by Chris Hechtl
At the sound of his typing a few of the artisans on the outer edge of the knot of men turned. They looked at the laptop and descended like vultures.
“Here,” Max said looking up. He turned the laptop so they could see the screen.
“Goddess of Athena and Vulcan!” an old man babbled, eyes wide. His nostrils dilated then he reached out with a gnarled hand to touch the screen.
“Careful there old timer, I don't want prints on the screen mucking it up,” Max cautioned. He pointed to the screen. “This here is a laptop like I was just saying. It's ah... personal storage device. A library.” He shrugged then groaned a little as he noticed his Glock was now in pieces.
“Why is it so... plain?” one man asked.
“Huh? Cause it's manufactured.” Max waved it away. “See we need you to make parts for these here.” He pointed to the image of a rifle.
“It will take months. Years,” one said shaking his head mournfully. His eyes gleamed at the thought of the price though.
Max chuckled. “Not quite. Besides, we don't have months or years. We've got to make as many as possible in...” He looked at the computer calendar. “About three months give or take one of your weeks. That's your time not mine.” He was already planning on multiple tracing lathes for the wood stocks and rifling benches to bore and rifle the barrels.
“Impossible!” one of the men said looking up. “Sure the basics can be done, but the inlay alone!”
“Will have to wait until after we've won,” Max said sighing. “Look we need quality weapons in a short time. You can make it pretty later. I'd like that back by the way.” He indicated his pistol.
Sheepishly and a little reluctantly the men still tinkering with the Glock brought the pieces of the pistol over. Max took out a cleaning kit from his tote, did a quick clean, and then reassembled the pieces. “Hope the spring and the firing pin aren't messed up,” he muttered, then jacked the slide and checked the sight alignment.
His audience watched in awe at his experienced hands. He snorted. “Folks this is just a baby weapon. Granted it's better than what you've got but still, not a big weapon compared to stuff we've got on Earth.”
“And you want us to make these... Pistols?” one asked.
Max shook his head. “No, I said I want you to make rifles. Well, let's start with muskets. How about that?”
“But the inlay is important!”
“It is?” Max asked, turning to an old man. The man looked like a mad scientist. He was decked out with a leather apron, white leather duster, and an inlaid golden broach. “Not for this,” he held up the pistol.
“Wait. I... all right. Some inlay is important. It takes away some of the weight of the device...” the man said as he indicated the pistol. “While adding strength and giving it personality.” He picked up a nearby grieve and held it up. He pointed to the flat metal sections then to the parts that had been cut out or bent.
“And it makes it pretty. Yeah I get that,” Max said nodding. He'd actually overlooked the structural component of the argument. The guy was definitely smarter than he looked. “But these...” he indicated the pistol, then the images on the screen. “These we need to make a lot of very fast. I can show you all sorts of tricks to get around the structural problems. Stamping metal for one. By the way I know what you’re talking about,” he smiled.
“Creasing metal usually stiffens it. Cutting holes out as well. Yup got that. But these are a bit different.” He turned the laptop to face him then turned it back. Now an exploded diagram of a rifle was shown.
“I got this from Ryan's database. See here.” He took a stylus out of his pocket and pointed. “This here is the butt or the stock. It's made out of wood or plastic. It fits into the shoulder. This...” he pointed to the barrel. “This thingy is the barrel. This is a long tube with spiral grooves cut into it. You can't mess with this much or the entire thing will blow up in your hands.”
“Ah,” the youngest nodded. He wasn't sure what the gaijin meant but he knew it was important and wanted to sound like he knew. A few of the older men looked thoughtful. “We do not have much time, a few of us are due for the ball,” the youngest said giving one of the more formally dressed men a look.
Max shook his head and tried hard not to groan. “Look. I'll set up a demo of well, demo tomorrow. Explosives and gunpowder 101 we'll call it. Rifles too. I'll even toss in a hand grenade,” he smiled.
