Everyone in Washington was familiar with the expression about not letting a good crisis go to waste. People with the ability to do so were taking full advantage. They were hustling to gain ground and increase their personal power. One man's rise meant another’s decline. One man's gain meant another's termination. Boss knew the American public wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if they fully understood just how many men in the world had private armies and skilled killers at their disposal. Boss knew. He was one of those skilled killers. At least he had been before his accident.
When he finally got word via secure email that the machinists were ready to meet with him, he rushed to the machine shop in excitement when he got off duty. The fact was not lost on him that these men should have been off duty. He fully understood they’d likely put in long hours to accomplish his request on top of their already extensive workload. If they’d taken their assignment seriously, he would make it worth their while.
Greetings were rushed and tentative. Boss was not a warm, chatty guy. Besides, everyone knew why they were there and were anxious to get to the main event. The chief led Boss to a private workroom in the back of the shop. Plastic distribution totes and cardboard boxes were stacked around the walls. In the center of the room the men gathered around a plastic folding table covered with a white sheet. When everyone was present, Ratliff reached forward and dramatically whipped the sheet off the table, exposing the fruit of their efforts.
Boss was taken aback by the display in front of him. It was beyond any of his expectations. While he’d hoped for some type of more durable prosthetic than he could obtain through normal channels, these men had delivered an entire system. He had no idea what all the pieces were or how they worked but it was definitely impressive.
The men didn’t know how to take his silence. Was he happy? Sad? Angry and preparing to kill all of them for disappointing him?
The chief cleared his throat and pointed to one of the devices on the table. "We’ve tested everything but fit. The computer says it should fit but that doesn’t guarantee comfort. We’d like to test the sockets first and make sure they fit properly. I’ll let Ratliff explain the details. He spearheaded the project."
"The sockets? As in plural?" Boss asked.
Ratliff pointed to two of the larger devices on the table. "We call those ‘gauntlets.’ We couldn’t come up with a single gauntlet that would serve all the specialized functions we had in mind and decided it was better to create a light-duty gauntlet and a heavy-duty tactical gauntlet. Light-duty would be optimal for casual and office use. The design is more focused on comfort and usability."
One of the junior machinists gestured to another piece of kit on the table. "That’s the tactical gauntlet. It’s optimized for combat. It's heavier due to the materials used but it incorporates a number of functions we think you'll find very impressive."
Ratliff carefully picked up the smaller gauntlet and held it before him. There was both pride and protectiveness in the way he delicately cradled the object. "This one is of carbon fiber construction. It's ridiculously strong and lightweight. The interior is molded to exactly fit your socket. It’s lined with a thin silicone layer which will aid in retention. Friction alone should hold it in place.”
He turned the device socket side down and showed Boss the end. “Both gauntlets accept interchangeable attachments. We've used titanium alloys where we could to keep things lightweight. In some places we were forced to use steel because it's all we had available. We can make any number of attachments based on your needs but in this first set of deliverables we've included some that we came up with. I think I speak for everyone when I say we enjoyed this project. It was a nice break from the routine.”
Ratliff pointed to the various attachments lined up on the table. “That’s a lightweight stylus made of electroconductive material allowing you to use touch keypads and tablets, dial a cell phone, and perform delicate tasks such as typing on a computer keyboard.”
Boss picked up the slender and surprisingly light stylus from the table. He examined it from one end to the other. It was useful but not the kind of cool he got excited about.
“There's a light-duty hook and a light-duty clamping mechanism that can be used to pick things up while wearing this gauntlet,” Ratliff continued. “We don't have robotics capability at this shop so all of this is simple mechanical function. When you choose to change attachments we put in a locking mechanism that allows the previous attachment to eject under spring tension. It’s easy to do with one hand. The locking mechanism is designed so that you're unlikely to accidentally discharge an attachment while it's in use."
Boss was impressed but reserved. Although not prone to enthusiastic outbursts, he was indeed excited. This was exactly why he’d wanted to use machinists. They didn’t just do things, they overdid things. They overthought things. They thought like he did, simply applying their minds to a less violent task.
"What about that other gauntlet? How is it different?" he asked, gesturing to a similar item on the table.
Ratliff put down the sleek carbon fiber gauntlet and picked up a more substantial chunk of gray metal from the table. He couldn’t hold back a smile and the rest of the machinists joined him like they were controlled by a common mind. They were proud of themselves.
"We call this the tactical gauntlet. It's a combat-duty equivalent of the device we just showed you. It functions much in the same way as the carbon fiber version but we didn’t feel that friction alone would be sufficient to keep this one in place."
"What’s it made of?" Boss asked.
"Titanium," the chief said. “It’s expensive shit left over from another job. Some of the mechanical components in the latch mechanism are steel but the titanium shell has its benefits."
"Like what?"
Ratliff’s face took on a serious expression and without warning he began violently bashing the device against the table in front of him. The neatly organized attachments rattled and bounced. He did not stop until he’d bashed a hole in the thick plastic top. The rest of the machinists grinned like children.
