Aluminium Angel

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Just Old Al
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Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

Authors' Note : There is a story behind this story, as there always is.

DInkyInky and I were throwing ideas back and forth as we do, and one took root and began to grow. So, 70,000 odd words later, the story you are about to see took form.

There it sat for a very long time. Most of it was on me - I didn't want to release it for a number of reasons, mostly my own. DInky tried to get me to do it with a marked lack of success.

However, things have changed, and it's time to share it with you all. So, here it is. A story of an angel, a mage, a project, a grumpy old man with a taste for Kona coffee and the inevitable mayhem that life throws them. Welcome to Aluminium Angel.

NOTE: If you are going to comment PLEASE use the comments section - it leaves the story much cleaner for later perusal.


And now, please enjoy Aluminum Angel, by Just Old Al and DInky Inky.
Last edited by Just Old Al on Fri Dec 23, 2016 8:53 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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 1 – Challenge, Panic And Boredom


Wing stomped down the stairs from the office, stamped her way into her work bay, and started opening and slamming the drawers on her tool box. The cloud of irritation, while not an unusual feature of someone who had spent time in conference with Al, was assuming virtual stormcloud proportions over the young woman’s head.

Smokey and John, looking in the bay entrance, could only look at each other in puzzlement. A complex conversation made up of shrugs, facial tics, handwaving and eventually rock paper scissors resulted in Smokey entering the bay, with John hiding thankfully outdoors.

“Hey, Wing…howya doin’?” Smokey endeavoured, fully expecting to be the lightning rod for the young woman’s ire. In that, he was not disappointed.

“He has DONE IT TO ME AGAIN! ‘Well, young lady, you certainly did a marvelous job on the DeLorean’s assembly, but in the end you didn’t run the project completely – you and I did it. This time, the project is yours, start to finish – and I expect the same stunning results you produced the first time when it was a cooperative.’

AGAIN! ANOTHER DAMN PROJECT!”

“Oh, Lordy – not another damn DeLorean, is it? Hail, I still h’aint got the fire stink outa my coveralls from the last one.” Smokey was dismayed at the thought of another custom DeLorean project, even with the regular influx of the stainless-steel sportscars into the shop workflow after the construction of the first.

“Noooo, Oh, Nooooo. I could handle another one of those – even if it was stock and not the supercar we built for Buck. This is…even more of a pain.” Slamming and reopening another drawer, she found the item she was looking for, pulled it out, and waved it at the Texan.

“We’re going to be building one of…THESE.”

The item being waved at Smokey was a shop manual – printed in dark green, and adorned with a Land-Rover logo. The title was “DEFENDER 90 SERVICE MANUAL”

“Oh. Who for?” The whole dismal picture opened in front of Smokey’s eyes – building a custom Land-Rover for the man who wrote manuals on these cars – and was well known as an authority on the breed.

“Only the damn apple of his eye – Cinnamon. His adopted daughter. She’s graduating law school soon, and he wants to gift her with a custom-built Defender 90.

It’s like building a violin for Stradivarius’ daughter – and she’s a concert violinist. THERE IS NO DAMN WAY IN THE WORLD I CAN DO THIS WELL ENOUGH TO MEET HIS STANDARDS! HOW THE HADES AM I GOING TO DO THIS?”


Not long before, Al and Ari had been sitting in his office going over the day’s tasks. After each had brought the other up to speed on the tasks they were aware of (Al’s in the back shop, Ari’s in the office today) Al sat back with his cup, waved it at Ari, and said “I have never complimented you properly on the work you did on the DeLorean project. Buck is over the moon with the car, and ADMC-1 has presently supplanted his Bentley as his daily driver.

He’s had to talk himself out of a few speeding tickets – but he’s a big boy and more than capable of dealing with the gendarmerie as necessary. All that being said, I’m quite pleased – the car hasn’t been back here for anything but oil and fluid changes and maintenance checks.

Bravo!”

Blushing slightly, Ari bowed slightly toward the old man on the other side of the desk but otherwise kept her peace. She knew what she and the team – and he, despite his total unwillingness to admit it – had done, and there was no mincing words – it was spectacular.

Al continued, sipping again from his cup. “I find it is always easier to go from strength to greater strength – if you’ve had a success, don’t rest on your laurels – go find another challenge.”

Oh, dear. What was he talking about? What was that crazy old man up to this time?

“Ari, your freshman outing as a mechanic was an unequivocal success. Now, it is time to move up a level – and take on the higher level tasks involved in a project. In short, you have seen one – now to do one.”

What in Hades was this lunatic going to stick her with now?

“Ari, talons, please. Don’t be upset – this is a statement of the trust I have in you.”

She hurriedly resheathed her claws and tried to compose herself. Her mind was in a whirl – NOW what was going to happen? Only one way to find out.

“What am I going to get stu- going to be doing?”

“Get stuck with? Hardly. This is a challenge – and I have full faith that you will rise to it.”

“As you know, Cindy is graduating law school this Summer – and I want to gift her with a Land Rover. This as you can imagine is going to be very custom – I could simply buy a US-spec 1990s one and recondition it, but that’s not good enough.”

Ari was stunned. This sounded like a LOT more work than the DeLorean – it had never been together and was basically new. This was the worst parts of a rebuild and a new build – all sorts of things to go astray.

“I am going to be three things to you on this build.

First – I am your customer. As such, the basic layout, design and such is in my court. I will also be providing the parts donors for the construction, and you’ll be checking in with me-the-customer on a regular basis for updates. I will also be providing a do-not-exceed level on the budget and a cutoff date when the vehicle has to be ready.

Second – I’m your boss – also a consumer of your work. As such I will be observing your interaction with the customer and making sure “he” is happy. I will also be relieving you of the back-shop reporting again so you can focus on the project – much as I know you love dealing with our dark-suited comrades. I encourage you to sanity-check your plans with me, but I will not make them for you – that is on you for the initial design.

As your boss, I expect you to use external resources as it makes sense. For example, powertrain reconditioning could be done here – but it’s a fiddly and laborious job and we don’t have some of the specialist equipment to do it to a high standard. Engine and transmission work – farm it out. Send out the old get it back in plastic ready to install. You’ll have enough to do with the body and chassis.

Third, I will be your technical resource on this build – and will be working for you in this instance. Anything you want to know, or specialist items like electrical system integrations on the car, parts compatibility and such you are more than welcome to refer to me and I will provide information. I will also provide guidance on the technical specifics, but not on the project overall – that is yours.

I have a donor for the D-90 in mind, and a Land-Rover Discovery 1 coming in as a parts train donor. Later today, let’s sit down and go over what I want and I’ll give you a rough idea of how I want it done – but the execution is yours unless you involve Al-the-specialist.

Any questions?”

Deer in the headlights was a good description right now – along with a rising sense of anger. She realized she needed to get out before she strangled the old fool – or used the talons that were poking out again.

“No – let me talk to the “customer” later – then I’ll have questions.” She made quote-marks over the word customer, then stood and wandered out of Al’s office.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sterling was bored. Bored, bored, bored.

Television was background noise, and as she waved her hand, the channel changed.

She had enough material for six books and had enough of a buffer to set automated posts for three months if she so chose.

After scaring that group of bikers at the range yesterday, she couldn't even target practice. It wasn't her fault they didn't know how to one-arm fire a pair of tiny little .50 Desert Eagles. Dirk told her to stay out for a week.

Sterling was bored, and contemplated weaving rainbow flag illusions on the intolerants cars again after the last news report came in regarding protest against the LGBT policies city lawmakers came up with to undermine the Governors law(which actually is unconstitutional) of intolerance.

"To think I got shot at so these fools could take away the freedoms they have no right to take away."

Sighing, she made a knife motion in the air, and the television turned off with an audible pop.

Maybe gardening...

As she turned to go, her phone played a familiar jingle...

"Goldeneye, I'll show him forever..."


"Greetings, Warhorse. What's on your mind?"