The others nodded looking thoughtful. “Till then, here.” He reached over and picked up a stack of papers and then handed out a packet to each of them. “Simple stuff really, but it'll whet your appetite for more,” he smiled encouragingly again. They had had a hell of a time translating the diagrams. He'd kept to the very basics to weed out the dumb fucks from the fast learners and the wannabes. “Meet me in the quad, that's ah, the courtyard tomorrow at noon. It'll take me that long to get things set up,” he waved.
The party goers moved off, tucking the packets away or handing them off to assistants with murmured orders. A few of the younger ones lingered however. When the others were gone Max looked up from the laptop and snorted. “Wanna get a jump on the competition I take it?” he asked smiling again.
“This ah... paper...” an older Asian man asked. He had a classic long white beard you only see in Asian martial arts movies.
“Yeah? What about it?”
“Well, tis so white and the edges are so clean and sharp...” he said, holding up the paper. His female assistant nodded. Max noted she was writing on a piece of slate. The tick tick tick of the chalk or charcoal had been annoying.
“Bleach. And a straight cutter to make for a clean edge,” Max said smiling.
“Oh you know about this as well?”
“For bleach you'll have to talk to Wanda or Charlie,” Max shrugged as the native secretary, had to be a secretary, wrote that little tidbit down. “Most likely Charlie, though I could be wrong,” he said thoughtfully and then shrugged it off. “But yeah, I know a lot of things. Discovery channel is your friend,” Max said with a snort and a smile. The expressions of confusion were priceless.
“But in this case I visited a paper mill when I was young. God, must have been ten or twelve years ago. We made our own paper in class the next day from wood pulp and blue jean rags. I was pissed cause they wouldn't let us use bleach to make it white like we saw at the factory.”
“Interesting,” the old man said, stroking his beard. “Tell me more...”
<==={}------------>
“So what is this all about?” Perry asked, meeting Sue and Ryans in an alcove. He could hear the strains of music, most likely string instruments in the ball room nearby. “I've still got that meeting with Maximus, he's trying to draw up a schedule,” he grimaced. Some of the people were treating the crisis like the real thing, others were going into depression or hysterics, and a few others were looking for opportunities to profit. Some were in denial, acting as if everything was hunky dory normal. “I can't believe he didn't have it on paper,” he growled. He shook his head. He'd left Maximus with one of his literate soldiers trying to write on a piece of slate with a piece of charcoal or chalk. “And now this... whatever this is,” he waved disgusted.
“A welcome back ball apparently. And me without a dress or a date,” Sue answered tiredly. She felt more than a little out of place wearing her grimy medical smock. Her stethoscope was in her breast pocket. There was dried blood spatter on her right sleeve. She'd been busy going through the sick and injured people after she'd finished with the King. Making rounds with the healers had been an interesting experience. Butting heads with them wasn't.
“Still the belle of the ball Doc,” Perry said smiling.
“Why thank you gracious sir,” she said returning his smile. She bowed her head slightly to acknowledge the compliment. She rolled her eyes as a pair of women nearby began to adjust their costumes. The lady was dressed in a light green outfit from head to toe. Her hair was covered completely with a hat. She gave the Terrans a disdainful
look and sniff then strutted off. Her partner had some sort of peacock fan on her back. She turned, fluttering a fan and left at a swagger.
“Nothing wrong with that Doc. If you've got it, flaunt it,” Perry said smirking. The well developed woman was adjusting her bustier; her plump breasts seemed to bounce.
“And if you don't fake it,” Sue said meeting his eyes then nodding her chin to one of the women stuffing cloth tissues in hers. Perry snorted. “Not going in?” she asked.
“Somehow I seemed to have forgotten my dress uniform in the confusion of leaving.” Perry replied dryly.
“Pity, all the women would be swooning all over you,” Sue said chuckling at his blush. “The ladies really dig a man in uniform here apparently.”
“Yeah, I can just imagine. And our status is rather exotic. I bet you've got women chasing you and all your men... hell some of the women too,” Ryans said, arms crossed. He leaned against the door jam, keeping in the shadows.
Perry and the Doc looked over to him. “Something like that. I better not have any outbreaks of the clap to have to deal with. Or any other STDs for that matter,” Doc said darkly. She ran her hands through her hair, finger combing it.