"See? No damage,” Ratliff said. “It would do the same to a man’s head. It's incredibly tough, and the steel internals add ballast to the end. It gives you incredible striking ability even without the tactical accessories fitted into the gauntlet."
Boss raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Tactical accessories?"
One of the junior machinists reached beneath the table and came up with something like a laptop case. He placed it on the battered table, unzipped, and opened it. The machinist hesitated a moment, staring at the contents, then made his selection. He drew an eight inch spike from the case and slid it into the opening in the business end of the gauntlet. It locked in place with a firm click.
"We call this ‘the ventilator,’” he announced proudly, handing it over to Boss to examine.
Boss studied it carefully. He grabbed the spike and tugged at it, pleased to find that the mechanism held it securely. There was no give, no wobble, no play. He was anxious to see how it would hold up in testing.
Ratliff reached into the same case and withdrew a thick double-edged fighting blade and held it up for Boss. "We kept the blade short to reduce the chance of you snapping it off if you get…overzealous. The weak point is probably where the blade transitions to the stem. You’re going to have to test it and see how it holds up. We made several extra blades just in case."
“Oh, I will test it thoroughly,” Boss replied. “Trust me on that.”
"The attachments for the light-duty carbon fiber gauntlet will also work in this one,” the chief added. “There’s universal compatibility in the latching system.”
"You mentioned that it might require more than a friction fit to hold it in place?" Boss asked.
Ratliff nodded. “A harness system. Yeah, we apologize that it's not more aesthetically pleasing. We didn’t have time to reinvent the wheel so we constructed a harness with what we had at our disposal. It fits much like a should
er holster would. It will take some fine tuning but basically the idea is that it will be strapped across both shoulders to put some tension on it. That should keep it from slipping off during the most vigorous…use.”
"Can I try it on? Is it ready to use?" Boss asked.
“It’s ready,” Ratliff said. “Let’s start with the lightweight one and test the fit. It may be a bit snug.”
Ratliff continued talking but Boss was not hearing any of that. He had the carbon fiber gauntlet in his hand and was inserting his arm into it. When he had it most of the way in Ratliff showed him that he should place the base against a wall or table so could press his arm fully into the socket. When it slid fully into place there was the faint flicker of a smile on Boss’s face. It felt ridiculously natural.
"See? You can tell when it's on right,” the chief said. “You can feel it.”
Boss stepped back from the table and swung his arm gently through the air, practicing a slow motion martial art strike. "That feels incredible. If I was to close my eyes I would think I had a hand just based on the balance and weight of the thing."
Ratliff cleared his throat. "We estimated your body weight at 104 kilograms. Typically a human hand represents 0.58 percent of total body weight. With that in mind, we estimated the wrist-forward portion of this gauntlet should weigh 610 grams to best approximate the weight and balance of your old hand. Most, but not all, of the attachments are designed so that they extend no further than the point where the natural tip of your fingers would be. Your mind is already trained that this is the extent of your reach and we wanted to take advantage of that. The stylus, the hook, and the claw all stop where your fingers would've stopped."
"Fucking amazing."
Ratliff picked up the stylus attachment and showed Boss how it inserted and locked into the gauntlet. Boss made a few tentative taps on the table with it, studied it for a moment, and then removed the attachment.
"I’d like to try the tactical gauntlet."
“Sure.” Ratliff removed a hook attachment from the case and passed it to Boss. "Insert this into the gauntlet. We couldn’t wear the gauntlets to try them but we made the assumption they would come off easier if you could hook onto something and pull. You have to overcome the friction."
Boss did exactly that, looping the hook attachment over the edge of the table and lifting. The table lifted easily and the cuff didn’t loosen.
“Try something heavier,” the chief instructed.
Boss hooked the device around the door frame and pulled. Just as the machinists had described, the carbon fiber gauntlet gradually came loose from his steady effort. Once it was removed, he handed it off to Ratliff and the machinist tucked it away neatly in a plastic storage case with a padded foam interior.
One of the junior machinists passed Boss the titanium gauntlet. "You put this one on the same way. The fit should feel exactly the same but the attachment will be heavier. We weren’t able to balance this one out like your natural hand. Once you have it on we’ll show you how the harness works."
Boss inserted his forearm into the socket and pressed down to make sure it was fully seated. Though it was a little heavier it fit similar to the previous gauntlet. It ran a good deal higher up his forearm than the carbon fiber version, stopping within a couple of inches of his elbow. When he was done waving it around Ratliff approached him with an elaborate nylon harness.
"That shit looks complicated,” Boss said warily.
Ratliff shook his head. "It won't be. Once we have it adjusted to your body you won't have to go through this process each time. You can just leave it adjusted like you would with your plate carrier or any other piece of web gear.”
Ratliff helped strap Boss into the nylon harness, adjusting several Velcro closures to get the best fit. When it was securely fastened, the machinist hooked the harness onto metal tabs on the gauntlet. "You don’t want this to be too tight. Think of it more like a retention lanyard than a belt. The molded silicone lining will do most of the work. This simply keeps you from losing it if you get a little aggressive."
