Regular cars frequently have problems opening the doors after a significant crash, too . . .
Alternatively, they could have put the latch at the bottom, like on a hatchback or wagon's liftgate.
Amusing . . . Al is trusting Ari to do a tricky job right.
--FreeFlier
Stainless Steel Angel
Moderators: Bookworm, starkruzr, MrFireDragon, PrettyPrincess, Wapsi
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DinkyInky
- Posts: 2382
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 9:38 am
- Location: Where there's more than Corn.
- Contact:
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
He's also trusting her to ask for help when she's stuck.
Learning experience from trials and tribulations.
Learning experience from trials and tribulations.
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
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Just Old Al
- Posts: 1684
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 4:43 am
- Location: Wilderness of Massachusetts
- Contact:
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
The phone rang in the plush office of the head of Alexander Harvesters. Glancing at the caller-ID, Buck reached over and tapped the button on the phone, turning on the speaker.
"Buck, mate - how's it going? This is your stepfather in case your Caller-ID hasn't snitched me out."
"I knew it was you - who else would be calling me in the middle of a business day for no particular reason?"
Al's tone changed - he'd as usual for him forgotten. "Sorry - if you want to call me later..."
"No - I was just having a conference with our head of HR."
"Oh - and how is the lovely Constance? Give her my regards. The reason I called, however, is to ask you about stereos -and how fanatic you wanted to be about the interior look of this stainless-steel albatross you've hung around my neck."
"Give me the options."
"Option 1. We have believe it or not the original Craig stereo this thing shipped with. Personally, I would rather listen to a dentist's drill than a 1980s stereo head unit..and after 30-odd years in a basement I won't guarantee it works. I can make it work, but you are NOT going to want to be around when I'm working on it - my language will not be temperate.
Option 2. A reproduction head unit to look like the Craig. Better sound, pricey and annoying, with lousy control ergonomics because two knobs doesn't exactly give you enough control for a modern head unit.
Option 3. We say buggrit and put in a modified mount from my mate's outfit in Texas, and put in a good head unit from JVC - or one of the ones like I have in the 110 that came from a harvester. Replace the original speakers - and yes we have those too - with something good and just be done with it. Very few DeLoreans have the original stereo anyway...and let's be honest this thing is not exactly...stock.
Keep all the original parts in case you ever sell this thing - and just be done with it."
"Why the hell do you always save the best for last?"
"Because that's the way I think - and Wing is at the point where working with the wiring is coming up and we may as well get this right the first time and not bugger it about. I do not want to be back in this thing's dashboard when you decide that a cassette adapter and your iPod are not suitable."
"Option 3 again...let's just do it."
"Works for me. See you this evening?"
"Certainly. Later, Al."
"Ta."
Buck hung up, a sense of excitement in his breast. If Al was talking about stereos it was going to be soon...and he couldn't wait.
"Buck, mate - how's it going? This is your stepfather in case your Caller-ID hasn't snitched me out."
"I knew it was you - who else would be calling me in the middle of a business day for no particular reason?"
Al's tone changed - he'd as usual for him forgotten. "Sorry - if you want to call me later..."
"No - I was just having a conference with our head of HR."
"Oh - and how is the lovely Constance? Give her my regards. The reason I called, however, is to ask you about stereos -and how fanatic you wanted to be about the interior look of this stainless-steel albatross you've hung around my neck."
"Give me the options."
"Option 1. We have believe it or not the original Craig stereo this thing shipped with. Personally, I would rather listen to a dentist's drill than a 1980s stereo head unit..and after 30-odd years in a basement I won't guarantee it works. I can make it work, but you are NOT going to want to be around when I'm working on it - my language will not be temperate.
Option 2. A reproduction head unit to look like the Craig. Better sound, pricey and annoying, with lousy control ergonomics because two knobs doesn't exactly give you enough control for a modern head unit.
Option 3. We say buggrit and put in a modified mount from my mate's outfit in Texas, and put in a good head unit from JVC - or one of the ones like I have in the 110 that came from a harvester. Replace the original speakers - and yes we have those too - with something good and just be done with it. Very few DeLoreans have the original stereo anyway...and let's be honest this thing is not exactly...stock.
Keep all the original parts in case you ever sell this thing - and just be done with it."
"Why the hell do you always save the best for last?"
"Because that's the way I think - and Wing is at the point where working with the wiring is coming up and we may as well get this right the first time and not bugger it about. I do not want to be back in this thing's dashboard when you decide that a cassette adapter and your iPod are not suitable."
"Option 3 again...let's just do it."
"Works for me. See you this evening?"
"Certainly. Later, Al."
"Ta."
Buck hung up, a sense of excitement in his breast. If Al was talking about stereos it was going to be soon...and he couldn't wait.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
- Posts: 1684
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 4:43 am
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- Contact:
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
“FIRE! FIRE!”
The shout echoed through the building a millisecond before the alert system began to howl. Al ran out of his office, to see smoke roiling from the open door of the DeLorean’s assembly bay.
Down the stairs three steps at a time, Al fell the last four steps, hit on a shoulder, rolled upright and kept moving. He made it to the bay door to hear the cough of a fire extinguisher fire several times.
Upon entering the bay he saw a tableau – Wing, head and shoulders in the DeLorean’s passenger compartment, carpeting ripped from the rear of the compartment, firing a halotron fire extinguisher into the DeLorean’s relay and computer compartment. The smoke, rapidly dissipating under the influence of the extinguishing agent, eddied from the car’s interior and the engine bay, whose cover was locked open.
Wing backed out, watching the car intently for further signs of combustion. She then straightened, wiping her hand over her smoke.grimed face.
“What in Hades happened?” Al asked, the quaver in his voice the only thing betraying the adrenalin flooding through his system.
“Looks like wiring. I was cleaning up the harnessing in the back and the damn thing went CRACK and started to smoke like Hades. Before I knew it the thing had filled the bay with smoke. I yanked off the battery cable – we might need to replace that spiral-cell – I was a little rough – then I hit it with the halotron.”
By this time Smokey and John were also there, staring at the tableau. The smoke had cleared from the immediate area of the car, but hung in a thick pall in the bay.
“All right – everybody out. We need to air this place – John – go hit the exhaust systems in a few of the bays to get some air exchange. Wing, I need to take you over to first aid and get you checked out – I don’t like what you likely breathed. A little oxygen would not be a bad idea.
Smokey – check that damn thing out and make sure it’s out, then get the Hades out till the place airs out. We’ll figure out what went wrong later.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Two hours later, the post-mortem began – minus a team member. Wing was still in the clutches of AHI Medical, being treated for potential smoke inhalation and held for observation despite her vigorous protests.
Al had returned, arm stiff and in a sling – turned out the tumble from the stairs despite a good landing had sprained his shoulder, much to his infinite disgust.
