by Ben Bequer
We both laughed, then again returned to our silent vigil over the small city of stacked boxes.
“Sucks to have all this shit here, like this, before you start,” he said, echoing my thoughts.
“You know what Confucius said about starting a long journey,” I said, picking up a small sheet of 1/8th inch thick aluminum.
“Something about a single step,” he said.
“So let’s get another pair of beers and start this shit right now,” I said.
* * * *
We worked all night, and on into the morning, putting together the first pieces of the main machine, Seven. Sun broke through the cracks of the covered windows, and without a word he stumbled to his room. I worked through, finishing outer frame, then adding to it, little by little, starting with the supports, then threading the electrical wiring. “Bro!” Bubu said, coming into the lab, startling me.
I was deep in the bowels of the machine, working on one of the tracks. I had a temp bar setup, waiting for the lathe that would allow me to spin a perfectly round tube for the printer head carriage. I couldn’t do things to detail, so I made the temporary holders.
“Holy shit, bro,” he said, his attention spilling past me to the machine. “It’s done, right?”
I sat on the floor, leaning back to get a better perspective on the thing. The frame was complete, the carriages, the servos and motors were ready, and I could see how from a layperson’s point of view it might look done. I didn’t have the extruder made, or the reservoirs for materials, or heaters and mixers to keep the metals liquified. It looked complete, but it was far from done.
“It’s got a ways to go,” I said. “You’re back fast, by the way.”
“Fast,” he laughed. “You know what time it is?”
I looked out the lab door, trying to get a perspective on the time, but the lights were bright in the rest of the house, and the lab had the windows covered.
“Bro, it’s two in the morning,” he said.
I’d spent the whole day on the machine, yet it felt like a few hours and I figured it would have looked like quite a bit of progress to him. The machine was just a base frame when he last saw it and now it was near completion.
“You did a lot,” he said, kneeling beside it and looking through the gaps in the metal and wiring. “Tomorrow, I’ll stay and we can finish it.”
I stood gingerly, pins and needles running up and down my sleeping right leg.
“If you’ve found the rest of what I need, we’re finishing this tonight, Bubu, and this sucker will have our secondary printers ready by tomorrow.”
“That fast?”
“That fast,” I said. “Everything in the car?”
He nodded, leading me out of the house.
“Truck,” he said, showing me the big 21-footer parked outside our house. Bubu walked to the back and threw open the sliding door. Just enough moonlight eked in that I could see why he’d needed a full-sized truck. He’d found an industrial sized lathe, foundry, and forge. Everything was double or triple the size of what I needed.
“Not what you wanted,” he said as I hopped onboard. “I can see your face. You’re not pleased.”
I laughed, “I have a resting bitch face. Don’t ask me to explain.”
“No, no. I think I know what you mean. Like my wife, she’s always like this,” he said and put a grimace on his face, making us both laugh.
He had everything pushed forward against the cab, tied down, so I tore the cable and shifted things around to get a better look. The machine tools were on massive casters so I could roll them around the back of the cab.
“I can take all this shit back, bro,” he said. “I get you what you need.”
“No, this’ll work,” I said.
Bubu jumped on and helped me position the lathe nearest to the door. I had put the machine tools against the sides of the truck, leaving barely enough room for a walking/working space along the middle of the cab. Along the back wall were long sheets of aluminum, ready to be machined into parts.
“We’ll use them right here,” I said.
“That’s no good, bro. I have to take back the truck tomorrow.”
“Buy it.”
I imagine Bubu’s mind raced through all the problems with buying the truck. Maybe it was borrowed, maybe without knowledge of the original owner, and now he was in trouble for it. I didn’t care. “And good job on the machines,” I said. “Bigger means I can do things faster. It’s fine, you did fine.”
“It’s okay?”
“Yeah,” I clapped his shoulder. “You left your Range as collateral for this?”
He nodded severely, letting me know the value of the SUV far exceeded that of the junky old truck.
“You can have the other one,” I said and hopped off the truck. “Now help me find somewhere to tap into.”
“We’re going to work now?” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “I’ve had a hard day.”
I laughed, looking at the power lines overhead, trying to figure how to steal the power I needed.
“Okay,” I said. “At least make me a pot of coffee before you hit the sack. I’m going to be up all night.”
* * * *
Bubu didn’t sleep, he had a cup of coffee and sat, watching me work while browsing the web. I found a way to tap the power and hoped the local utility wouldn’t come asking about the power drain for a few days, at least long enough for everything to be done. By the time I had plugged all the machines in, it must’ve been four in the morning and the effect of the coffee was fading, so we went into the house and rested.
My energy was still high as I lay down, and I thought my rumbling mind would keep me awake, but I fell asleep instantly. I saw the castle in my dreams, tall and imposing, standing at the top of the hill. Drones buzzed around it like a swarm of wasps, and deadly secrets lurked just beneath its faux stone surface. The perfect deathtrap; but in my dream, my nightmare, the only people I ended up killing were my friends. Superdynamic, Moe, and the rest of Battle, come to bring me to justice, lay broken against the thick walls, their eyes still eerily aware, staring towards me. Apogee lay in a pool of blood, her hair fanned around her head like a corona. I opened my mouth to scream, and there was Haha, his laugh track giggles filling my ears as he ran me through with his katana.
