This would have burned through it in seconds, even at half power. It is much stronger. And you might notice, I have shielded the heat."
"I did notice," Jess said. The casing was cool now, not even a trace of warmth remaining.
"Do it again," Santi said. "On a higher setting."
"No. One test, Captain. We agreed." Thomas looked stern. And a little worried.
For answer, Santi walked to the end of the hall, picked up an empty wooden crate, and set it on top of the long trestle table. "That will do," he said. "Shoot it."
Jess, for answer, held out the weapon to him. Santi came back and took it, and Thomas silently shook his head, but didn't object, as Santi turned the dial up. It was, Jess saw, almost halfway.
"Niccolo," Wolfe said. "I don't think-"
"Weapons are my part of the world. Not yours." Santi put the stock to his shoulder, sighted, and fired.
The crate . . . It didn't melt, exactly. It . . . dissolved, in a flutter of black ash. The only sound was a kind of sinister hiss, like steam escaping, and as Jess went forward to look, he saw liquid metal simmering and scarring the top of the thick wooden table. The nails, he realized. The crate's nails had melted.
///
The table began to smoke where the molten metal touched, and Jess grabbed a leather apron and flung it down over the top. Black scorched patches appeared on the thick material but didn't burn through. When he cautiously moved it, he saw the metal was cooling into sharp-edged smears.
"Dios santo," Dario whispered. He sounded shaken.
"It's what Archimedes used, to burn the Roman ships at sea," Khalila said. "But stronger, and held in one hand. He called it the Forge of the Gods."