In the interim, once the smoke had been cleared, Smokey and John had stripped the partially-assembled interior of the DeLorean.
“Carpet’s dead – whatever cooked off in the relay compartment burned a hole in it. Seats stink, and the headliner’s filthy.” John wiped his hands on a shop towel, eyeing the DeLorean with the affection of a maiden aunt for a dead mouse.
“Wirin’ harness is partially cooked – looks like the engine control sections. Told’ya we should’a stripped that stuff out.”
“I know – got too damned cute, I did, trying to keep it looking original. Hindsight is as always 20/20. What kind of damage to the structure?”
“Don’t look lahk anything but cleanup. Seems ta me we caught a break.”
“Good. Not up to strip this thing down again to do fiberglass repairs. Let’s strip out the harness so we can evaluate it – it can’t be left the way it is, anyway.”
The two mechanics set to work, and Al, useless with his arm slung, went to think – and plan.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That evening a conference took place in Buck’s office at home.
Al, still in a sling, reported to his customer on the damage – and the course of repairs.
“Well, we caught a break. The part of the harness that cooked off was tied to the engine control systems, such as this thing had them. The RPM relay, ignition hookups for the old electronic ignition, lambda computer and such were the involved components. I’m not sure exactly what caused it, but those were the parts that got carbonized.”
“What do we need to repair?”
“Right now, the harness is laid out on the shop floor and I had the mechanics stripping all of the wrapping from the damaged sections. This is a bastard job, as all of the relay sockets needed to be dismounted and all of the ties stripped there. They’re on it, though, and with luck just stripping the old engine control systems out and re-wrapping it will fix it. Worse to worst we get a new harness and just toss this one in the skip, then strip THAT one and rewrap it.”
“What else?”
“The interior is filthy and smells of smoke. The carpet’s had it, and at a minimum the seats will need to be cleaned. The headliner’s a mess – should be cleanable but not in the car. The door cards will need cleaning but that’s not a big deal – a bottle of cleaner and a strong right arm and Bob’s your uncle.”
“That it? In that case, what’re my options?”
“Well, in the first case –“
“Skip to the third – I should know better than to ask you that way.”
Al, having been knocked out of his groove, harrumphed a bit, then continued. “Simple, but not inexpensive. We blow a few hours on the present harness – if it’s more than that shoot it. I think it will be repairable – a few new wires, a bit of sleeving and rewrapping and we take all the old engine wiring right out of it.
The interior is simple – new carpet, new headliner, and if we have to we replace the seat covers and the squabs. It won’t be inexpensive, but then again your car won’t smell like a brush fire after it.”
“Now for the 64,000 dollar question – how do we stop this happening again?”
“Simple enough – and we’re doing it. The problem is – and I’m being honest here – I got too damn cute trying to keep this thing original-looking. We should have stripped all the old engine systems out, but I wanted to leave the harness as untouched as possible and just leave the old boxes in place.
I’m not sure at this point, but what I think happened was an unconnected bit of the harness shorted and the whole thing decided to try and emulate Joan of Arc. Stripping out the unused original wiring and keeping only the used systems will make it cleaner – and should keep this from happening again.
This one was all down to me, Buck – Ari and the lads did what I told them to do. Mea culpa.”
“I don’t care about fault – like you, I just want to find the problem and deal with it.”
“THAT we can do. Not a problem on that. I am making very sure this thing has a good extinguisher, though.”
Buck grinned, and refilled his cognac glass. ”That’s a given – it’s English.”
“So what the hell happened to you – and how is Ari?”
“Ari is fine – she got a bit of smoke, but an hour or so of oxygen in the dispensary and a check-out by the proper medics gave her a clean bill of health. They're holding her overnight, and I told her to take it easy for the next day or two but she won’t if I know her.”
“Sounds familiar. And now we come to the fun part – why are you wrapped up like a Christmas turkey?”
Al looked abashed – frankly he was embarrassed. “Well…I tripped over my own feet. I was coming down the stairs from the office after the alarms went off – and I was moving a bit too fast. I tripped, fell down the stairs, hit and rolled…but I don’t bounce as well as I used to. Your mother had quite a few words to say about it – beginning with “You old FOOL” and ending with “Watch where you put your feet, two-legs!” “
Al settled back in the leather chair, sipped at his cup, and grimaced. “I’ll be fine in a week or so – the biggest problem is going to be putting up with your mother nursing me, trying to help me dress and so forth. I’ve been hurt worse than this and gone on fighting.”
Buck sobered. “To be honest, you need to take better care of yourself. You’re not a young man, and frankly you could have broken your neck doing that little dance. Damnit, Al, I do not want to bury another father.”
With that cheerful note hanging in the air, both contemplated the bottoms of their glasses…and pondered the truth of that statement.
Al held out his mug, and Buck his glass. “Here’s hoping this is the worst of it – and the old girl is all uphill from here.”
They clinked glasses, and Buck agreed. “Hear, hear.”
The shout echoed through the building a millisecond before the alert system began to howl. Al ran out of his office, to see smoke roiling from the open door of the DeLorean’s assembly bay.
Down the stairs three steps at a time, Al fell the last four steps, hit on a shoulder, rolled upright and kept moving. He made it to the bay door to hear the cough of a fire extinguisher fire several times.
Upon entering the bay he saw a tableau – Wing, head and shoulders in the DeLorean’s passenger compartment, carpeting ripped from the rear of the compartment, firing a halotron fire extinguisher into the DeLorean’s relay and computer compartment. The smoke, rapidly dissipating under the influence of the extinguishing agent, eddied from the car’s interior and the engine bay, whose cover was locked open.
Wing backed out, watching the car intently for further signs of combustion. She then straightened, wiping her hand over her smoke.grimed face.
“What in Hades happened?” Al asked, the quaver in his voice the only thing betraying the adrenalin flooding through his system.
“Looks like wiring. I was cleaning up the harnessing in the back and the damn thing went CRACK and started to smoke like Hades. Before I knew it the thing had filled the bay with smoke. I yanked off the battery cable – we might need to replace that spiral-cell – I was a little rough – then I hit it with the halotron.”
By this time Smokey and John were also there, staring at the tableau. The smoke had cleared from the immediate area of the car, but hung in a thick pall in the bay.
“All right – everybody out. We need to air this place – John – go hit the exhaust systems in a few of the bays to get some air exchange. Wing, I need to take you over to first aid and get you checked out – I don’t like what you likely breathed. A little oxygen would not be a bad idea.
Smokey – check that damn thing out and make sure it’s out, then get the Hades out till the place airs out. We’ll figure out what went wrong later.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Two hours later, the post-mortem began – minus a team member. Wing was still in the clutches of AHI Medical, being treated for potential smoke inhalation and held for observation despite her vigorous protests.
