The recoil hit Frank’s shoulders like a charging bull.
PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
A faster-than-sound jet of boiling golden foam and high-speed water tore from the fifteen-degree brass nozzle with an ear-splitting, shrieking roar that rattled the glazed roof tiles across the courtyard.
The stream was not a misty spray.
At forty-five hundred pounds of pressure, the boiling solar surfactant showed up as a blinding, razor-thin blade of golden-white soft glow, cutting through the damp mountain air at two hundred and forty meters per second. The air along the jet’s flight path spark-charged. That left a faint trail of crackling static electricity that made the hairs on Frank’s arms stand on end.
Frank held the stainless steel lance with iron wrists. He tucked the textured black rubber stock tight against his hip.
He swept the wand downward. That brought the faster-than-sound cutting fan across Grand Elder Yan’s stone-hard black glass chest.
CRACK-SHKKKKKKKK!
