Free A Meeting at Corvallis by S. M. Stirling Page B

fantasy of the rolling fields and woodlots. The armor was actually late-medieval in inspiration, fifteenth-century or so, but manufactured post-Change out of high-strength alloy steel stock by jury-rigged hydraulic presses in southern England.
    Havel grinned like a happy wolf. Alleyne was also young, only a few years older than Astrid, and six feet tall, blondly handsome, dashing, charming, from a far-off foreign place and in the process of saying—
    â€œSinome maruvan ar Hildinyar, vanimálion noastari…”
    â€œOnen i-Estel Edain—” Astrid replied in the same liquidly pretty tongue, which sounded Celtic but wasn’t; Havel understood not a word of it.
    My languages being limited to English, a bit of Ojibwa, rudimentary Finnish and some Arabic cusswords I picked up in the Gulf, he thought. None of the Tongues of Middle-earth included in the package.
    â€œYou’re looking like the coyote that met the rabbit coming ’round the rock,” Signe said.
    â€œThanks to those Tasmanians—poor bastards—and their world survey voyage I think we may finally have gotten your little sister hooked up,” Havel said. “And out of our hair.”
    â€œHey!” She punched him on the shoulder. Since he was wearing a hauberk with padded gambeson beneath, that was mostly symbolic, but her voice was only a little defensive as she went on: “Astrid’s been…useful.”
    â€œAnd a lot less trouble since she started up that Ranger outfit out in the woods. But she’s still trying to trick us all out in costumes from those books she likes. She makes Norman Arminger sound as everyday as a dental hygienist.”
    â€œGranted she’s a flapping wingnut, but a handy wingnut to have around. A lot of stuff we’ve done wouldn’t have been nearly as popular if we hadn’t had her to slap some cool, antique name on it and give it some style. It kept those Society types we recruited happy too, they love fancy titles and playing dress-up. Useful…and if they’re here being useful to us they’re not up north being useful to Lord Protector Arminger, who was one of their own after all. Besides, this lords-and-ladies stuff…once it stops sounding so silly it sort of grows on you.”
    â€œAnd fungus grows on your toenails if you aren’t careful. Yeah, she’s useful, and also a goddamned pain in the ass. For a while I thought she’d probably settle down with Eilir, who’s sensible, sort of—”
    His wife shot him a look; the sisters had quarreled all their lives, but he liked the way they closed ranks. “Astrid isn’t gay.”
    â€œNothing so convenient or conventional. She’s an elf instead,” he said dryly.
    Signe grinned. “I think she’s settled on being a, what’s the word, Numenorean instead of an elf.”
    â€œI thought it was Dunadan …or is it Dúnedain ? I forget which.”
    â€œ Dúnedain is the plural….” She smiled wickedly as he mimed clutching at his head. “ Dunadan is the word for Numenorean …in another language.”
    â€œ Another invented language? Christ Jesus, didn’t the man have anything else to do with his time? Trimming the shrubbery, visiting the pub? How many of them are there?”
    â€œLet’s see…the Common Speech, the Black Speech, the tongue of the Rohirrim, Halfling dialects, Quenya elvish, Sindarin elvish…”
    â€œStop! Stop! Anyway, why…whatever…instead of an elf? Hell, I’ve got to admit, she looks like one.”
    â€œBut elves don’t get cooties on campaign, or smell. Or have monthly cramps, which she does, bad. Anyway, Eilir’s just her best friend.”
    â€œAlleyne there will do even better, nothing like kids to calm you down. Someone who shares her interests—”
    â€œIs nutbar about the same stuff?” Signe clarified helpfully.
    â€œNah, he just likes