Chapter 33: Native Customs Part 4

"Do not worry. I shall tell this lowly worker of metal that his worship the angel Chris demands not his excuses, but his obedience."

Chris nodded and watched Turtle yell at the army's smith while he thought about his T-shirt.

It was an old shirt, passed down from the time when internet meme farms made a quick buck by printing their crap on clothing. The T-shirt was a prime example, its XL cotton surface covered with densely printed text beginning with "so you've gone back in time," and going on to describe how to make radios and penicillin.

And Chris owned it. He'd brought it with him on this trip, and the damn thing was folded up with the rest of his luggage in the dorm at MSU Bozeman. He might easily be wearing it now. And then he wouldn't be having such a hard time explaining to the smith how to make steel.

"Yes," he cut off Turtle mid-explanation. "I know iron rusts. But it won't if you mix it with, um, I think nickel?"