An argument from downstairs roused me just after dawn. I ran downstairs, still naked, and saw Bubu in a furious argument with two men and a woman. One of the guys had a handful of Bubu’s shirt, his other hand clenched into a fist. They were dressed in older style clothing, dark and drab, with non-descript caps and heavy patchwork coats.
“Let go of him,” I said in a voice that split steel.
The woman was older, maybe sixty, but she understood English, translating for the men. Neither of them moved, shocked by my nudity. She spoke again, gesturing wildly with her arms as she yelled at them in her firm, raspy voice. The younger man tightened his grip on Bubu’s shirt, while the elder took a step back and slipped a hand into his coat pocket.
“I’m not going to say it again,” I said, striding towards him.
The younger man let go of Bubu, though he did it slowly, barely aware of the gesture. The other guy took another step back and drew the gun, his eyes hard. The old woman was still yelling at them in their native language, but her voice drowned to a thick squeak when she saw the pistol.
“Go ahead and shoot,” I said. “It’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
He leveled the gun at my face, but I saw his hand shaking. His eyes told the rest of the story. “Last chance to put it down,” I said.
“Bro,” Bubu said, but I smiled, waving him off.
“We come…help,” the older man said, his voice cracking.
Another person came into the room, a younger woman, maybe thirty. She was dressed like the others, with tight cotton leggings, boots, and a heavy winter coat over a colorful blouse. Her long black hair was tied down with a red satin sash, and she stared at me curiously with vi
brant doe brown eyes.
“Onas!” she yelled at the guy with the gun. The girl followed that up with a language that was different from Bubu’s, faster and almost breathless. The old man lowered the gun, and I snatched it from his hand, squeezing it in mine, letting the resulting mangled ball of metal fall from my grip.
Bubu came up beside me, smoothing out his shirt, shaking his head in disgust.
“They are gypsies, bro. Tell them to get out.”
“Get out,” I said, but my attention was drawn to the old woman, who had been cooking before the argument. She had scrambled and hard boiled eggs, sausages, bread and coffee ready to serve.
“We come help,” he old man said, but I ignored him, walking over to the meal.
She looked down at me and blushed, muttering something in her tongue to the girl.
“What did she say,” I asked Bubu.
“I don’t speak their shit-language,” he spat.
“What did she say,” I asked of the girl.
The girl smiled, “She made a reference to your male body part,” she said in decent English. “And said that you should put something on.”
I walked toward her, “Male body part? What did she mean?”
Her smiled faded and she looked away, her cheeks turning the same rosy color as the older woman.
“Oh,” I said. “You mean my cock? It bothers you, then,” I said, gesturing at my penis. “That I’m naked.”
No one spoke.
“Then don’t sneak into my fucking house in the middle of the night and put your hands on my people,” I said pointing at Bubu.
Without much of a buildup, I reached over and grabbed the guy that had restrained Bubu, grasping him by the heavy coat’s collar, and lifted him in the air.
“Can you fly?”
The man groaned, the strain of the clothes pressing against his body.
“Probably not. Well, you put your hands on my friend again, and I’ll throw you off a cliff,” I said, bringing the man closer to me. He had a heavy beard, with the stench of beer and menthol cigarettes. He also had the bluest eyes I had ever seen.
The woman translated and the man shook his head, no.
“She cooks,” I told the young woman. “What do they do?”
“Hunt,” she said.
I nodded and put the man down.
“Hunt me something for lunch,” I said to the two men.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I do,” the girl said.
“I know what you’re good for,” I said, turning away and headed to the stairs. “Have breakfast ready for me by the time I get down.”
Bubu caught up with me in my room, as I was throwing on briefs.
“Bro, you’re kidding me right,” he said. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
I sat on the rumpled bed and threw a leg into my jeans.
“We need people to clean up,” I said, waving my arms about. “Or are you going to clean the toilets once a week?”
He recoiled, as if I had shot him in the chest. “That’s not what I mean,” he said after gathering himself. “These are Roma. Gypsies. They’re bad news, man. Dirty thieves, they’ll steal all your shit.”
“I don’t care about that,” I said. “I don’t care about you and your mark ups either.”
Bubu turned defensive, “Bro I give you prices that-“
“I told you I don’t care,” I said buttoning my pants and throwing on a shirt.
“If you need girls to fuck, bro, I can find you girls. And not old and skinny like that one.”
“She’ll do,” I said.
“She has a funny hook nose,” he said. “And no tits.” I looked at him, but said nothing. His frustration was brimming as I threw on my boots without bothering to lace them up, and headed for the stairs. “They’re shit people,” he said. “Cast-offs. Reject shit from society that no one wants around.”
I stopped, halfway to the stairs.
“They’re just like me,” I said, looking back at him so he understood. After a moment’s pause, he gave me a small nod and I went downstairs to eat.