"I'm sorry to call you, M...Sterling, but I'm so angry, I don't trust myself to talk to Al." Al's majordomo was angry enough to chew battle steel - and Al was the focus. Oh, this was going to be interesting.

"Oh, hullo Ari! Vent away luv. I am not going to squawkback."

"I know deep down it means he trusts me, but why does Al have to pick me to do the impossible things? And he always tells me before breakfast."

Sterling laughed before continuing in first a childlike voice, then a regal voice;

"'There's no use trying,' she said. 'One can't believe impossible things.'

I daresay you haven't had much practice,' said the Queen. 'When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

"What's that from?"

"Alice in Wonderland. He's sending you chasing after white rabbits. Call me on your lunch, I'll bring it over. It means more than just he trusts you meduck. I am sorry I cannot give you more than that."

"What do you mean? I don't get it. To me, it just means that if he can stick me with it he doesn't have to supervise it or do the job himself. Sometimes I think my boss is lazy."

"Ohhhh, hardly, luv. What it means is that he is systematically training you to be another him - comfortable in the office, at the drafting screen, and in the shop as well. The way you learn is by doing - and he's a past master at giving people challenges they can handle but will make them stretch. How much did you know about mechanics when you started on the DeLorean?"

There was a pause, and the answer, when forthcoming, came slowly. "Well, hardly anything, really. I learned from him and the boys as I went along - if I couldn't figure something out I'd ask and they'd tell me what I needed to know and no more - and I'd go from there."

"If you were asked to - could you do again what you did on the DeLorean?"

"Certainly. I couldn't make the custom parts, but I'd know what to ask for and how to lay it out - and I could get it done. Might not be as elegant, but it would still go like Hades."

"See? This is the next stage - not only the doing but the thinking. To be honest, luv, he doesn't see this goal as impossible - he sees it as a challenge, but a doable one."

"What's a challenge in his eyes is flat-out impossible to anyone else. He's a force of nature now that he's back at full power - sometimes I think a burned-out Al was easier to live with than this one." Ari spoke half-jokingly, half in truth - a withdrawn, burned out Al with no ambition was certainly easier to live with but a lot less fun to be around.

"Okay, luv - leave it at this. Go talk to him about what he wants built, and then call me when you grab lunch and I'll swing over and bring you the Lewis Carroll book. I know you'll love it - and when dealing with Al there's a lot in there that will look familiar." Sterling joked with the young lady, trying to lighten her mood.

"OK, I'll call you. Maybe we can walk over to the AHI cafeteria and grab some lunch - if you don't mind I could use a perspective that hasn't been in the car business since Henry Ford - and there aren't any others around here."


"Deal. Bell me up when you get done."

When Ari hung up the phone Sterling was again at loose ends until she heard from the young engineer. Drifting, she walked out of her French doors into her garden - a multi-use space combining flowers, a cutting garden for herbs and grasses used in spells and a contemplative space for meditation.

Dropping to lotus, she sat and contemplated the problem. Al was a dear, but forgot that not everyone had his experience in the industry and in engineering in general. A man who had worked on everything from medieval siege engines to Lanthian nuclear technologies - and did so on a regular basis - tended to have a jaded view of learning curves.

On the other hand, Ari was being timid - Al was not about to let her fail and would help her learn in any way possible - it was the sheer size of the task that was setting her off, it seemed, as well as Al's breezy confidence that she could do it despite her uncertainties.

Dealing with a man who considered engineering a vocation and an art form was not the easiest thing to do.

While sitting, her eyes drifted to the water pump in her garden. A relic hooked to the old well on the property, she used it often, preferring the water from the water table for her plants as opposed to the filtered chlorinated water from the water main.

Old, rusty, paint flecks still adhering here and there, she looked with calm mind on it, and appreciated the curves of the pump handle and the bell-shaped body. Old and worn as it was, grease stained and wearing its age, it had a beauty simultaneously artistic and artless - a completely uncontrived beauty of existence.

Like a flat hand applied to the back of her skull an idea burst into her mind - fully formed and man-high. Art and engineering...engineering and art...damn.

Well, DAMN. That had possibilities.

Getting up, she walked over to the pump and ran her and over it, enjoying the feel of the rusty surface. She then turned back to the French doors, entering and going to her desk. She had some things to think through - and they needed to happen before she got the call from Ari.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The second conversation was going no better than the first had.

Al as a customer was all ideas and repressed energy, slinging both at a dozen to the second and being utterly irrepressible.

Wondering for the fiftieth time today why she ever wanted to leave Wal-Mart, she sat taking notes, and interjecting a question or two as he stopped for breath or coffee.

“Okay, so I’ll be providing RE with the donors. The drivetrain donor for the V8 is on the way in – I figured you folks could get started on that while I source a US-legal D-90 on the other side of the pond.”

“So, it seems you’ve put some thought into what you want. Can you give me a 5000-foot view on the ideas you have, please?”

“Certainly. Street-legal D-90 – left hand drive. Custom paint, custom drivetrain, custom interior.” Al dropped a half-inch sheaf of paper on the table. “Here’s a rough set of drawings on what I had in mind.”

Ari thought sourly, Knowing Al, those things are detailed to the millimeter – ‘Rough design’ my left wing…

“Can you give me a word picture of what you’re after as an end product?”

Al did not hesitate. “The D-90 itself will be a US-legal one, so no issues with the legal side. The English paperwork should do to title it – I’ve done that before. Emissions will be at the level of the drivetrain donor – no problem there at all as it’s already EPA specification for far newer than the body age – completely legal.

The 90 will need to be disassembled, the bodyshell media blasted for the custom paint. This is going to be a very expensive paint job, and the body surfaces need to be as perfect as possible. The 90 drivetrain and chassis, save the axles will be discarded. The doors and tailgates will be discarded as well, and the doors replaced with one-piece doors from a later vehicle – these are available new, as is the rear door.

The D-90 chassis will be replaced by a galvanized steel replacement in US D-90 spec – built for a Rover V8 and the ZF automatic transmission, and the manual transfer case from the D1 – the one in the Defender isn’t suitable. All of this will be bolt up and bolt in, and the wiring harness from the Bosch EFI will drop into the car from what I have been told once reprogrammed – with the EFI computer in the battery box under the seat.”

He was giving her far more information than a customer normally would, she noted – the design was in place and she knew well it would be solid. However, she wasn’t going to argue – he was doing this for a reason – because he knew she wasn’t sure of the questions to ask. This made her even more nervous…where else was she lacking?

He continued.

“The bodyshell will be sent out for special paint – there is a shop in Minneapolis that will take it and return it complete inside and out. Once assembled, there are trimmers – upholsterers – in Minneapolis as well that can work through the interior details. Notes on that and sketches are in the packet, along with colours to be used.

Drivetrain parts from both donor and D-90 get completely overhauled and returned to as-new condition. If it moves, overhaul it. Rear axle of the D-90 to be kept, front axle ditto. The D1 axles can be used for LHD conversion spares but anything that’s a wear item needs to be replaced.

In short, I want a new 25-year-old D-90.”

Quietly, Ari gathered the packet of materials and stood. “Well, thank you – you’ve given me a very good picture of what you want. Let me discuss this with my specialist and we’ll undoubtedly have questions – can I feel free to contact you?” Al nodded.

With that, she headed for her office. She REALLY needed to talk to Sterling – she felt awful. There was NO way she could do this. No way. NONE.

What was she going to do?
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 2 – Angels, Mages and Rovers


Sterling's mind was awhirl with ideas.

"Anybody could do sketches and photos of finished designs. How many can show the beauty of restoring the old? The finished design is beside the point. Besides, it might be good for her to have a female perspective."

Clipping her Bluetooth on, she touched it and spoke into it.

"Goldeneye mobile."

Al’s phone began to play the chorus of a well-loved song. Recognizing it and quite surprised, he took it from his pocket and accepted the call.

“Sterling, dear lady, good to hear from you. What’s up?”