Al had returned, arm stiff and in a sling – turned out the tumble from the stairs despite a good landing had sprained his shoulder, much to his infinite disgust.
In the interim, once the smoke had been cleared, Smokey and John had stripped the partially-assembled interior of the DeLorean.
“Carpet’s dead – whatever cooked off in the relay compartment burned a hole in it. Seats stink, and the headliner’s filthy.” John wiped his hands on a shop towel, eyeing the DeLorean with the affection of a maiden aunt for a dead mouse.
“Wirin’ harness is partially cooked – looks like the engine control sections. Told’ya we should’a stripped that stuff out.”
“I know – got too damned cute, I did, trying to keep it looking original. Hindsight is as always 20/20. What kind of damage to the structure?”
“Don’t look lahk anything but cleanup. Seems ta me we caught a break.”
“Good. Not up to strip this thing down again to do fiberglass repairs. Let’s strip out the harness so we can evaluate it – it can’t be left the way it is, anyway.”
The two mechanics set to work, and Al, useless with his arm slung, went to think – and plan.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That evening a conference took place in Buck’s office at home.
Al, still in a sling, reported to his customer on the damage – and the course of repairs.
“Well, we caught a break. The part of the harness that cooked off was tied to the engine control systems, such as this thing had them. The RPM relay, ignition hookups for the old electronic ignition, lambda computer and such were the involved components. I’m not sure exactly what caused it, but those were the parts that got carbonized.”
“What do we need to repair?”
“Right now, the harness is laid out on the shop floor and I had the mechanics stripping all of the wrapping from the damaged sections. This is a bastard job, as all of the relay sockets needed to be dismounted and all of the ties stripped there. They’re on it, though, and with luck just stripping the old engine control systems out and re-wrapping it will fix it. Worse to worst we get a new harness and just toss this one in the skip, then strip THAT one and rewrap it.”
“What else?”
“The interior is filthy and smells of smoke. The carpet’s had it, and at a minimum the seats will need to be cleaned. The headliner’s a mess – should be cleanable but not in the car. The door cards will need cleaning but that’s not a big deal – a bottle of cleaner and a strong right arm and Bob’s your uncle.”
“That it? In that case, what’re my options?”
“Well, in the first case –“
“Skip to the third – I should know better than to ask you that way.”
Al, having been knocked out of his groove, harrumphed a bit, then continued. “Simple, but not inexpensive. We blow a few hours on the present harness – if it’s more than that shoot it. I think it will be repairable – a few new wires, a bit of sleeving and rewrapping and we take all the old engine wiring right out of it.
The interior is simple – new carpet, new headliner, and if we have to we replace the seat covers and the squabs. It won’t be inexpensive, but then again your car won’t smell like a brush fire after it.”
“Now for the 64,000 dollar question – how do we stop this happening again?”
“Simple enough – and we’re doing it. The problem is – and I’m being honest here – I got too damn cute trying to keep this thing original-looking. We should have stripped all the old engine systems out, but I wanted to leave the harness as untouched as possible and just leave the old boxes in place.
I’m not sure at this point, but what I think happened was an unconnected bit of the harness shorted and the whole thing decided to try and emulate Joan of Arc. Stripping out the unused original wiring and keeping only the used systems will make it cleaner – and should keep this from happening again.
This one was all down to me, Buck – Ari and the lads did what I told them to do. Mea culpa.”
“I don’t care about fault – like you, I just want to find the problem and deal with it.”
“THAT we can do. Not a problem on that. I am making very sure this thing has a good extinguisher, though.”
Buck grinned, and refilled his cognac glass. ”That’s a given – it’s English.”
“So what the hell happened to you – and how is Ari?”
“Ari is fine – she got a bit of smoke, but an hour or so of oxygen in the dispensary and a check-out by the proper medics gave her a clean bill of health. They're holding her overnight, and I told her to take it easy for the next day or two but she won’t if I know her.”
“Sounds familiar. And now we come to the fun part – why are you wrapped up like a Christmas turkey?”
Al looked abashed – frankly he was embarrassed. “Well…I tripped over my own feet. I was coming down the stairs from the office after the alarms went off – and I was moving a bit too fast. I tripped, fell down the stairs, hit and rolled…but I don’t bounce as well as I used to. Your mother had quite a few words to say about it – beginning with “You old FOOL” and ending with “Watch where you put your feet, two-legs!” “
Al settled back in the leather chair, sipped at his cup, and grimaced. “I’ll be fine in a week or so – the biggest problem is going to be putting up with your mother nursing me, trying to help me dress and so forth. I’ve been hurt worse than this and gone on fighting.”
Buck sobered. “To be honest, you need to take better care of yourself. You’re not a young man, and frankly you could have broken your neck doing that little dance. Damnit, Al, I do not want to bury another father.”
With that cheerful note hanging in the air, both contemplated the bottoms of their glasses…and pondered the truth of that statement.
Al held out his mug, and Buck his glass. “Here’s hoping this is the worst of it – and the old girl is all uphill from here.”
They clinked glasses, and Buck agreed. “Hear, hear.”
Last edited by Just Old Al on Wed Feb 24, 2016 9:12 am, edited 5 times in total.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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GlytchMeister
- Posts: 3733
- Joined: Wed Oct 16, 2013 2:52 pm
- Location: Central Illinois
- Contact:
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
Me ten minutes ago: "Nothing has gone wrong yet. I don't like it. Something always goes wrong by now. Something really bad' gonna happen, just you wait."
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
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jwhouk
- Posts: 6053
- Joined: Wed Aug 01, 2012 7:58 am
- Location: The Valley of the Sun, Arizona
- Contact:
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
---
Arania had that dream again.
She was flying over the city of Minneapolis, watching down over the city, when she spotted out of the corner of her eye a puff of smoke. She recognized where it was coming from: Alexander Harvesters' headquarters.
She flew as fast as she could, not caring about being seen, like a bullet streaking across the sky.
Upon closing in, her worst fears were realized: the smoke was coming from Building Two.
Without thinking, without caring, she flew directly into one of the skylights in the roof, crashing through into a cloud of smoke. The smoke was so thick she couldn't see her hand in front of her face.
By rote memory she flew through the smoke, not caring about the shards of glass in her wings. She thought she saw flames coming from the service bays...
The DELOREAN!
Blindly, she flew into the smoke, coughing, struggling to breathe. She managed to get down toward the floor - or, perhaps, she fell to the floor? - and began crawling toward the source of the smoke and flames.
The smoke cleared briefly, and in the clearing she saw the DeLorean, sitting there - untouched, but complete.
She struggled to look up into the car; it appeared there were two people inside. For some reason, she knew it was Al and Buck - how, she didn't know - and she struggled mightily to reach for the door handle.