“What, is this contagious?” Perry murmured. Doc gave him a sharp look and he smiled. “Nothin'.”
She snorted. “I thought not.” She twitched her shoulders and picked some lint off, then brushed at a stain. “Damn, won’t come out,” she sighed.
“How's the King?” Ryans finally asked.
“Stable,” she answered not looking up. “I've taken over most of the other cases in the keep as well. Major and minor. The Queen is setting up a medical tower for me. Getting equipment up from the medical trailer will be a bear.” They'd finally brought over some more of the equipment and supplies. The largest vehicles were still parked outside the city but all the smaller ones were inside now in a couple of warehouses. It was still a pain in the ass to have to guard four different locations.
“Tell me about it. We've got the gear stored in a warehouse here for now. I'm going to detail a group to set up some of the solar panels and the wind turbine on the roof first thing in the morning.” Ryans yawned. They'd just finished getting the gear into town and settled. Max had been pissed that he hadn't been in on the move. From his report of the artisans it sounded like a mixed bag with them. They'd have to see how well they performed later.
“Good, I've been worried about power. Some of my batteries are getting low,” Doc answered, and then yawned herself.
“Looks like your organic batteries are running low too Doc. What say we go slip into the kitchen, grab a snack then beat feet for our rooms and get some shut eye while the local yokels party till dawn.”
Sue snorted. “Sounds good to me. Why the hell are they partying at a time like this? There's a war to be won you know.”
“Distraction,” Perry answered. “Also proof that life goes on, and that the war doesn't alarm the court... which reassures some...” he glanced around, “or so they think. I'd much rather see them working on more important things myself.” He shrugged as they walked down the servant corridors to the loud, brightly lit kitchen. “I seem to recall a Poe story about a ball during the Black Death...” he muttered. He shook his head.
“Also a celebration for the girls returning safely and the King's survival I would imagine,” Ryans said smiling as he opened the door.
Noise around the doors stopped as some of the servants noticed them coming in. It seemed to spread until everyone was staring.
“I knew I should have changed,” Sue said sighing.
“Don't mind us folks, we're just here to get a quick bite to eat then we're off to bed,” Ryans waved. “Go back to whatever you’re doing,” he ordered with a hand wave. He looked around. A servant girl shyly looked up and ran her greasy fingers through her hair, then ducked down to the meat she was chopping.
Doc took a look around, noted the unsanitary conditions and shuddered a little. “Somehow, I'm not all that hungry anymore.”
Perry snorted. “Come on Doc, a little dirt is good for you.” He went over to a carcass on a spit and looked it over. A sleepy boy was basting it carefully while two six legged dog lizards spun it on a spit. He snorted softly as he noted the animals were hooked up to a contraption of gears that spun each of the spits. At least they had gears and gear trains; he'd have to tell Max about that.
“Bit awkward, having them harnessed bites though. Why not treadmills I wonder?” he asked looking at the boy. The boy shrugged but didn't say anything.
“Oh well. I'll have some of that, some tubers...” he looked around. ”Um...”
“Yeah, they're real potatoes. The safe ones, not the natural poisonous ones. Mary told me rather excitedly in the hall when she passed me earlier,” Sue said taking in his quizzical expression.
“Ah, okay,” Perry nodded turning back to the kid. “So where do you sleep son, you're just about done in.” He glanced at the kid. The lad was about eight or nine. He looked at him wide eyed then pointed to a corner. Perry looked in the indicated area. A raggedy blanket was there. He frowned ferociously. The kid flinched, hands up.
“The servants sleep at their posts Lieutenant. It's part of the culture. Also a bit warmer in winter in here,” Ryans said coming over and cutting off a hunk of meat with his knife. He put it on a trencher, a flat piece of bread and then forked a couple of tubers on to it, added a slice of cheese and then went over and placed it in front of the Doc.
“Interesting,” Doc said looking at the bread. “This supposed to be the native's version of a Panini?” she asked, lips curving up into a tired smile.