"Heya Warhorse. Heard from a wee birdie yer winding up your majordomo again. I have got ideas to run by you to help before she thinks 'Paper or Plastic' is a good idea again."

“And WHAT, you meddling mage, would be the issue here? I am aware my majordomo is feeling a bit stressed, but there is nothing I’ve set her that is beyond her powers, either physically or mentally. She’s a bright young lady – and she can do this. Setting her any less of a challenge would not be a stretch and would be an insult to her powers.”

Sterling paused – Al was completely correct, but she didn’t think he had a feel for quite the magnitude of the problem – or of Arania’s stress level.

"I am running a book over on her first break. Make like a tree in Autumn and leaf. I will fill you in when you are not in ear shot of ANYONE who can talk to her. Ialin, trust me, he is gonna love it, so amscray."

Giggles were heard, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

“I had…no idea she was here. I never see her except at the estate near the willows. How did you know she was there? Wretched dryad. I am feeling thoroughly put upon by the distaff magic side today.”

"She has a certain...musical timbre to her movements. It is easy to pick up on if you have heard it before. I will show you later, so maybe you can surprise her. Anyway, we are talking about Ari.

Seriously, go for a drive. Meet me at that cafe you like, and I can fill you in before I meet her for lunch."


“Very well then. I can be at Tina’s in a half-hour. That suit you?”

“Perfect, old paint. See you there.”

With that, Al closed down his computer and donning his Panama, stuck his head into Ari’s office after knocking on the frame. What he saw shocked him – she was holding her head in her hands, leafing through the notes on the D-90 build.

Her posture was that of dejection – and he started to realize that perhaps he’d been too abrupt in dropping this into her lap. Upon seeing him she started and straightened up, leafing through the pages.

“I’m heading into town – be back after lunch. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay – I have a lunch meeting, so I’ll be out of the office too. I’ll switch the office phone to my cell, so we’ll be covered –“

“Don’t worry about it – if anything comes in one of us will deal with it when we get back.”

Leaving, Al jumped into the Aston and was soon on his way. Ari, with Al gone, went back to her slumped, miserable posture and kept flipping through the specification document he’d handed her at their meeting.

She couldn’t do this – she just couldn’t – but how could she tell him?


*~*~*~*~*

This was going to be tight. She needed to talk to Ari and Al, and apparently they both took breaks at the same time.

"Bugger."

Sterling 'ported to the alley near the cafe. She saw Al pull up and walk in. Breathing deeply, she scryed for any familiar folks they'd have to avoid. Whoa. The gal at the counter had a stunning Aura. It was as if she were made of magecraft. Letting out the breath she didn't know she was holding, she walked in.

“HI! Can I HEEEEEEEEEEEEELP…you?”

Heads turned toward the host of the coffee shop – Tina’s involuntary “EEP!” drew more attention than a gun going off would have anyplace else.

Visibly composing herself, Tina was shaken by the stunning platinum-haired woman who’d just walked in. Stifling the shock reaction from running into an aura that was literally blinding, she dialed back her sensitivity and tried for another read, and realized she’d seen her before with Monica and Jet a while back.

“Hmmmmm…Lapsang Souchong with dried blueberries…and a strawberry tart?”

"That's it exactly, though wrong on the pastries. Sort of allergic to them. As a tyke, I loved them.
Looks like you need a sit-down with a lavender chamomile tisane with a peppermint sprig. Just breathe, and...well met again dear lady."

Tina said, “Why don’t you go sit down – this will take a few minutes to steep properly. I’ll bring it to you. Can I interest you in another pastry – chocolate, maybe?”

“No, thanks, dearie. I’m way too friendly with pastry, and on the run. I’ll be back here again, and next time I’ll let you tempt me.”

Paying for her tea and scanning the room, she spied Al, and called.

"Oi, Warhorse!"

Al looked up, and waved her over.

Oh, THAT explains it…more paranormal shenanigans. Where does Al find all these gorgeous, powerful women?
They thought.

Settling down at the table, she blushed.

"I think I frightened your barista friend Tina. Convince her to have a cuppa, and that I have no desire to harm her. She had a fright scrying me, and I'm not going to ruin your sanctuary."

“Oh, dear. I’ll be right back.”

Al got up and walked over to Tina, leaning over the counter so he could keep his voice down. “Tina, meduck, have you got Sterling’s tea?”

Leaning back and meeting him halfway, Tina said, “Sterling? I’ll remember that – easy with that platinum hair of hers. Al, what flavor is she? She was in once before with Jet and Monica, but I don’t remember her having that…aura.”

“She, my dear, is a mage. A very powerful one. She was of no end of help to me before my trip – and has been a good friend since I met her. She’s a wonderful person, but a bit odd.”

Tina snickered. “Yah, like everyone else you know…let’s not go there.”

“Have a cuppa as she suggested – it will do you no end of good. She’s very…aware of people, and very good at helping them – a lot like a certain barista I know.”

“Already brewing. And here’s Sterling’s – go on ahead, she’s already paid for it, so you’re good.”

Al picked up the proffered cup and stepped back to the table by the window. Sterling took it, and took a sip, savouring the smoke and the sweetness of the fruit essences.

“Damn, Warhorse, she makes one fantastic cup of tea. I’ll be back here again – this tea is hellish hard to get right.”

“You and everybody else. Everyone who’s anyone in our circle comes here. So, what exactly do you have in mind about my overstressed majordomo? I am NOT going to relent and take this project back over – she has the skills and the intelligence to do this and needs to grow – and doing so on a project that will not be leaving the family is the way to do it.”

"So, yeah. Here's the thing. Ari is overwhelmed. I know she can handle it, YOU know she can handle it, as do the boys. SHE thinks it is impossible.”

Al went to speak again, and Sterling raised a finger.

“Hush!

I have an idea, and it should kill two birds with one stone – help your majordomo get through this project without eviscerating you, and give me a book to publish.

I have an idea for an art book, a photo book. The beauty of restoration. The finished product is not the endgame. It's just showing how a well-loved vehicle at the deepest levels has this raw, earthy beauty. Take away the dirt, grime and rust, and underneath is magic and science and nature."

Al pondered for more than a few seconds – and Sterling was afraid he didn’t get it.

“Amazing…an amazing concept. Not a build log – those are horrid and boring – but the beauty of the forms and images buried inside the old – and bringing it back out while revealing that it never really left. It’s a fantastic idea – but how does this help Ari deal with working this project?”

Silently, Sterling crowed. He DID get it – good old warhorse. Stifling a snicker at the concept of Al as a centaur with obligatory fedora, she continued.

"The how is I 'mentor' her. I'm a female gearhead. I don't work for you. I'm there as a friend. I'll visit daily for lunches, let her vent.

You wind me up one day... 'If yer gonna distract the help, why not be useful?'
I say, 'Fine! I will!'

Then I can help her. She will have a female on her team, and not be the odd duck. Get it?

It's slower than if you ran with it, but in the long run healthier for her. I'm also giving her 'six impossible things before breakfast'. I'm going to work with an "Alice in Wonderland" theme. Take her down the Rabbit hole.

Wotcha think Warhorse?"

“First things first – why DO you call me that? While I may be an old warrior, I am hardly equine.”

“Well, when we were having the spa day back when I first came in, Daisy, the girls and I were telling tales…and she told us about the first night you two got together. And Warstallion just doesn’t have the same ring to it…” Sterling blushed.

“Oh, gods. It beats ‘Stud’, I guess.”

Al, sighed, coloured a bit, and continued.

“Well, back to the discussion at hand. What are you getting out of this – the book? To be honest, I feel neglectful and guilty absorbing a few months of your time here.”

“Look, luv, I am bored. Unutterably bored. I have nothing going on right now, and don’t feel like beginning anything independent. I have more than enough material on the spike to hold my publisher and populace for the time this will take and more – so the public persona continues unabated.”

“You say ‘Another book’ casually. It isn’t. This is a fantastic concept – and will be hailed as a breakthrough in art. People will be looking at these drawings and photos decades from now – and they will be seeing the beauty you do – and I’ve found.”

