Princess Rescue Inc (81 page)

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The
next morning Ryans was congratulated on the victory. Several of the younger
knights showed a sudden interest in the gaijin weapons, something they hadn't
before. Now they asked him why the gunpowder works were outside the city, and
in berms. “The berms aren't designed right for defense,” a knight complained.
“Shouldn't it be here in the city where it can be better protected?”

Perry
came over and explained that it was to protect the city in case the powder
exploded. He explained to the group that the powder they were currently using
had an unstable quality, it tended to explode when mishandled or exposed to
lightning or fire. “That stuff can go off if you pack it too hard too; it's
scary if you don't know what you’re doing. The berms are there to channel the
explosion up, away from the town and surrounding countryside.”

Wide
eyed the knights nodded. In court a count gave Ryans a hard time about the
political changes he sought. The count said they couldn't change the weather,
which amused Ryans.

“Actually,
we can seed clouds to make it rain. Or direct lightning away from buildings.
Which is what we've already done here,” he smiled politely to the old Dominus.
The count blinked in confusion. Ryans pointed to the window. He went over with
the count and others. He pointed to the highest tower in the castle, which now
sported a lightning rod and cable. He explained the purpose, and then pointed
to other tall buildings that now have them. “Some of these are radio antenna
too, but we have to have a lightning rod to protect the electronics and the
brittle roofs from electricity.”

“By
directing the energy into the ground, we can channel it away from the buildings
that can catch fire, and the people around them,” Ryans explained patiently.
The count seemed to simmer. Ryans smiled knowing he'd deflected the count's
initial attack but he wasn't quite done with his lecture just yet. “We can even
make tile, cement, or slate roofing shingles stronger than what you have, that
will last for decades and protect roofs even better than the wood and thatching
your serfs have now... but that's a side issue to the discussion at hand,” he
said and smiled politely. “Part of our tech is to learn to map and predict
weather. To know when a sudden frost is coming to warn the farmers so they can
save what they can... or to let them know when rain is coming, or if it will be
too much,” he said. Many nodded thoughtfully at that.

Several
people took turns to look out the window at the lightning rod. “It's such a
simple object, but effective. One of the founding fathers of my nation came up
with the idea after experimenting with lightning actually. Benjamin Franklin. A
great man, a great orator and inventor. He helped found my nation on the
principles of democracy and equality,” Ryans said. He bowed to several of the
lords. “Here her majesty is working towards a constitutional monarchy.”

“Just
what does that entail?” one of the lords in the back asked, eyes narrowed in
suspicion.

“Now
that we've streamlined the paper industry and expanded it, I'll see if we can
print up a translation of the Magna Carta, the British constitution and other
works for you to read and use as a template,” Ryans smiled. “To go along with
the tablets here,” Ryans said pointing to the tablets behind the dais and
around the room. The group looked up at them. Ryans smiled. “By building on
these and incorporating the concepts your ancestors have started and you their
descendants have built upon we will all assure a greater, brighter tomorrow for
your children and your children's children,” he said.

“The
crown doesn't need any more power!” one of the lesser lords yelled. Several
looked at him.

Duke
Pyror gave the man a long look. “I and Duke Troy have heard of this, and the
Queen is... intrigued,” he said. “As am I,” he rumbled when the man opened his
mouth once more. He looked around for a moment. “It would mean each of us; the
crown and the lords would give up some power, and gain others. Some things like
the parliament Ryans has mentioned, which is somewhat like the council we have
now, but better laid out, with each role clearly explained in written law, with
more laws governing it,” he said and then smiled politely, enjoying the looks
of shock coming from the lesser lords. They had expected him to be firmly
against it since he was an old lord. “I for one am willing to keep an open
mind,” he rumbled. Ryans bowed slightly to him in thanks.

“That
is what I ask now, to keep an open mind,” he said. He nodded to a page. The
page handed him a clipboard.

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“How
goes the manufacturing?” Ryans asked Max and Scooter later that evening. He
needed a distraction, that damn constitutional flap was eating up more and more
time when he could least afford to lose any time at all. Max shrugged.

“As
well as to be expected. It's like reinventing the wheel with some things,” he
sighed.

“Casting
isn't so bad, it turns out they knew about lost wax casting methods, we just
added a few modern twists with the sand and ceramics. Same with the sand
casting... Wanda and Charlie got a local bonding agent to work so we can use
it. Now that we've got it, it's all a matter of making the molds and stuff.”

“But
that's only part of the problem. We need the right materials for some things,
and we also need them for the dies for the parts that have to be stamped,”
Scooter said. “We also need rolls of thin gauge metals to stamp. Another
bottleneck,” he grumbled.

“Ah,”
Ryans nodded. “The metal has to be harder than what it's stamping?” he asked.

Max
nodded. “Got it in one. See I didn't get much into this when I worked in the
factory,” Max sighed sitting back and drinking his beer.

Scooter
eyed him. “You worked in a factory?”

“Detroit.
Engine parts for Ford. I was young and stupid, thought I knew it all,” Max
rumbled gruffly. He shook his head. “Dropped out of high school 'cause it was
boring to me, went to work for Mister Felding. He got me in at his factory
since my dad used to work for him before he died. I busted my tail for two
years on the factory floor. Had a ball for a little while, but the monotony of
the routine bored me to death. I found out everyone else wanted a diploma and
degree to move up, so I went to night school and got my GED.”

“Ah...so
you were versed in the factory the hard way, with hands on experience,” Scooter
nodded.

Max
returned the nod with one of his own. “Yeah and car mechanics also. I rebuilt
my first car when I was ten. It was the thing to do in Detroit. I was always
good with my hands but sucked at the whole book studies crap,” he said in
disgust and waved.