The handle didn't open at first. Her strength was fading, and there were noises and beeping and whooshing noises and the latch opened and...
"Miss Wardoff? MISS WARDOFF?"
The smoke dissolved suddenly as she woke with a start.
At least two faces were looking down at her from the bed. And they appeared to be rather agitated.
"AHHHH - wha, where am I?" She said weakly. She was wearing an aerator across her nose - and was hooked up to a blood pressure cuff.
"You're over at AHMC - and you were having a nightmare, it appears." One of the two faces - an orderly that had been in the room earlier when they started giving her oxygen therapy - reassured her.
"Good thing you're over here in the para wing - no pun intended, dear," the other face - the nurse on duty, who was slowly trying to reattach the cuff to her arm - pointed out.
It took Ari a full three seconds to realize that her wings were spread out behind her on the bed.
"Oh! OH! Ohmigod, I'm SORRY!" She went to retract them - and found that they hurt.
"Ah, ah, I wouldn't do that," the nurse said. "You knocked off one of our monitors when you winged-out while dreaming. That was why we came in here so quickly."
"The DeLorean... Did Al find out what happened to the car we were working on?"
"I was told to tell you that it was the engine control system that shorted out. They're working on getting it rebuilt right now," the nurse - Gabrielle, her tag read - told her with a calming tone. "Right now, you need to get some rest, okay?"
Ari closed her eyes.
"Damn Lucas Electrics."
Arania had that dream again.
She was flying over the city of Minneapolis, watching down over the city, when she spotted out of the corner of her eye a puff of smoke. She recognized where it was coming from: Alexander Harvesters' headquarters.
She flew as fast as she could, not caring about being seen, like a bullet streaking across the sky.
Upon closing in, her worst fears were realized: the smoke was coming from Building Two.
Without thinking, without caring, she flew directly into one of the skylights in the roof, crashing through into a cloud of smoke. The smoke was so thick she couldn't see her hand in front of her face.
By rote memory she flew through the smoke, not caring about the shards of glass in her wings. She thought she saw flames coming from the service bays...
The DELOREAN!
Blindly, she flew into the smoke, coughing, struggling to breathe. She managed to get down toward the floor - or, perhaps, she fell to the floor? - and began crawling toward the source of the smoke and flames.
The smoke cleared briefly, and in the clearing she saw the DeLorean, sitting there - untouched, but complete.
She struggled to look up into the car; it appeared there were two people inside. For some reason, she knew it was Al and Buck - how, she didn't know - and she struggled mightily to reach for the door handle.
The handle didn't open at first. Her strength was fading, and there were noises and beeping and whooshing noises and the latch opened and...
"Miss Wardoff? MISS WARDOFF?"
The smoke dissolved suddenly as she woke with a start.
At least two faces were looking down at her from the bed. And they appeared to be rather agitated.
"AHHHH - wha, where am I?" She said weakly. She was wearing an aerator across her nose - and was hooked up to a blood pressure cuff.
"You're over at AHMC - and you were having a nightmare, it appears." One of the two faces - an orderly that had been in the room earlier when they started giving her oxygen therapy - reassured her.
"Good thing you're over here in the para wing - no pun intended, dear," the other face - the nurse on duty, who was slowly trying to reattach the cuff to her arm - pointed out.
It took Ari a full three seconds to realize that her wings were spread out behind her on the bed.
"Oh! OH! Ohmigod, I'm SORRY!" She went to retract them - and found that they hurt.
"Ah, ah, I wouldn't do that," the nurse said. "You knocked off one of our monitors when you winged-out while dreaming. That was why we came in here so quickly."
"The DeLorean... Did Al find out what happened to the car we were working on?"
"I was told to tell you that it was the engine control system that shorted out. They're working on getting it rebuilt right now," the nurse - Gabrielle, her tag read - told her with a calming tone. "Right now, you need to get some rest, okay?"
Ari closed her eyes.
"Damn Lucas Electrics."
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
-
Just Old Al
- Posts: 1684
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 4:43 am
- Location: Wilderness of Massachusetts
- Contact:
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
Optimist. What could go wrong - a bay full of 30-odd year old components and the Prince Of Darkness?GlytchMeister wrote:Me ten minutes ago: "Nothing has gone wrong yet. I don't like it. Something always goes wrong by now. Something really bad' gonna happen, just you wait."
NAAAAHhhhhh..... Nothing to worry about.
Actually, the problem turned out to be an assembly issue - one of the connectors hadn't been populated right. If the engine control bits had been used then the problem would have been spotted and the pins pushed home. They weren't, and it wasn't...so POOF. Complete serendipity - and nothing to do with Lucas per se. Just marginal quality control - which the DeLorean plant was notorious for early on.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
-
Sgt. Howard
- Posts: 3332
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 11:54 pm
- Location: Malott, Washington
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
"Nothing can go wrong (HITCH!) go wrong (HITCH!) go wrong (HITCH!) go wrong (HITCH! VRITHPH!!!) ssssssssss..."
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.
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DinkyInky
- Posts: 2382
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 9:38 am
- Location: Where there's more than Corn.
- Contact:
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
Ka-bong!Sgt. Howard wrote:"Nothing can go wrong (HITCH!) go wrong (HITCH!) go wrong (HITCH!) go wrong (HITCH! VRITHPH!!!) ssssssssss..."
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
"Blabbermouth computer!"Sgt. Howard wrote:"Nothing can go wrong (HITCH!) go wrong (HITCH!) go wrong (HITCH!) go wrong (HITCH! VRITHPH!!!) ssssssssss..."
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Just Old Al
- Posts: 1684
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 4:43 am
- Location: Wilderness of Massachusetts
- Contact:
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
No worries - Al has the proper arcana for reloading it...
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
But he has to use genuine Lucas(TM) Magic Smoke(TM) . . . Other brands are not compatible.Just Old Al wrote:No worries - Al has the proper arcana for reloading it...FreeFlier wrote:Aww . . . they let the magic smoke escape.
At one point some wiseguy was selling "Genuine Lucas Magic Smoke" on eBay.
--FreeFlier
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Just Old Al
- Posts: 1684
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 4:43 am
- Location: Wilderness of Massachusetts
- Contact:
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
I made one of those dispensers - it's on the shelf in my shop. I thought it was hilarious - as did everyone of my mechanical friends.FreeFlier wrote:But he has to use genuine Lucas(TM) Magic Smoke(TM) . . . Other brands are not compatible.Just Old Al wrote:No worries - Al has the proper arcana for reloading it...FreeFlier wrote:Aww . . . they let the magic smoke escape.
--FreeFlier
Remember, Al is a Lucas-level wizard - he can summon old Joseph P's ghost if necessary...but it would have to be a SERIOUS problem for him to do that.