* * * *
Onas was the old guy whose gun I had turned to scrap, Vandilo was the younger guy, whom I had Vadered for effect. The older woman was Vertina. Her cousin had rented us the house, which is how they knew we were here. The younger woman was Lala, and it was clear that despite her youth, she was in charge, though Onas thought different.
He and Vandilo were there, picking at the massive feast Vertina and Lala had laid out at the table. They nodded at me and left, snagging a few rolls of bread on the way out. Bubu came downstairs a moment later, taking the steps as slowly as he could.
I took a seat at the head of the table, and Vertina put a napkin around my neck as Lala placed a plate before me, and brought over a tray of scrambled eggs. She served me as Bubu took off his coat, placing it on the back of his chair as he sat across from me. I didn’t miss the deadly glare Lala shot him as she used a spatula to shovel a mountain of eggs onto my plate, and placed the tray back in its place on the table, without offering any to Bubu.
“Ask them how much they want a week,” I said.
Bubu laughed at the gypsy woman’s slight, mumbling something in Romanian as he reached for the food. Whatever he said made Vertina gasp in shock and Lala respond super-fast in Romanian. He slammed his fist on the table and rose from his seat, arguing back, but both were talking at the same time, and even the older woman joined the chorus with a low grumble.
I let it go, digging into the eggs and reaching for a handful of sausages. I chomped on one when Bubu took it too far, using the word “putana”. It wasn’t too hard figure out what it meant, from the women’s shocked expressions, and Lala’s ashen face.
“Well,” I said, still chewing. “I’m glad we got that out of our systems.”
They all looked at me, perturbed. I ripped a handful of bread from a fresh-made loaf and stuffed it in my mouth.
“Let’s not do it again, okay?”
“He called me a whore,” Lala said, her face wracked with a murderous rage.
“Bubu?”
“Bro, she thinks-“
“Bubu,” I said, this time with a little more fire in my voice. “Don’t call her that.”
He was about to argue, but instead filled his plate to the brim with food and ate in silence.
“Lala,” I said. “Bubu is in charge. You and your people can stay, but he runs the show. If you don’t like it, leave now.”
The rest of breakfast was much quieter.
* * * *
With a full stomach, Bubu assisting, and Lala bringing us coffee and snacks at regular intervals, I finished the extruder head in just under two hours. The trick to this machine was being able to inject multiple types of materials at the same time, drawing from the varied reservoirs, in order to make the drone maker machines in one shot. The second-generation makers would work to make the swarm, spitting out smaller drones every hour or two. With ten running full time, I’d have the castle up in a few weeks.
I could have gotten fancy, Mr. Haha-style, manufacturing the metals and plastics from the trees, rock, and dirt gathered from the surrounding countryside, but it was easier to buy the raw materials from Bubu’s contacts. Romania was full of surprises, and Bubu knew just about everyone. He didn’t even flinched when I told him we needed spooled plastic for the 3d printers. Lala dropped off a plate of biscuits, trading nasty looks with Bubu as she left. I grabbed one and bit down, munching on floury dough, happy for the carbs, but Bubu took one and tore it in half, steam billowing from within. I gave him a look and he said, “Checking for razor blades, bro.”
I rolled my eyes and shrugged, grabbing another biscuit and downing it in one mouthful. I knew I couldn’t make him comfortable around them, and watching his paranoia was kind of funny considering the real danger looming just over the horizon.
“They could steal all of our shit in one night,” he said. “We’ll wake up and they stole our dicks.”
As they went outside, I put the finishing touches on the machine. The extruder head done, I went over the electrical system, making sure everything was ready. Once it was set, I fired up the heaters in the metal reservoirs and dropped a bar of aluminum into one, and a bar of steel into the other. Once they started melting, I put a bar of polystyrene into the plastic reservoir, and ran through the schematics saved on my laptop, looking for something to create. I decided on something simple to start.
“Is it ready,” Bubu said, taking a peek at the laptop from over my shoulder.
“Almost,” I said, throwing more materials into the reservoirs. They could hold quite a bit, but I wanted to start slowly.
I cracked Seven open and checked the nozzle carriage, making sure it was screwed on tight. Then I slammed it shut and went back to the laptop.
“Let’s do it.”
* * * *
It was slower than I had envisioned, taking almost three hours to build the riser handle of a recurve bow. It was still hot when I pulled it off the base plate. The plastic was hard, interlaid with the heavier metals in 4-micron layers. I tossed it to Bubu, who brought it in close for inspection, then holding an end in each hand, tried to bend it. Despite still being hot, the handle didn’t snap, flexing generously under pressure.
“Very nice,” he said. “What about the rest of it?”
I went to the laptop and set it to work, making the next item.
“We’ll make it next time,” I said. “That was just a test.”
“Why not finish the bow?”
I reached over for my cup of coffee and drained it. “This big machine is going to make smaller machines,” I said, lifting the cup in thanks once he was done pouring. “That’s why the raw materials it uses are so simple; plastic and metal. The next ones will use all kinds of interesting stuff, including some fancy polymers we’re going to hand-craft.”