“Hands
on learning. Some people learn best that way. Show then teach,” Ryans nodded.

Max
grunted and looked at Scooter. “Right. Well, when the great recession hit I was
out of work like a lot of people. I got into trade school and ate up the hands
on stuff. Even found I could handle electronics too. That's how I ended up
working for him,” he said. He jerked a scarred thumb Ryans' way.

“Stamping
is a problem,” he said getting back to the subject at hand. “The metal of the
dies has to be harder and stronger to withstand the forces... and we have to
have presses that can also handle the stresses. It's a bitch. I was never
exposed to that sort of thing, figuring out stress tolerances and such back
then, so we're playing it by ear. So far the dies last about ten or twenty
strikes before they crack or crumble. Some of the stamps aren't all that great
either.” He scowled. They needed hard alloys, harder than what they currently
had available.

“Ah,
that explains why things are still going slow,” Ryans replied nodding.

“We've
got the muskets moved out to the cottage industry. Some of the Glock,
Springfield, Mortar, rocket launcher, and Winchester parts too. The easier
parts. The outer casing and a few of the inner parts were stamped, so you see
the problem,” Max said then drank his beer and took a mound of pretzel like
snacks up in his hand.

“So
you're going with the Winchester?” Scooter asked surprised. “Why not take one
of our MP-9s or other guns apart?”

“Cause
they're a bitch to make,” Ryans answered as Max tried to swallow. “A lot of
fine tolerances and the parts have to be made with the right mix of materials
or they would shatter under the strain. The last thing we want is to have
machine guns blowing up in our hands.”

Scooter
winced. They all remembered what happened to that kid with the Springfield.
“Ah. Good point,” Scooter said getting some pretzels himself.

“Also,
we need weapons that have good fire control. A repeating rifle is easier to
shoot for someone with this tech level, and it keeps their fire discipline to
manageable levels,” Ryans explained.

“No
spray and pray. Good,” Scooter nodded smiling. He was referring to the way some
people seemed to think they could just hold down the trigger, spray the entire
clip and hope muzzle lift didn't enter the equation. “That must make it easier
for the rounds too.”

“Right
up till some idjet gets a jam,” Max growled. “Winchester makes it easier to fix
too. We can train people on them. If we're on the subject of modern weapons
though, I'd rather make AK-47s than the American guns we've got. Patriotism is
all well and good, but the AKs are just hardier weapons.”

Scooter
gave him a surprised look then slow nod. “Yeah, saw that in Iraq and
Afghanistan. Bury it in the sand or mud, pick it up, rap it to get the barrel
clear and pull the trigger. Sumbitches were well built.”

“Take
a beating and keep on ticking,” Max said.

“That's
take a lickin' and keep on ticking you ignoramus,” Scooter replied chuckling.
Ryans smiled.

“The
Glock is working out though?” Scooter finally asked.

Max
frowned. The Glock, mortars, and rocket launchers were last minute additions to
the army's weapons chest. The mortars and rocket launchers were crude unguided
things but would be extremely valuable against knots of footmen or heavily
armored alien Titans. “Yes and no. Lot of stamped parts there, so we're having
bottlenecks. I've got about five that are finished. We were supposed to wait
and ship crates to the soldiers but Waters dropped in and snapped them up to
field test. He's going to drop by and give me his notes in a day or so,” Max
shrugged.

“Good,”
Ryans nodded. “So the molds worked?”

“Yup.
Took one apart, made the molds, and then sorted it out. Took a week to get the
bugs out of the molds. Once we did we made copies of the parts that can be cast
by the cottage industry folks. The whatdya call it, artisans.” He waved to
indicate the people in the town around them.

“The
brass is a bitch though; tin is still in short supply. Any way to get that
sorted out?” Max asked. Scooter gave Ryans a look.

Ryans
ran his hand through his hair then took a sip of his own beer. No he thought
Duke Sung had sent all he had and that bastard in the port was still holding up
the works. He grimaced. “Unfortunately, we're limited on that. There are minute
traces here and there that they mine, but the bulk comes from trade with an
island kingdom nearly a year's travel away. Most of what's on hand is what
we've got. We've got more in a port but there's a bastard holding up the
works.”

“Shit,”
Max grimaced.

“Yeah
tell me about it,” Scooter sighed. “Well, that sucks.”

“Yeah,
so we're using what we've got stockpiled...and then?” Max asked.

“We
instituted a recycling program. I've already got the pewter drive going
remember? Pay your taxes with used brass and pewter. We've also got to train
the soldiers to police their brass after a battle so we can clean and re-use
it.”

Max
and Scooter nodded. “Just as long as they don't try to collect it right after.
Damn things are hot.”

“Yeah,”
Ryans chuckled. “I'd imagine.”

“And
we've got to keep them from selling it. Or pocketing them as souvenirs,”
Scooter said dryly.

“Yeah,
that too,” Max grunted.

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Ryans
entered the chamber and paused near the door. There was a flash of lightning
then a rolling thunder. A few in the room looked up to the ceiling then back to
their scrolls.

The
Queen was seated on a regal chair, reading a scroll. She had a pair of reading
glasses, most likely given to her by Sue. A young, very wet page shivered
nearby.

“Mother?”
Deidra asked, coming in behind him. He stepped aside before she could elbow him
aside.

“What
is it?” the Queen asked, distracted and still focused on the task at hand.

“It
seems the coastal lords are being battered by storms once more. What we have
here is only a taste of what is hammering our holdings. The fleet has been
severely battered,” the page reported. She pursed her lips looking grim.

Deidra
stopped short, frowned then glanced to the lad. “Go get dry before you catch
your death lad,” she said turning to the wet page. He jerked a nervous look to
the Queen. She nodded, not looking up from her scroll. Silently her lips moved,
reading along.