Recharging wiring? PFFFFt....a triviality. Put on the robes and the fedora with stars and moons, couple of waves with the dead chicken while humming Rue Brittania backwards, done.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
It's getting harder and harder to get that stuff. I understand that it's based on a condensation of "London particular" pea-soup fog. Ever since London switched over to the use of low-sulphur fuels, the fog just hasn't had that good old-fashioned stink that says "Burning insulation, must be a Lucas!" to the noses of thoses in the knowses.FreeFlier wrote: At one point some wiseguy was selling "Genuine Lucas Magic Smoke" on eBay.
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Just Old Al
- Posts: 1684
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 4:43 am
- Location: Wilderness of Massachusetts
- Contact:
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
AN: This was DInky's idea - and as always - she was completely right. At his age with that kind of damage, it was never gonna heal right...
Also, much to my chagrin - I forgot to mention Eme's part is as always beautifully crafted by her. I will confess to wincing when she fixed Al...
The phone rang in Phix’s office – startling her. This had to be one of the humans – no one else ever called.
“Phix, it’s Daisy. How are you?”
“Just lovely. Why don’t you come out – I’ve just made a pot of tea, and I’m sure I can find some biscuits to go with it.”
“Love to, but I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
“Al is driving me INSANE.”
“Well, I just had lunch, but if you insist…”
“NONONONO! I need your help to fix him.”
“If I eat him he certainly won’t be annoying you anymore – so what is the problem?”
“He got hurt falling down some stairs, and he’s not healing right. I need you to get Emerauld in – fix his shoulder and he will be out of my hair. The whining is getting annoying. 'I can’t drive my Land-Rover…I can’t shoot…Ari is back to work just fine but I can’t….'"
“Well understood. Let me see if I can get hold of her, and I’ll call you.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Daisy’s phone rang with a number that no norm telephone exchange on the planet would recognize.
“Did you find her?”
“She’ll be here in a bit – Master Mutters is not pleased but considering what she believes she owes you and Al for helping Prroul, there was little argument. You need to get him here, but that’s not a problem, I expect.”
“We’ll be there soon. What should I bring for Eme?”
“Good question. Big bunch of flowers from the cutting garden you have would go over well – I know that’s organic.”
“With centaurs around why would it be anything else?” Daisy and Phix had a small chuckle at that, and Daisy went off to arrange the flowers via Edward, and to find Al.
Al, as she expected, was sitting in his office in the house, steadily cursing and trying to get some work done on the computer – catching up on his back reports to MIB. With Ari dedicating much of her time to the DeLorean project he’d taken back the reporting to allow her what he called “playtime”. Normally this would not be an issue, but even with text-to-speech software tweaked by Glytch he was having trouble generating the reports one-handed.
“How in Hades did I ever do this garbage? - NO DON’T TYPE THAT…stop. STOP! EXIT! File…delete…yes!”
He took off the headset and wrapped his good arm around Daisy’s waist, pulling her in for a hug – him sitting, her standing. She wrapped her arms behind his head, pulling him in, and they maintained this tableau for several long, healing seconds, him listening to the comforting rhythm of her beating heart. Finally, he let go.
“I am NEVER going to get anything done. One week, they said. One week. It’s going on two, now, Ari’s nearly got the DeLorean ready to roll, and I’m damned useless…”
“And that is why I am here. We are going to the Library.”
“Why? Not that I mind, but MIB’s doctors won’t be able to do anything the ones at AHMC couldn’t do.”
“You are not seeing a doctor – you are seeing an Elf. I called in Emerauld for a consultation – I am TIRED of the whining. It was either that, feed you to Phix, or take you out back and shoot you myself.”
“I have been bad, haven’t I? Sorry, love.”
“You don’t cope with inactivity well – but honestly dear I’ve about reached my limit. Let’s go.”
------------------------------------------------------------------
They went straight to Phix’s office on arrival – and Emerauld waited there for them.
“Al! Mistress Daisy! It is SO wonderful to see you!” She bestowed a long, firm hug on Daisy, then stopped when she saw Al’s sling. She touched his shoulder, the long, slim fingers of a healer detecting the torn ligaments that held the collarbone in place.
“It is a bit more involved than simple healing. You have torn these,” here she gently touched the torn ligaments. "I can heal them, but much of the energy will have to come from you as well as me. I am afraid it will hurt. A lot."
“I know, Eme' dear – the doctors told me I would need therapy after this healed. If you can tell me what to do I would appreciate it.”
"Al, I cannot lie, nor would I wish to, but at your age, it would take months to heal, and even then...the healing would be forever...incomplete.
Fortunate you are that your "better half" has asked for my help, and with a little magic, we shall cheat," she said with a sneaking grin.
"I am going to have to pull it out of the socket and then set it again, just to make sure all is in its proper place. I am truly sorry for the pain this will cause you."
With that, Al removed his shirt, and sat in a chair, back straight, tense but trusting.
"Madame Phix, can you and Mistress Daisy hold him? Let us begin."
A loud cry, followed by many creative curses echoed in the room as the Elf dislocated, and relocated his shoulder, feeling all around to make sure everything was aligned properly.
“Now, we must fix the damage. His shoulder and arm will feel as if he has been working in the forge all day, burning as though on fire. I cannot prevent this, as his own body will assist me with the healing. Hold him still."
Emerauld reached into her bag, and pulled forth a crystal of the type mages use to store energy. She broke it, and softly murmuring prayers of healing, her hands shimmering green, she came over to Al.
"Truly, I am sorry for this."
As she touched his shoulder, Al yelped as pain blossomed like liquid fire, flooding his shoulder, down to his elbow, around to the center of his back, and around to his sternum in the front. The pain reminded Al of his green days back in boot, and "push-ups til you puke".
Emerauld, tired by the exercise, leaned against Phix’s desk for a moment or two.
“You will be ravenous, as your body replenishes its stores. Do the exercises the doctors prescribe you, lest they be suspicious of help," she said winking, which caused Al to splutter. "As far as they know, you just 'bruised it a bit', right?"
He stood and re-donned his shirt then enveloped Emerauld in a deep hug. As he did so, he whispered “To’ryll, I am again in your debt. Can you forgive me for being so?”
She responded, equally quiet, “There is no debt between friends, Al. I am happy to help.” They held for a few more seconds, then parted.
Also, much to my chagrin - I forgot to mention Eme's part is as always beautifully crafted by her. I will confess to wincing when she fixed Al...
The phone rang in Phix’s office – startling her. This had to be one of the humans – no one else ever called.
“Phix, it’s Daisy. How are you?”
“Just lovely. Why don’t you come out – I’ve just made a pot of tea, and I’m sure I can find some biscuits to go with it.”
“Love to, but I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
“Al is driving me INSANE.”