Al pondered a moment, and Sterling was on tenterhooks…until he said “Sold. Arrange what you wish with Ari – and cue me when I’m supposed to ‘wind you up’.

Thank you.” With that, they hugged and each went about their business – Al to a very long lunch then back to work, and Sterling off to sucker-punch the doldrums out of a lovely young angel.

Looking at her watch, Sterling was pleased to note only a few minutes passed. Ducking into the Grand, she waltzed back to find Dale.

"Need to get a couple of steak salads. I will get you and your lady one too if you can convince them to do it fast."

"Really? How did you know she's..."

"I have a bit of hurry up involved. Promise I will catch up to you kids soon. I have that doodle getting framed for you."

"You're magic. Yeah, I'll be right back."

Running the card over to the cashier, she paid for four meals, and in ten minutes, took her bag gratefully, with a word that Dale and his lady were to have the other two.

"Dale. I will call when I am on my way with your print. You are a gem! Enjoy lunch."

Round to the back, she scryed for eyes, then 'ported to lunch with Ari – when she suddenly realized she was missing something.

Cursing her memory, she was about to go fetch the book, when it appeared in front of her eyes.

“I smell a dryad – just can’t keep your fingers out of it can you?” Sterling mock-scolded.

"Keeping him young is a good thing, and helping her grow is too. I hope this wasn't too forward of me, but your timing will be way off if you left and came back, so I took it off the table when I noticed it there, and awaited your return. Go on, scoot!"

"We must talk later – I like your thinking on this."

Walking towards Ari's office, she could see her slumped over the manual and the design specifications. Knocking and entering, she brought the food and book.

"Lunch first. I insist. Then we can talk. Oh, and here's the book as promised. I think a chapter a day will do wonders for you, luv."

For the next half hour, only a few random bits of conversation about her Grand Am, Ari's 'stang, Flashburn's toy ("Okay, okay, it is a viable muscle car, but I will never admit that in his presence Ari!") could be heard during lunch.

Food inhaled, cold drinks from the refrigerator in front of them, they started to talk about the problem. Thankfully Al had taken the suggestion of a very long lunch to heart – and had stayed away. Snickering to herself, Sterling thought that Rosalynd had likely gotten an unexpected lunch partner – and the associated exercise afterward.

Sterling began the conversation – setting up a straw man to be knocked down, so she could get a feel for the real problems involved here.

"So seriously Ari. I KNOW you can do this. He never would have set this up if he didn't believe you had it in you. He knows your work and your capabilities – and never would set you up to fail."

“That’s not true. He’s my boss – he sets me jobs to do and tells me to do them – and I have to produce or out the door I go. Smokey and John Mac are the same – if we don’t do our jobs – we’re out.

He threatens to send them back to shuffleboard and the old-folks home all the time. They don’t take him seriously – but I do – I like it here – but it’s stressful. He expects so much – and I give it to him – but there’s going to be the time I can’t deliver or I screw up – and that will be it.”

"Stop that. What's really bothering you?"

"I'm literally the only woman in this whole place! The closest female is at AHI R&D. I go over there once a week or so, or she comes over for lunch. It’s the only time I get to be a girl during the work day."

BINGO! Thought so. Sterling crowed in her own mind. Isolation, the challenges, surrounded by these loving but grumpy old men – it was all adding up to a coherent picture now.

What she said out loud is,

"So, do you want him to hire more birds to work here?"

"Oh Gods no! The thought of some dim vapid things flirting and messing up the organised bits..."

"You are just feeling an odd duck, despite them treating you as equals."

"YES! That. Plus look at this! What am I supposed to do with all of this – it’s overwhelming!"

She thrust the huge piles of manuals, specs and design ideas at Sterling, who flipped through them quickly.

"Standard procedure. Manuals for the body/engine specs. Nice proposal. Detailed write-up including a general how-to.

Spare no expense on expert handling on these parts, budget on that because of customs...

Ari, this is a perfect proposal."

"Wait, you can understand all this?"

"Well sure. I've been on both ends. I've apprenticed with mechanics a bit so I could learn not just how to work on my own cars, but how to ask the right questions when designing my dream car.

Think of it this way. If you want to change your 'stang to look more like the classics, but keep the current body style and handling, would you know how to requisition the parts, redesign the shell to fit the frame, know how to spot Bondo, weld patch and sand, and other cheats? Could you calmly call them out on it?"

"I'm not sure. I haven’t spent a lot of time in the trenches with the restorations or the day-to-day work – most of my time was on the DeLorean, and that was new parts or the custom work Al did in the machine shop." Ari frowned, not at the questions, but at the new view and concept forcing its way into her mind.

Sterling pressed on, feeling success in her grasp if she can just make things a little clearer… "This is the way to learn that and more. The process is the same, just different parts. Al won't let you flounder. If he's offering to wear the customer and expert/boss hats, jump at it. This is a great chance to learn about a difficult foreign vehicle.

This is the opportunity in a million – authority to take two dead or dying vehicles – and turn them into one unique, custom piece of mobile art as a gift for a woman you really like. John Mac and Smokey are going to be envious as Hades that you were given this opportunity – and most mechanics in the world would be as well.

When you did the DeLorean you said you wouldn’t want to do just that – you knew you could do more. THIS IS THE MORE. This is the golden goose, luv – a project all yer own and the freedom to do it as you envision it – within the customer’s wishes.”

“Please, PLEASE tell me you told him you’d do this.”

“Yes, I've told him that."

“Good. Now, let’s get another drink and we’ll walk through this proposal he handed you. Between the two of us we’ll figure it out – and then we’ll know what you need to go ask your ‘expert’ on the subject.”

With the severe kick to the doldrums applied, the two women went through the proposal.

“OK, here – he’s calling out a new chassis instead of fixing and modifying the old one for the new configuration. Wonder why?” Sterling pointed to a line in the list of suggested new assemblies.

“I saw that too. It’s one of the notes I have – got a list of things here I want to ask
‘the expert’ about. Oh, to HADES with this!” Ari said, making aerial quote marks. “The expert is X, the customer is C and Al-the-boss is Al. Period. I am DONE with the roleplaying.”

“Good enough. Back to it now. He’s talking here about overhauling the 90 axles, and keeping the donor axles as spares if needed. Wonder what the differences are?”

“I dug that out of the parts manuals. The 90 has a rear axle called a “Salisbury” – it’s a beast compared to the Rover axle. I suspect he’s keeping the toughest parts of both vehicles to be built into the final product – this thing is going to be BULLETPROOF.”

“Good. OK, so wiring…new harness. Makes sense – the changes for the audio system and the bells and whistles you’re adding will be easier to loom into a new harness – assume he’s going to be doing that.”

The phone rang.

Ari reached over, and tapping the button coolly said “Richer Engineering – Arania here. Can I help you?”

“Oh – Al. …Hi! You’re not coming back? No, nothing going on – I’m going over the proposal the customer on that D-90 gave me.” She winked at Sterling, who smiled broadly and threw her a thumbs-up gesture.

“OK, so I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay – day after? Why? You’re going to England….lucky you! Fine – day after, then. Ping me if you need anything…bye!”

Arania turned back to the desk. “Someone had an awed-by-shiny-objects moment while scanning Craigslist over lunch – he’s off on a wild-goose chase after a Bentley. Someday he’s going to find a replacement for that old drophead of his and here will be peace in the Universe. Till then, he’ll keep looking.”

Good old Warhorse – smart man. He’s letting her digest, and hopes my visit will be positive. One can only hope, but it’s looking good.

“Okay, then. Back to the specifications. Replacement parts….radiator. Makes sense…”

With that, the two women turned back to the specifications, and the afternoon passed.
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 3 – Merilees, Runnymeade And Shopping


Al rose at 4 the next morning and slipped into his working khakis. Slipping his passport into his pocket along with his other items he made for the Library gate in the stables, and a few minutes later was on the platform at Mornington Crescent.