“No, they didn't use plates that often. These are used. The bread soaks up the juices. If it’s too soggy you feed it to the animals or to the poor,” Ryans explained.
“Okay. How did you...”
He smiled. “I'm full of surprises,” he said, glad his grandmother had dragged him off to a Renn faire in his youth. He smiled then handed her a dull looking knife. He picked up a two pronged fork, cleaned it with his shirt tail and then handed it to her with a slight flourish. She eyed it, then sighed and took it.
“Remind me to remind you...”
“Yeah Doc, we know. Cleanliness is next to godliness. Yup, we're going to fix that, eventually,” Perry sighed, and then took a bite of his own sandwich. He waved at his mouth for a moment. “Damn that's hot!” he got out. Ryans snorted.
<==={}------------>
Perry heard a man's drunken roar and grimaced. He was making the rounds one last time before he crashed and apparently the drunks were out and about. He paused in the darkened corridor, watching a pair of guards supporting an elderly knight. The knight was laughing and tottering about, pretending to fight.
“Who the heck is that?” Perry muttered.
“Why that's Dominus Elric, my Dominus,” a guard said. He turned to him. “He's the King's champion.”
“Ah,” Perry nodded keeping a straight face. “He's that good?”
The guard nodded earnestly. “Yes my Dominus. Or at least he was in his prime. He was quite extraordinary. After a time he won so many bouts none would challenge him.”
“Oh. So he really is that good huh?”
“Yes my Dominus.”
“So why didn't I see him earlier today?” Perry asked.
The guard looked nervous. “Ah... He's unwell my Dominus. He's been...” the guard looked away.
“Sick?” Perry asked, watching the man fight an imaginary foe. “Looks okay from here.”
“He is deep in his cups my Dominus; it is easier to manage him that way in truth. His fancies can get... dangerous once roused.”
“You mean he's got mental problems?” Perry asked goggling. “Dementia? And he's still the champion?”
The guard nodded. “Aye my Dominus. He's the King's favorite, twas since childhood as friends.”
“Oh,” Perry shook his head. “Okay. If you say so.” He gave the guard a look then shrugged it off. “You
don't suppose he's supposed to fight in the war?”
“Ah... that would be unwise my Dominus. He's as likely to strike at a friend as a foe.”
“Oh just peachy. Goody. Goody gumdrop. He can mind the home fires then,” Perry grimaced.
“Yes my Dominus, that would be... wise.”
Perry snorted. “Think you can point out where I'm supposed to be going in this warren? I'm supposed to meet Maximus and then head off to bed.”
“Aye my Dominus, the guard captain is most likely near the ball or within.”
“Great,” Perry sighed. He'd been avoiding that particular mess. “Just great,” he growled in disgust. Maybe he could get a guard or servant to fetch the captain when he got there. If Maximus was drunk he'd... He grimaced and turned back to the hall.
<==={}------------>
Max nodded politely as the group assembled in the courtyard just before noon. There were a lot more than just the artisans from the night before, he wasn't sure if they were apprentices or looky loos. He shrugged it off after a moment. “I guess the more the merrier right?” he asked, turning to Edsfield. At least they were mostly sober and not all that hung over. He hid a grin thinking about what a few of the bangs would do to those who were still hung over. A hangover wasn't really a hangover unless someone or something made you regret it. Horribly regret it preferably.
The sniper just shook his head. “Your funeral, or mine. Let's get this over with.”
Max nodded. “Right, ah...” He looked around. The young man he had talked to last night came up eagerly. “Yes, sir?”
The young man unfolded a red silk cloth to expose parts of a Springfield rifle. They were the simplest of parts but they were there and looked good. Factory new. The kid had to have worked all night to have pulled this one off. “Are these what you wanted?”
“Well, I'll be doggone,” Max said, lifting his cap to rub at his scalp. “You do fast work son, I'm impressed.” He picked up a trigger and examined it. “Nice. I'll make sure to let the King know of your diligence,” he said nodding. The lad puffed up in pride, eyes wide in appreciation.