“Well, I just had lunch, but if you insist…”
“NONONONO! I need your help to fix him.”
“If I eat him he certainly won’t be annoying you anymore – so what is the problem?”
“He got hurt falling down some stairs, and he’s not healing right. I need you to get Emerauld in – fix his shoulder and he will be out of my hair. The whining is getting annoying. 'I can’t drive my Land-Rover…I can’t shoot…Ari is back to work just fine but I can’t….'"
“Well understood. Let me see if I can get hold of her, and I’ll call you.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Daisy’s phone rang with a number that no norm telephone exchange on the planet would recognize.
“Did you find her?”
“She’ll be here in a bit – Master Mutters is not pleased but considering what she believes she owes you and Al for helping Prroul, there was little argument. You need to get him here, but that’s not a problem, I expect.”
“We’ll be there soon. What should I bring for Eme?”
“Good question. Big bunch of flowers from the cutting garden you have would go over well – I know that’s organic.”
“With centaurs around why would it be anything else?” Daisy and Phix had a small chuckle at that, and Daisy went off to arrange the flowers via Edward, and to find Al.
Al, as she expected, was sitting in his office in the house, steadily cursing and trying to get some work done on the computer – catching up on his back reports to MIB. With Ari dedicating much of her time to the DeLorean project he’d taken back the reporting to allow her what he called “playtime”. Normally this would not be an issue, but even with text-to-speech software tweaked by Glytch he was having trouble generating the reports one-handed.
“How in Hades did I ever do this garbage? - NO DON’T TYPE THAT…stop. STOP! EXIT! File…delete…yes!”
He took off the headset and wrapped his good arm around Daisy’s waist, pulling her in for a hug – him sitting, her standing. She wrapped her arms behind his head, pulling him in, and they maintained this tableau for several long, healing seconds, him listening to the comforting rhythm of her beating heart. Finally, he let go.
“I am NEVER going to get anything done. One week, they said. One week. It’s going on two, now, Ari’s nearly got the DeLorean ready to roll, and I’m damned useless…”
“And that is why I am here. We are going to the Library.”
“Why? Not that I mind, but MIB’s doctors won’t be able to do anything the ones at AHMC couldn’t do.”
“You are not seeing a doctor – you are seeing an Elf. I called in Emerauld for a consultation – I am TIRED of the whining. It was either that, feed you to Phix, or take you out back and shoot you myself.”
“I have been bad, haven’t I? Sorry, love.”
“You don’t cope with inactivity well – but honestly dear I’ve about reached my limit. Let’s go.”
------------------------------------------------------------------
They went straight to Phix’s office on arrival – and Emerauld waited there for them.
“Al! Mistress Daisy! It is SO wonderful to see you!” She bestowed a long, firm hug on Daisy, then stopped when she saw Al’s sling. She touched his shoulder, the long, slim fingers of a healer detecting the torn ligaments that held the collarbone in place.
“It is a bit more involved than simple healing. You have torn these,” here she gently touched the torn ligaments. "I can heal them, but much of the energy will have to come from you as well as me. I am afraid it will hurt. A lot."
“I know, Eme' dear – the doctors told me I would need therapy after this healed. If you can tell me what to do I would appreciate it.”
"Al, I cannot lie, nor would I wish to, but at your age, it would take months to heal, and even then...the healing would be forever...incomplete.
Fortunate you are that your "better half" has asked for my help, and with a little magic, we shall cheat," she said with a sneaking grin.
"I am going to have to pull it out of the socket and then set it again, just to make sure all is in its proper place. I am truly sorry for the pain this will cause you."
With that, Al removed his shirt, and sat in a chair, back straight, tense but trusting.
"Madame Phix, can you and Mistress Daisy hold him? Let us begin."
A loud cry, followed by many creative curses echoed in the room as the Elf dislocated, and relocated his shoulder, feeling all around to make sure everything was aligned properly.
“Now, we must fix the damage. His shoulder and arm will feel as if he has been working in the forge all day, burning as though on fire. I cannot prevent this, as his own body will assist me with the healing. Hold him still."
Emerauld reached into her bag, and pulled forth a crystal of the type mages use to store energy. She broke it, and softly murmuring prayers of healing, her hands shimmering green, she came over to Al.
"Truly, I am sorry for this."
As she touched his shoulder, Al yelped as pain blossomed like liquid fire, flooding his shoulder, down to his elbow, around to the center of his back, and around to his sternum in the front. The pain reminded Al of his green days back in boot, and "push-ups til you puke".
Emerauld, tired by the exercise, leaned against Phix’s desk for a moment or two.
“You will be ravenous, as your body replenishes its stores. Do the exercises the doctors prescribe you, lest they be suspicious of help," she said winking, which caused Al to splutter. "As far as they know, you just 'bruised it a bit', right?"
He stood and re-donned his shirt then enveloped Emerauld in a deep hug. As he did so, he whispered “To’ryll, I am again in your debt. Can you forgive me for being so?”
She responded, equally quiet, “There is no debt between friends, Al. I am happy to help.” They held for a few more seconds, then parted.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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jwhouk
- Posts: 6053
- Joined: Wed Aug 01, 2012 7:58 am
- Location: The Valley of the Sun, Arizona
- Contact:
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
You know, the way Phix sounded in that last bit, I'm surprised Daisy didn't drop a "Here, eat a Snickers. You're not you when you're hungry" line...
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
Re: Stainless Steel Angel
Actually, though, she IS herself when she's hungry.jwhouk wrote:You know, the way Phix sounded in that last bit, I'm surprised Daisy didn't drop a "Here, eat a Snickers. You're not you when you're hungry" line...
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Just Old Al
- Posts: 1684
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 4:43 am
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Re: Stainless Steel Angel
AN: Joe and I plotted this one....
Al was in the office on time the next morning, in fine fettle. His range of motion was back to very nearly normal, the pain was easily handled with ibuprofen, and he was OUT of that wretched sling. He knew there would be a reckoning when the doctors found out he had miraculously healed – he of course went to the para side though he didn’t need to – but that was a problem for another day.
He had had ENOUGH of reports – and paperwork – and all the administrivia of running his business. He was nearly caught up on the back-shop reports, the paperwork was thoroughly in hand, and he’d bloody-well had enough.
It was time to play.
First things first a cup of coffee – then a review with the staff on current projects. Then a personal review of said projects while in a ball cap and coveralls. Then a nice lunch…and perhaps fifty rounds through the Webley .Mk. IV that had arrived while he was broken. In .38/200 it was a toy, but he missed having a Webley in his armpit – and the old .455 had been honorably retired after the damage it took at Pillsbury.
Coffee in hand, he descended the stairs (carefully) and commenced to stroll the floor. Each bay got his attention, and the clipboards noting status of projects were carefully scrutinized.