Making his way from there to King’s Cross, he pulled out his cell and dialed a Midlands number.

“Midlands Four Wheel Drive, how can I help you?”

“Well, you could drop dead on the spot, you old wanker. It’s Al – how’s it going, Anthony?”

“Al? Where you calling from mate – what war zone? You in Beirut, Benghazi or Belfast this week?”

“Actually, ducks, I’m at King’s Cross. About to grab a train up in your direction – should see you in two hours or so.”

“They let you back in the country? Thought they still had a bench warrant out for you on buggering sheep! How’s it going, mate?”

“Just fine. We can insult each other more later. Expect to see me at Narborough – pick me up there, or I’ll call you from the station when I arrive.”

“Why should I? Rent a car and drive out, ye cheap git.”

“Anthony, now don’t be that way. Just pick me up at the sodding station, it’s not like that brother of yours and you have anything to do out there but watch the grass grow.”

“Oh, VERY well. I’ll be in front – look for the Series One – got a 200TDi in it now and runs a treat.”

“Looking forward to it. See you then.”

After an indifferent breakfast in the station Al boarded his train and unlimbered his tablet, working at correspondence and build notes on the D-90 project for when Wing asked – his majordomo was not the only one addicted to overpreparation. A little over two hours later he debarked in the quiet village of Narborough, and wandered out to the road by the station.

Sitting squarely in front of the door was a 1951 Land-Rover Series One in immaculate condition. – and its owner, Anthony Priest.

Hugging, backslapping and exclamations of joy later they were in the Series One and headed for Merrilees.

“So, what are you after, mate?” Anthony shouted over the Diesel under the bonnet.

“Looking for a D-90 – preferably ex-MOD. Need a US-legal import age – nothing after 1990. Chassis condition is unimportant, as is the drivetrain because it’s going to be rebuilt onto a D1 drivetrain and a galvi chassis. The body and bulkhead have to be VERY good, though – this one is for a very special customer – my daughter.”

“Daughter? I thought you and Barbara…oh, sorry. When did you get married?” he asked, after noting the very dark expression on Al’s face.

“About two years ago. Remember how we joked about finding a rich widow? Well, I did just that – though when I met her the last thing on my mind was marriage. Her name is Rosalynd Alexander – of the Alexander Harvesters family. My stepson is the CEO of the company.”

“Well, indeed! Aren’t you the toff now! So, what do you do all day, order round the staff?”

“Oh, no – I still run my business. Love my wife dearly, but I am not a pet, you twit. I’m still in the car business, and a side in security modifications and weapons. Got a partner that’s the Yank version of me – a retired Ranger sergeant. We do well, and it keeps me in tea and scones.”

“My stepdaughter Cindy” Al remembered at the last second that his friends weren’t para-aware “is graduating law school in a few months – and she’s a fan of all things Land-Rover. I want to build her a Portia DelRossi Special – a posh D90 with all the trimmings and V8 power. Thing is with the stupid laws I’m better off grabbing an old ex-MOD carcase and doing a complete refit than spending 20-30,000 for a US model that’s a rustbucket and having to do the same work.”

“Hmmm.” Anthony pondered. “We might have just the thing for you. We just took it in part-ex on a Land-Cruiser we got stuck with on an exchange and couldn’t flog wholesale.

It’s a very good truck – originally MOD, then surplused off and ended up with a local doctor. He ran it for years, then he retired and passed it on to his son-in-law. Said idiot didn’t bother to take care of it and basically ran it into the ground.

It meets your needs perfectly. The engine’s tired, the transmission is a grinder and the hydraulics are fit only for the skip. However, the body is very good, and it’s not been buggered about with. “

“Interesting. I’m all for it. Can’t wait to have a look.”

Anthony drove the Series One into a small, shabby industrial estate. Single story flat-roofed brick buildings lined both sides of the road, each surrounded with fenced enclosures and open air storage. Small businesses had their facilities here, out away from the towns as the rent was cheaper for the space some trades consumed.

Their destination was a large building at the end of the estate road, labeled “Midlands Four Wheel Drive Ltd.” As they drove up Al felt a frisson up his spine – the building and the items in the storage area reminded him strongly of his own long-lost first location in Minneapolis.

They stopped in front of the building, parked and went inside. Once there, a bellow from the back asked “Well, did you pick up that damn Yank?” Anthony answered “Unfortunately – I tried to dodge, but he hung onto the truck till I had to let him in.”

“Mike, you old ponce – got the tea on? It’s been a long trip and I’m parched.” Al bellowed, laughing. With that, both Al and Anthony went into the back shop, there to be greeted by the other staff member – Mike Priest.

“Oh, God – they let you back into the country? C&E is going to get an earful from me for this!” Hugs and backslaps were again exchanged, and the kettle put on.

While the water heated, the three men walked out to the secured storage area – and Al got a look at the truck Anthony had described.

Leaning on a flat tyre, the poor Rover exuded the feeling of a broken-down horse headed for the knacker’s yard. The grille and headlight surrounds were cracked, the glass clouded, and the trim rusted and in need of paint. Large patches on the ground showed that it no longer possessed anything resembling an oil seal, and the hardtop and window channels were liberally adorned with moss.

“Well, my dear, you’ve seen better days, you have.” Al muttered as he walked over, The desolation and neglect became more evident as he got closer, but he noticed other things as well.

The bulkhead bottoms were sound when thumped with the butt of his knife, and the floors, though rusty, were solid – obviously this neglect was recent. The interior was musty and filthy, but the back floor was uncorroded though badly dented.

Opening the bonnet, Al was greeted with the sad sight of a sorely neglected Diesel dripping oil from every possible orifice, and an abused hydraulic system doing the same. Taking his tactical flashlight from his pocket he slid underneath on a sheet of cardboard and noted the lack of corrosion in the back box and the damage to the rear crossmember from rust.

Sighing, he slid out from underneath and slowly walked around the truck, tapping the wings and rear box with his pocketknife. Everywhere returned the bright sound of aluminium, not the dull thud of plastic.

Walking back to his friends, he said “I need a cuppa. Got a biscuit or two?”

When the three were settled around the bed of the milling machine with a cup and a biscuit, Al said, “That truck is what I need. Right age, right bits worn out, rest in good shape. It’s hurting badly, but it’s got potential.

I’ll give you 300 quid for it.”

Mike sat up, grumbling. “300 Quid? 300 QUID? That trucks worth at least 2000 – set of rings, a bit of a wash and polish and Bob’s yer uncle – a good Rover.”

“Hardly. The hydraulics are shot, that engine has both feet in the grave, the rubber is garbage and the whole thing is held together by the tinworms holding hands. Fine. Rob me – I’ll go 500.”

While these two were arguing, Anthony was sitting back laughing. He’d seen this dance before, and knew from long experience it was as stylized and precise as kabuki – and he enjoyed watching it.

“Five hundred? I won’t take a penny less than a thousand for it. Not a penny LESS.”

“Then get yourself out a knife and fork and some brown sauce – because you’re going to eat it. Fine. Six hundred – and not a penny more.”

“Eight hundred – and I’m taking a loss on it at that price.”

“Seven hundred – and you’ve never taken a loss on a sale in your life.”

“Done.” The two men shook hands on it, and settled back with their cups.

“Now that we’ve got that done, I need other things. I’ll need a rear door, and rollup window side doors. Got ‘em?”

Anthony frowned. “Yes, we do. They’re off a 110 and they’ve a bit of rust in the frames, but it’s nothing can’t be sorted. You still a dab hand with a welder?”

“I am, but I’ve better folks to do it for me. I’ll take them.”

The conversation went on – bits and pieces for the rebuild, interspersed with tales and lies of the sort friends tell each other for fun.

Finally, Al asked, “Still got the trailer and the lad with the truck to tow it?”

“Indeed. He’s in the towing business now – does a lot of work for us delivering things.”