Boss smiled at that. “I can assure you I will be very aggressive in my testing."
Ratliff exchanged a grin with the other machinists before returning to Boss. "We predicted as much. It was built with you in mind."
When this gauntlet was secured, Ratliff stepped back and Boss gave it a tentative swing, getting the feel for it. He performed the same range of strikes he’d done earlier with the carbon fiber cuff.
"Not bad at all. As you noted, it’s slightly heavier, but the straps are not binding. I can move freely. I could fight in this with no problem."
"We tried the harness under a range of clothing and gear. We located the Velcro closures in places where they wouldn't cause too much pressure or chafing. Of course, if you find something uncomfortable or not to your liking we can modify it. Satisfaction guaranteed and all that.”
Boss acknowledged Ratliff’s comment with a nod and checked out the attachments again. "Give me something fucking brutal."
The chief laughed and reached for the case of attachments. "Let’s try one of the fighting knives. Simple but effective." He withdrew a knife blade that extended about six inches below a metal collar. The collar was flush against the gauntlet when attached. There was a satisfying click as the chief locked it into place.
Boss held it in front of his face, grinning from ear to ear. "That is one wicked piece of steel."
Ratliff touched the collar welded around the device where it inserted into the gauntlet. "We decided it might be a good idea to have some type of shielding that prevented fluids from getting into the mechanism. We refer to it as the ‘gore shield.’ You’ll have to let us know how it works out."
Boss was happy as a kid on Christmas. "I'm dying to try this thing out."
The machinists exchanged the same sneaky, conspiratorial look they had earlier.
"We thought you might feel that way," one of the junior machinists said. He went to a cardboard box near the wall and removed a heavy object wrapped in a garbage bag. He took the bag to a battered, greasy worktable mounted against the wall and dumped out the contents. He stepped back to reveal the severed head of a black cow.
"The officer’s mess is butchering their own beef," he said. “They were glad to let me take a head.”
Boss looked from the cow head to the chief. He pointed his spike at the head and raised a questioning eyebrow. The chief, Ratliff, and the other machinists all nodded in unison.
“All yours,” Ratliff said. “Wear it out.”
Boss stalked toward the cow head while the machinists all put on their safety glasses. They flinched when Boss struck a lightning fast, powerful blow that plunged the blade between the eyes, sinking fully to the hilt. The cow was mostly bloodless at this point so there was minimal splatter, but there was the revolting sound of bone and tissue crunching, then scraping against steel as the blade was withdrawn. The skull presented no more resistance than an eggshell against Boss’s muscle power concentrated into that razor sharp piece of steel.
He pulled it out slowly, then leaned over to study the wound. He probed it with his fingers, measuring the extent of the destruction. The machinists watched with a mixture of distaste, fascination, and pride.
Boss struck again, varying his angle of attack, seeing how the blade and the gauntlet responded to the forces placed on it. When he was done, he stepped back, studying the gauntlet and blade. He tried to wiggle the blade, seeing if the attack had loosened it, but it was as solid as it had been when he’d started.
“Well done, my friends,” he said. “This exceeds my expectations.”
The machinists beamed with pride.
“I was concerned about the time it took,” the chief said. “With our schedule it’s hard to fit in anything extra. We enjoyed this one, though. Probably the first fun project we’ve done in a long, long time.”
Boss removed the gauntlet and placed it on the table. “Can you pack that away for me?”
&
nbsp; Ratliff and one of the junior machinists started wiping down the gauntlet and packing the attachments in the travel case they’d put together for it. While they were occupied with that, Boss fished around in his pocket. He came out with an object that he placed on the table before him. All activity stopped as the item clicked solidly against the table surface under the pressure of Boss’s finger.
It was a one ounce gold Krugerrand.
Boss removed three more from his pocket under the watchful eyes of the men. When he was done, he slid one in the direction of the chief, Ratliff, and the two junior machinists. They watched in silence. No one reached for the coins. They almost seemed scared, as if he’d pulled out a weapon.
“That’s for your trouble,” Boss said.
No one moved.
“That’s a lot of money,” the chief finally said.
“You went above and beyond,” Boss said. “And that’s for keeping this project between us. The job, the money, all of it. Do I have your word?”
He went around the table and each man nodded. Ratliff finished packing away Boss’s gear and extended the case toward him.
Boss took it. “Gentlemen, you all have a good day,” he said, leaving the room.
When he was gone, the chief leaned forward and placed a finger on a Krugerrand. He slid it to the edge of the table closest to him and dropped it into his waiting palm. From there it disappeared into a pocket. “I suggest you men do the same. Pocket that shit,” he said, heading toward the door. “And somebody get rid of that head.”
10
The sheriff lived in one of the empty houses near Buddy’s house. The sheriff, his wife, and their children had experienced a difficult winter after the sheriff's mother died. For him, it probably seemed that the collapse of the country, the rise of chaos, and his mother’s death were all bound together in a single, tragic event. His grief for his mother and for his damaged community alike held him in a gloomy embrace that he had not yet risen above. People visited and came away shaking their heads, fearing the worst.
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