While making the rounds, he noted that the floor was quiet. Smokey and John were not at their projects – unusual for them. Obviously, things had gotten a bit sloppy while he was hors de combat. This would have to be dealt with – gently, but dealt with nonetheless.
All of this evaporated as he reached the far work bays – 11 and 12. In the unusual silence he heard music – not coming from the shop audio system but what sounded like a car stereo.
As he walked down toward the sound, the lyrics came into focus…and brought a smile to his face. Wing was in the building…
… down Liverpool, where they play the West Coast sound
Sailor Sam, he came from Birmingham, but he never will be found
Doin' fine when a London sign, greets me like a long lost friend
Mister motor won't you check her out, she's gotta take me back again
Helen (Helen) Helen Wheels
Ain't nobody else gonna know the way she feels
Helen (helen) Helen Wheels
And they never gonna take her away
He walked quietly to the open bay door, and the sight took his breath away.
Being worked on by all three of his staff, the DeLorean shone. Last-minute bits were being taken care of, fluid checks, tyre pressures, last-minute fitting of accessories, torque checks…all the little things you did before you took a car out for the first time after a rebuild.
John had a clipboard, and they were walking through the standard in-house checklist. The other two were scurrying through and around the car, checking, fastening, bolting things in place – and calling completion out to John, who noted it on his clipboard.
He walked in, clearing his throat – and coincidentally startling his staff badly.
“You do realize that song was written about Paul and Lynda McCartney’s Land-Rover, right?”
Wing looked up, momentarily frozen in place, then yelled “GODSDAMNIT! What are YOU doing here!” Her cleaning rag hit the ground, and her eyes blazed at him.
Al was taken aback – he hadn’t realized he was going to cause a problem. “Well, I do work here – and I own the place, after all.“
Wing immediately calmed down, a bit chagrined. “We were trying to get her finished up – we didn’t expect you today at all. Where’s your sling?”
“All better – I got some outside help that got me back together.”
By this time, Al had walked over to the DeLorean, and a practiced, professional eye began to look it over.
The car was pristine – everywhere he looked was clean, polished perfection.
The interior had been thoroughly cleaned after the fire, and the headliner, seat covers and carpet all replaced with factory original items from Texas. The dashboard and panel were spotless as well – not even a fingerprint marred the perfection.
The artfully installed stereo continued to pump out Paul McCartney’s voice, until Al reached in and with a fingertip restarted the song. The music was much the same age as the car – and suited the moment perfectly. It truly was Helen Wheels.
He set his coffee cup down on the nearest workstand and started to thoroughly inspect the car.
“Flashlight.” A spotting flashlight slapped into his palm, and with two twists of the bezel was turned to high brightness.
Court was in session.
With Wing at his side, Al went over every last section of the DeLorean, from the suspension to the pivots of the gullwing doors. The engine compartment came in for great scrutiny, as did the wiring and the relay rack – which showed no sign of its brush with incendiary hazards.
A half-hour later they were done.
“She’s perfect, folks. Looks ready to go. Wait here, please.”
With that, Al ascended to his office and came back with a package.
“Please fit this to the rear bumper – in the opposite corner from the DeLorean name.”
“This” was die-cut adhesive vinyl, in the same design and font as the vinyl on the opposite side. It read ADMC-12
“Rock deserves it – there should be at least one ADMC-12, for all the work he went through trying.” Al said, a little huskily.
Saying nothing, they fitted the decal – which looked as though it had always been there. It damned well should be there – no one deserved it more Al thought.
“This goes on the front – but it can go on later." He handed Wing another package – which contained a grille badge with the DMC logo – and an A in front of it in the stylized shape used by the Alexander Harvesters company.
“Have you had it out – has it been tested?”
“No. We assumed you’d do that.” Wing said. The car had been run up to confirm the cooling system and such was correct, but it had never been driven. All tests had been done just as it sat.
“Wing, start it up.”
With that, she slid into the driver’s seat, after carefully dusting herself off with a clean shop cloth. She turned the key off, stilling the music, then turned it through accessory – to on.
The panel lit, all of the warning lights flaring, then going out. She turned the key further, and the starter whirred…and the LS1 caught.
A low, feral thrum of power throbbed through the shop. Smokey grabbed the exhaust hose, slipped it onto the tail pipes, then turned on the extraction fan.
The beaming smile of the young woman was a sight to behold. This was it – the car lived – and she and the team had done it under the supervision of the old engineer.
The car sang its song of power, howling arpeggios as she toed the gas pedal. Al walked to the back, carefully inspecting the LS1. He shone the light underneath, looking for leaks – to find nothing. Closing the compartment lid and the louver, he walked to the side.
“John, we have something to do. Come with me. I will be back in an hour, and this car should be in the same place. Am I understood?”
Smokey nodded. “Sure ‘nuf. Ex-zactly the same spot. Understood.”
Al and John left – and Wing and Smokey stared at each other – widening smiles of glee on their faces.
"You know, we really should go get gas for this thing."
"Yup. Hm. That Holiday station in Wayzata still at $2.28 a gallon for Premium?"
"I think so... Hey, I saw there was a station over in Lyndale that had it for $2.14... We should have enough in the tank to get there..."
"Yup."
"I'm driving."
"Y’all thought I was gonna argue?" Smokey grinned. "I'll get the plate - but I git to drive ‘er back.”
Adjusting the seat and clipping in was a matter of seconds. Wing then toed the clutch, shifted the car into first, feathered the throttle and the DeLorean moved out snoothly and quietly. Passing the parking area, Smokey jumped out, secured a temporary plate in the louvers, and opened the door. Wing pulled the car out slowly, gently and under perfect control – and the door closed.
As they left, two heads popped up in the Aston – Al and John.
“Ready?”
“Givr’hell, boss.” John, armed with a very large camera, was grinning unashamedly – as was Al.
“We’ll hang back – I just want to be there if there are any issues.”
“Yah, right – go ahead and tell me another one. You just want to see it on the road, eh?”
“And you don’t?”
“Never said that. Let’s go!”
The door rolled open and the Aston pulled though, singing its own song of contained fury.
Al was in the office on time the next morning, in fine fettle. His range of motion was back to very nearly normal, the pain was easily handled with ibuprofen, and he was OUT of that wretched sling. He knew there would be a reckoning when the doctors found out he had miraculously healed – he of course went to the para side though he didn’t need to – but that was a problem for another day.
He had had ENOUGH of reports – and paperwork – and all the administrivia of running his business. He was nearly caught up on the back-shop reports, the paperwork was thoroughly in hand, and he’d bloody-well had enough.
It was time to play.