“Good – tell him he’s going to the Smoke. The truck and I are headed for AHI’s facility at Runnymede – and they’ll send it over in a container for me with the usual parts shipments.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. Give him a bell, get his arse over here and you can make out the paperwork on the sale in the meantime. I mean to have that truck on a boat in the next day or two.”

Arrangements made, friendly insults exchanged along with a stack of folding money, Al and the nascent Cindy Rover drove off to the M1 and AHI’s facility.

*~*~*~*~*

“He’s what?”

“Al’s on the way in from Oop Norf – got himself a D-90 he has.”

“Oh, God – make room in the next container – when that going out?”

“Today! This timing couldn’t have been better – or worse for that matter. I’ll get the rearrangement done – thankfully one of the ones going out was a short. I’ll switch it to a 40-footer and we’ll have plenty of room for his new toy. What the Hell’s he need a D-90 for, anyway? Man’s got a 110 ambulance, and the Aston.”

“Must be a commission…or he’s decided he needs a runabout. Actually – scratch that – he wouldn’t have gone shopping for it personally, or asked us to ship if it was a commission – he’s VERY careful about the AHI/RE demarcation – which means this is personal.”

The staff at AHI’s Runnymede facility had become more than familiar with their countryman since Lady Alexander had married again. Since their first meeting when the Aston went to the States by means unknown (and questions were carefully not asked on that) and been gifted to Lady Alexander’s new husband, Al had become a well-known feature at the R&D facility.

The arrangement had been mutually beneficial – Al’s instinctive understanding of engineering and feel for the American market often allowed leaps to be taken in designs and implementation. Having a regular visitor from the home office that knew the manufacturing facilities well was a boon – but it had a cost.

Today was a classic example. The people at the R&D facility were going to have to quickly prepare the Defender for shipping, stuff it into a container and alter the shipping documents to include its tired old carcase – and it would be done today, no doubt of that.

An hour later a transporter rolled onto the ground and backed to the shipping dock. The driver unchained the car on the back, and willing hands rolled it off onto the dock. The driver was then paid off, tipped and rolled off the grounds and headed home.

Al, standing there, looked at his prize – truly his, now. The poor thing…well, we’ll soon have you fixed RIGHT up, me lovely.

“Ah, Mister Richer – another result from the hunt, eh? Going to hang its license plate on the wall in the trophy room at Alexander House, are we?” Thomas Johnson, the smiling, rubicund director of the facility, joked.

“First off, me bucko, you know better than to call me that. Secondly, no – this one is going to be a very special project – which I will not talk about here – prying ears, company spies and all. Third, how’s it going, mate – everything tranquil here in the water meadows?”

Thomas extended his hand, and the two shook. “Everything’s fine here, Al. I assume you want this out ASAP – usual arrangement on billing the shipping costs?”

“Yes, please, Tom. Got a cuppa anywhere? Damn lorry driver wouldn’t stop, and I am overdue.”
“Certainly. Come on up to my office, and we’ll send out for one.”

Settled in the director’s comfortable digs, they soon had tea and a selection of biscuits between them, and settle back for a chat.

“What’s this one for? Used to be a nice car, but it’s a bit abused, now.”

“I can tell you, but this needs to be kept quiet. As you know, Lady Alexander’s daughter is graduating law school soon. She’s as mad for Landies as I am, and her mother and I wanted to give her something special.

RE is going to build her a custom job – and the beginning of it is out there on your dock. Be careful with the old girl – she’s going to end up going to someone special.”

Thomas blinked as he absorbed it. Wow. Bigger game than I thought, there – this isn’t for him, but for one of the family.A-1 priority indeed.

“Don’t worry, Al – we’ll take good care of the poor old thing. It’s hurting badly enough.”

*~*~*~*~*

Ari and Sterling were having lunch in Ari’s office – a surprising and unexpected visit that Ari was quite welcome for. It’d been quiet that morning in the front office – there were projects happening on the floor, but the new work and reporting were all in hand – so Ari had started making lists of things to be ordered for the 90.

“So, slept on it and forging ahead, I see. “Sterling said, pointing at the stacks of manuals on the desk, credenza and floor.

“I don’t have a choice – it’s either that or go back to him and say I won’t – and that wouldn’t end well, I think.”

“Look, you. I’m done with this.”

Ari was shocked. Damnit, I’ve just lost the only ally I have. DAMNIT DAMNIT DAMNIT.

Sterling continued, her eyes turning an icy blue. “You keep looking at this as a ‘produce or die’ situation. That is just flat-out wrong, damnit, and I’m tired of talking you down on it.

You could completely and utterly screw the pooch on this and force Al to take over and clean up the mess – and the result of that would be nothing but another chance – with help for where you went off the rails.

HE IS NOT GONNA GODSDAMNED FIRE YOU. STOP thinking like that. As long as you make a good-faith best effort at something that is all he will EVER ask of you – and covering his ass if he gets stupid or forgets something, which is a small price to pay.

You have no bloody IDEA what you mean to him – you are him – the next generation. You are the closest thing to a child of his own that he will ever have, and if you ever accuse him of this you will terminally embarrass him as he refuses to admit that to himself even in his own mind.

Yes, you’re a woman. Yes, you’re an angel. Yes, you have claws and teeth that could take down a Cape buffalo. NO, NONE OF THAT MATTERS TO HIM. You could be a hunchback hermaphrodite dwarf and as long as you have the spark in you that he cherishes – the spark of creation – he would take you to his bosom.

Now stop with the ‘He’s gonna fire me’ and get the bleedin’ hell on with it!”

“You know, you sound a lot like him when you get angry.” Ari chuckled, and grabbed another slider from the tray – they were still eating the mistakes Schweis Packing had made – and loving it.

“He and I share a lot of the same attitudes – and if you force HIM to kick yer arse trust me it will be a lot less gentle than I am. You’ve met the ‘Sergeant-Major’ – and I’m sure you don’t want to again”

The entry alarm on the main door sounded as it rolled open – and the Aston rolled in in is majestic manner.

“What in Hades is he doing here? He said he was going to England today – I didn’t expect to see him at all.”

Sterling, back to herself, chuckled. “Think of the time difference. He’s done a full day’s work in the UK, and now he’s coming in to get some work done here. He’s got plenty of time to get things done at home, and he’s doing Daisy a favour and not muddling her day.”

The Aston parked, and Al exited, striding to the office stairs with a holdall marked ‘Marks And Spencer’.

“Oh, what’s he got there?” Oh, this should be interesting – pressies. Sterling thought.

“Hullo, Ari – back from the wars…and what are YOU doing here?” Al said, spearing her with a glower.

“Oh, just in having lunch. I heard the sliders here were good – and it was true.” Shew said, grabbing another off the plate on the conference table.

“Oh, VERY well…in disturbing my staff…indeed.” His manner, while brusque, was patently false as both women could see and be amused by.

“Oh, well – I’m back from the hunt – and I bring presents.”

“Did you find one? What was it?” Ari was excited – despite her doubts and reservations she was excited at the thought of building a car from the ground up.

“Yes, I did. Found exactly what I wanted – an older D-90, right age, with a worn out drivetrain and a dodgy chassis. It’s in a container as we speak and it’ll be here in three weeks or so. Until then, I have design models to work with.” Al reached into the holdall and produced two boxes –1:12 scale models of Defender 90s in varying paint jobs and trim levels.

“I figured these would be good for visualization – we could disassemble them and do them up in various designs, and see what we thought of them. In any case, here, Ari – one for your desk.” Al produced an early Series I – duplicate of the one that was on the floor and meant for Al’s collection.

“Good thing you’re here, Sterling – have one for you as well – a small thank you for the cleanup job you and your family did for me.” This was a Defender 110 – a long, elegant vehicle finished in a silver paint finish, with blacked out windows and silver rims to match. With black trim, it was an elegant, clean lined vehicle.

“And, as I despise Hershey bars on principle…” he extracted a large sack of Cadbury’s chocolates – obviously he raided a candy counter somewhere and nearly stripped it bare. “Ari, if you want to split these with your partner in crime here I’d appreciate it – I was planning on going back again, soon, and whatever you like I’ll buy in boxes so we can have them here. Personally, there’s little Cadbury makes I won’t eat.”

Sterling looked at the contents of the bag, which Ari had spread on the table “Dairy Milk, Flake, Almond…you evil, evil man. My workouts are going to have to double because of this.”

“Well, you don’t have to take them...” Al said, reaching for a Flake bar – at which point Ari slapped his hand.

“We’ll report back on the testing on these – and then we can stock as required…”

“Spoken like a true engineer. In any case, do enjoy, ladies. I am going to stop downstairs and have a chat with the lads – got a few two-liter bottles of Young’s Bitter for them that I daresay they’ll enjoy.”

With that, he was gone, and Sterling looked at Arania.

“See what I mean?”
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

CHAPTER 4 – Transport, Coordination And Magic

Three weeks passed – busy, productive ones for the LR team. The 90 was headed for the Midwest via truck and ship, and the D1 was on a truck also headed for Minnetonka.

Ari had the first of many meetings with X – a pseudonym that amused Al no end, and a role he took to heart.

She had prepared thoroughly – with her innate intelligence and Sterling’s equally sharp eye she’d prepared many pages of questions, lists and breakdowns of tasks., With these in hand she’d approached Al/X, and they’d spent several hours over as many days discussing the build – always with Ari presenting the plan and Al vetting it or making suggestions for more efficient sequencing.

With the planning had come ordering – much, much ordering.

Many of the parts of the installation of the drive train in the D1 would not be suitable for the D-90 – and the parts in the D-90 were fine for its elderly Diesel but wouldn’t support the aluminium-block V8. The proper fittings, mounts and lines could be ordered for the combination – as the combination had actually been an option for Defender production meant for the NADA market.

A new galvanized chassis had been ordered from a parts dealer in Vermont, and had already arrived – and once cleared by X had promptly been sent out to AHI’s paint facility for several coats of AHI Implement Black over an etching primer.

The suspension as well had come in for its share of the booty. New springs, bushings, hydraulic lines, bearings, seals and all of the small items needed had been ordered from the UK and Al had enjoyed a few short trips to Runnymede to pick up shipments from AHI’s facility – much to the bemusement and amusement of the staff there.

All of this booty was collecting in a bay at RE – one kept carefully closed and locked off to prying eyes. Benches along both sides and open shelves held the components, all sorted for position in the build and function. Wing’s tool box took up a corner, and the chassis on its return took pride of place at the back of the bay.

Empty space awaited the components – new and old – and carts awaited the axles for overhaul.

The only missing items were the cars – donor and Lazarus – and their appearance was eagerly awaited by all.

*~*~*~*~*

The two cars sat, side by side, in the rented bay Al had procured in Minneapolis. The trucking company had dropped off the D1 yesterday, and it had been moved to its spot. The Defender had just arrived on a flatbed from the trucking company’s depot, and sat piddling what was left of its lubricants onto the floor.

Al looked at them both sadly. Such a pity for such nice motors to have come to this.

Externally, the D1 looked tired but fine. Painted in faded red, it still stood proudly, the rust patches on its roof a bit jarring against the chalky paint. An examination of its underpinnings and chassis, however, revealed its true condition – corroded beyond redemption. However, the motor still ran sweetly, and a short sprint around the industrial park showed all was well in the drivetrain.

The Defender was as Al had seen it in the Midlands. Standing upright, it still looked tired and dispirited, sitting on drooping springs and leaning slightly despite four inflated tyres.

Al stood between the two, a hand on each bonnet as he stood.

“You two are done as you are. Neither of you has many more miles left, and you’ve come to it, I’m afraid.”

He turned to the Discovery. “A foolish old man I may be, but I want to thank you for what you will give us. It’s not your fault you’re like this, and I’m sorry it ends this way, but your parts will live on for many years and I will trust one of the people most precious to me to them – my daughter.”

Turning to the Defender, he smiled. “You, lass, will be well again. It’ll be a hard road, but you’ll be well again – and the two of you will be one wonderful ride.”

Turning away, Al pulled out his cellphone and said “Sterling”.

“Warhorse – funny, I was just thinking of you.”

“I am coming to the shop during lunch, and you and I need to go somewhere after I do. I am going to throw you out of the place, and we’re going to do the dance that ends you up working with our dear angel.“

“Understood. And this is in reference to, if I may ask?”

“Nosy mage. You’ll see when we get where we’re going. It is exactly those powers I require – you have a job to do. It shouldn’t be as onerous as the job you did for me before, but I will let you make that decision.”

“Done. See you soon.”

Al drove the Aston into its parking space, shut down, safetied the demolitions systems and walked up to his office. As he expected, Ari and Sterling were at the table in Ari’s office, enjoying salads from AHI’s cafeteria.

He walked into the room, a stony expression on his face.

“Again? Seriously? Is there some reason you feel a need to spend your lunches in my facility?”

“Oh, Warhorse, don’t be that way – it’s nothing harmful-“

“I will be the judge of that. While you’re here, Ari is not focusing on work, is spending time entertaining you, and isn’t getting done what I need.”

“Now that is just UNFAIR! The lady’s entitled to a lunch hour, after all, and if I spend it here in your boy’s club with her that’s no business of anyone but me.”

“Hardly. My bat. My ball. My facility. Please restrict your visits in time and frequency – or bring a pair of coveralls and get to work. I’ve had enough of this sloth.”

“Fine. FINE. You want it that way – that’s the way it is. Tomorrow morning I will be here – coveralls and all. And by DAMN I am going to make you eat those words, Warhorse!”

“See that you do. I’ll have no more of this interference in my workshop. See me after you’re done eating – we’ll need to discuss paperwork and such if you actually do inflict yourself on my workforce.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode down to his office, shoulders shaking slightly. Anyone who hadn’t just seen the scene between him and Sterling might almost think he was…laughing.

Ari sat, eyes big, paling slightly.

“Oh my Gods – you just spat at the Sergeant-Major. I’m surprised he didn’t walk you out the door. What in Hades am I going to do now?”

“You’re going to relax, is all. Old Warhorse gave me just the opening I wanted. You wanted to go down the rabbit hole? That is exactly where we’re headed!

I am between projects right now – and I have enough material that my time is my own for a few months. I am bored – deadly bored right now – and I am done being bored.

Bright and on time tomorrow I am going to be here with my toolkit and ready to work. You are going to run the project, and WE are going to build it. I have always wanted to be involved in a build like this – and by DAMN I am going to take advantage of it!”

Ari’s face showed simultaneous trepidation and exhilaration. “Do you really mean it? Would you do that?”

“I will if you want me. It’s your option – and I can’t stay forever but I can be here for this project. Your call.”

With a SQUEEE Ari launched herself at the calm, grey-eyed woman and hugged her. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you yesyesyesyes!”

“Well, that’s settled. After lunch I’ll go see what he wants for paperwork and such – and we’ll go from there.”

Lunch finished and an angel settled, Sterling walked straight-backed down the hall to Al’s office, knocked and entered.

“Please sit down.” Sterling entered and sat, stiffly. Al promptly dissolved in silent laughter and motioned for her to close the door.

Al motioned her into the chair next to his desk and the two enjoyed a good chuckle at the scene as it had played out.

“Al, that was brilliant. You scared me there – if I hadn’t known the script in advance I would have slunk out of here with my tail tucked between my legs. You must have been a terror when you wore the suit.”

“No one ever questioned my authority, if that’s what you mean. Let’s head into town – I will tell Ari that we’re going into town to discuss your penal servitude here and I will show you what I wanted you to help me with.”

Al emerged from his office, fedora in hand. “Ari, call me if you need me. Ms Damhnait and I are going into town to Tina’s for an unofficial chat over coffee to hammer out the details of her presence here. Please talk to the uniform service and have a quantity of coveralls to fit Sterling brought in, and arrange for the usual laundry service on them. Thank you.”