First things first a cup of coffee – then a review with the staff on current projects. Then a personal review of said projects while in a ball cap and coveralls. Then a nice lunch…and perhaps fifty rounds through the Webley .Mk. IV that had arrived while he was broken. In .38/200 it was a toy, but he missed having a Webley in his armpit – and the old .455 had been honorably retired after the damage it took at Pillsbury.
Coffee in hand, he descended the stairs (carefully) and commenced to stroll the floor. Each bay got his attention, and the clipboards noting status of projects were carefully scrutinized.
While making the rounds, he noted that the floor was quiet. Smokey and John were not at their projects – unusual for them. Obviously, things had gotten a bit sloppy while he was hors de combat. This would have to be dealt with – gently, but dealt with nonetheless.
All of this evaporated as he reached the far work bays – 11 and 12. In the unusual silence he heard music – not coming from the shop audio system but what sounded like a car stereo.
As he walked down toward the sound, the lyrics came into focus…and brought a smile to his face. Wing was in the building…
… down Liverpool, where they play the West Coast sound
Sailor Sam, he came from Birmingham, but he never will be found
Doin' fine when a London sign, greets me like a long lost friend
Mister motor won't you check her out, she's gotta take me back again
Helen (Helen) Helen Wheels
Ain't nobody else gonna know the way she feels
Helen (helen) Helen Wheels
And they never gonna take her away
He walked quietly to the open bay door, and the sight took his breath away.
Being worked on by all three of his staff, the DeLorean shone. Last-minute bits were being taken care of, fluid checks, tyre pressures, last-minute fitting of accessories, torque checks…all the little things you did before you took a car out for the first time after a rebuild.
John had a clipboard, and they were walking through the standard in-house checklist. The other two were scurrying through and around the car, checking, fastening, bolting things in place – and calling completion out to John, who noted it on his clipboard.
He walked in, clearing his throat – and coincidentally startling his staff badly.
“You do realize that song was written about Paul and Lynda McCartney’s Land-Rover, right?”
Wing looked up, momentarily frozen in place, then yelled “GODSDAMNIT! What are YOU doing here!” Her cleaning rag hit the ground, and her eyes blazed at him.
Al was taken aback – he hadn’t realized he was going to cause a problem. “Well, I do work here – and I own the place, after all.“
Wing immediately calmed down, a bit chagrined. “We were trying to get her finished up – we didn’t expect you today at all. Where’s your sling?”
“All better – I got some outside help that got me back together.”
By this time, Al had walked over to the DeLorean, and a practiced, professional eye began to look it over.
The car was pristine – everywhere he looked was clean, polished perfection.
The interior had been thoroughly cleaned after the fire, and the headliner, seat covers and carpet all replaced with factory original items from Texas. The dashboard and panel were spotless as well – not even a fingerprint marred the perfection.
The artfully installed stereo continued to pump out Paul McCartney’s voice, until Al reached in and with a fingertip restarted the song. The music was much the same age as the car – and suited the moment perfectly. It truly was Helen Wheels.
He set his coffee cup down on the nearest workstand and started to thoroughly inspect the car.
“Flashlight.” A spotting flashlight slapped into his palm, and with two twists of the bezel was turned to high brightness.
Court was in session.
With Wing at his side, Al went over every last section of the DeLorean, from the suspension to the pivots of the gullwing doors. The engine compartment came in for great scrutiny, as did the wiring and the relay rack – which showed no sign of its brush with incendiary hazards.
A half-hour later they were done.
“She’s perfect, folks. Looks ready to go. Wait here, please.”
With that, Al ascended to his office and came back with a package.
“Please fit this to the rear bumper – in the opposite corner from the DeLorean name.”
“This” was die-cut adhesive vinyl, in the same design and font as the vinyl on the opposite side. It read ADMC-12
“Rock deserves it – there should be at least one ADMC-12, for all the work he went through trying.” Al said, a little huskily.
Saying nothing, they fitted the decal – which looked as though it had always been there. It damned well should be there – no one deserved it more Al thought.
“This goes on the front – but it can go on later." He handed Wing another package – which contained a grille badge with the DMC logo – and an A in front of it in the stylized shape used by the Alexander Harvesters company.
“Have you had it out – has it been tested?”
“No. We assumed you’d do that.” Wing said. The car had been run up to confirm the cooling system and such was correct, but it had never been driven. All tests had been done just as it sat.
“Wing, start it up.”
With that, she slid into the driver’s seat, after carefully dusting herself off with a clean shop cloth. She turned the key off, stilling the music, then turned it through accessory – to on.
The panel lit, all of the warning lights flaring, then going out. She turned the key further, and the starter whirred…and the LS1 caught.
A low, feral thrum of power throbbed through the shop. Smokey grabbed the exhaust hose, slipped it onto the tail pipes, then turned on the extraction fan.
The beaming smile of the young woman was a sight to behold. This was it – the car lived – and she and the team had done it under the supervision of the old engineer.
The car sang its song of power, howling arpeggios as she toed the gas pedal. Al walked to the back, carefully inspecting the LS1. He shone the light underneath, looking for leaks – to find nothing. Closing the compartment lid and the louver, he walked to the side.
“John, we have something to do. Come with me. I will be back in an hour, and this car should be in the same place. Am I understood?”
Smokey nodded. “Sure ‘nuf. Ex-zactly the same spot. Understood.”
Al and John left – and Wing and Smokey stared at each other – widening smiles of glee on their faces.
"You know, we really should go get gas for this thing."
"Yup. Hm. That Holiday station in Wayzata still at $2.28 a gallon for Premium?"
"I think so... Hey, I saw there was a station over in Lyndale that had it for $2.14... We should have enough in the tank to get there..."
"Yup."
"I'm driving."
"Y’all thought I was gonna argue?" Smokey grinned. "I'll get the plate - but I git to drive ‘er back.”
Adjusting the seat and clipping in was a matter of seconds. Wing then toed the clutch, shifted the car into first, feathered the throttle and the DeLorean moved out snoothly and quietly. Passing the parking area, Smokey jumped out, secured a temporary plate in the louvers, and opened the door. Wing pulled the car out slowly, gently and under perfect control – and the door closed.
As they left, two heads popped up in the Aston – Al and John.
“Ready?”
“Givr’hell, boss.” John, armed with a very large camera, was grinning unashamedly – as was Al.
“We’ll hang back – I just want to be there if there are any issues.”
“Yah, right – go ahead and tell me another one. You just want to see it on the road, eh?”
“And you don’t?”
“Never said that. Let’s go!”
The door rolled open and the Aston pulled though, singing its own song of contained fury.
Last edited by Just Old Al on Wed Feb 24, 2016 9:37 am, edited 1 time in total.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Stainless Steel Angel
The logo the team put on the right-side rear bumper - courtesy of Joe.
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- ADMC-12 logo
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"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."