With that he and Sterling, looking sober and a bit concerned, filed down the stairs onto the shop floor. Walking over to the Aston, Al deactivated the alarm system, then turned and threw the keys to Sterling.

Shocked, Sterling caught them, and looked blankly at Al.

"Key in. Notch on the shank UP. Do not break any speed regulations."

"Yes, SIR!" For once Al did not correct her, and got in on the passenger's side. Sterling got in, adjusted the seat and steering wheel, and started the Aston after buckling her harness.

From above, two eyes attached to an angel looked on in wonderment.

*~*~*~*~*

Al guiding, Sterling driving, they pulled up in front of a nondescript industrial bay in a yard of them – and Sterling looked at Al quizzically.

“If this is your idea of a spot for a romantic interlude, you are sadly mistaken.” she mock-scolded.

Al eyed her critically. “If that is an attempt at humor remind me to laugh later. Right now we have more serious items to deal with – and they are right up your magical alley.”

"You keep saying that - so why am I here again? Not that I mind Ailean, but you’re being a bit...secret agent double oh thoroughbred."

"Har, har. How very droll. Stop horsing around. I've got those two 'shells', but before I even think of letting Ari or Cinnamon see them, I'd like you to help prevent what happened to me from happening to two women I care greatly about."

"Absolutely. Let me see them, then I can determine if I need to drag Flash here." Al opened his mouth to protest, and Sterling raised a finger to interject. "Don't say a word. I will determine if it needs more than one."

They exited the Aston, and to Al’s amusement Sterling pocketed the keys. Unlocking the door of the rental bay Al turned on the lights and led her to the two gentle giants, and she ran her hands along them, gazing intently.

"Not too bad. I would recommend having him here just so I don’t overdo it. I have a tendency to put 120% into everything...plus, it will take less time with two. We can also set up basic works so when it is finished, the shielding can be set up rather quickly. Also before you gift it, Uncle Fergus could bless it. Kind of like a house blessing."

“I see no problem with this at all – and was going to ask Fergus to do exactly as you suggest in any case. The work the three of you did on Clara and the properties…well, let us say I have never been more comfortable and happy in any place I have ever called home.” That said, he touched his left forearm with his right hand – an unconscious gesture that Sterling recognized as communing with his dam.

He continued. “I do insist, however, that I need to find a way to pay you and yours for the services freely given to me and mine. We owe you more than we can ever pay, but I must try.”

Sterling smiled. “I will speak to Uncle Fergus about it – I am sure he can find some kind of a mutually beneficial arrangement for an engineer as good as you.” She smiled wickedly and added ”Even if he is a ‘thick Scotsman’. However, that is nothing to worry about, nor an issue for here and now – friends help friends.”

"Be back shortly."

Sterling turned abruptly, and vanished in a cold blue spray, which would have looked cooler to Al, had he not been fretting about the sluagh inhabiting the Rovers.

In no time at all, she returned with her cousin Flashburn, both carrying satchels. Al bowed to Flashburn, Right fist in left palm, offering a silent greeting and thanks for his presence. Flashburn, eyebrow raised, offered the same in return.

Setup was quick, and soon they had the pungent herb bundles ready to issue fragrant clouds. Flashburn then went over both tired vehicles, running his hands over them inside and out.

"Right tools for the right job. She's right, they be not as bad as when me father was here, but let's start clean slate."

Whistling and joking, they smudged the two gentle giants, talking amongst themselves.

Al caught a snippet or two of Gaelic, and just watched. He found himself drifting, and could feel...something.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he saw a network of glowing lines, not unlike before, but differing in colour.

Sterling continued on,

"Unlike last time, these are incomplete. We are setting up the groundwork, and can connect them once a full vehicle is assembled. The rest will recycle into good metals, which can become healthy parts."

She frowned.

"Al?"

He wobbled in place, his aura a riot of colours. Lines – colours – why were they there? Where did they come from?

"Huhza whaaazat...glowing lines?"

"You okay?"

He took a deep breath, and straightened. "Fine now meduck. Just your dramatic lightshow catching me off guard."

Flashburn incinerated the stubs and flung them at Al, who closed his eyes, and slumped into a conjured chair.

"He's awake."

"Really? That’s impossible. At his age?"

"I'm certain. We suspected last time, now I'm certain."

"How is it even possible?"

"Life with mundanes. They're less likely to be open about magic. He's probably suppressed it, despite his belief in the Lord and Lady, as until now, they were just figures. All of these recent events brought reality crashing down."

"So now he is coming into his own."

"Bingo. We may have to take him on a short journey so whatever Gifts he has doesn't affect home. We just got that all clean and pretty."

"Agreed. I do NOT want to have to scrape sluagh off of everywhere again."

Taking bottles of water, they drank deeply, and offered one to the now waking Al, who drank deeply and was reminded of Scotland, the lingering scent of heather caressing his senses.

He got a brief glimpse of Sterling and Fergus, quietly binding smudge bundles, delighting at the dance of light dappling in the garden as they worked.

He frowned. That was odd. He’d never seen them do that – and that garden…

"How...was that Fergus? But you're here, and where was th..."

Flashburn thought-spoke to Sterling,

“Damn. He’s still empowered. He’s seeing things he’s got no reason in the world to know.”

Sterling stepped in front of Al, bending to look in his eyes.

“Al, you’re seeing and hearing things that will confuse you, right now. I need you to trust me and go back to sleep, for just a few minutes.”

Al looked confused and worried. “Am I sick? I saw the colours, and now you and Fergus, tying bundles of herbs and evergreen. What’s wrong?”

She looked into his eyes, at the confusion there. “Nothing is wrong – something wonderful has happened, but right now you need help handling it – and I need to get you the help. Sleep, please.” She put her hand over his eyes, and he drooped again in the chair, sound asleep.

“Phew – that was close. We can’t handle this – time to call in the big guns.”

Flashburn waved a hand in the air, and a phone and Bluetooth appeared. Hooking the earpiece over his ear, he tapped it, and after a brief pause, said, "Athair, ye be needed. Scry Sterling and I and get here now. Explanations await."

Al shuddered and his eyes fluttered between open and closed as a burst of violet and green spray showered the area as Fergus appeared. Striding through the portal, he looked down at Al, then looked around and noticed the items arrayed for smudging and the two old vehicles.

“Damn. What happened – nae, I know what happened. He awakened, didn’t he? I thought I sensed it, back at Alexander House.”

“Aye, Athair, he has. We were here – well, Sterling, you tell it – you know it all – I just know bits.”

“He’s working on an important project - important to him. He’s building a gift – a car for his daughter for her graduation – to be given by the two of them – he and his dam. I cleared time to 'help'.

He asked me to smudge the donors – he wanted no drama for the young woman who’d be bossing the job – or for the young woman who’d be the recipient of the gift.

While we were working, he acted dizzy, and mumbled. I asked what the matter was, and he said he saw the glowing of the lines of protection we were building. Flash intervened and put him to sleep. We called you straightaway."

"Hmm...I've nae seen this in a long while, but it does happen among mundanes growing up near religious folk..."

Flashburn spoke up, a tone of concern in his voice.

"Can we stall it until this is finished? Sterling said he's the rank and file best expert on the machines...and he's also playing the part of client because he's training that exquisitely gorgeous...er winged lass to learn from." he finished, recovering quickly from the faux pas.

“Aye, that we could – but I need to talk to him first. This is nae a decision I will make for him.”
Fergus squatted down in front of Al – putting his eyes on a level with the drowsy man’s. He spoke, gently, raising his voice a bit at a time till Al stirred and opened his eyes.

“Fergus – what are you doing here? What’s going on?”

“Ailean, my man, you’ve been given a wonderful Gift. Turns out that we and you have more in common than friendship. Sterling tells me that when she and Flash were working you saw grids of light – is this true?”

“Yes, it’s true. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing is ill – and something has happened I’ve only heard of a few times. Ye’ve come into your own – what ye were seeing was the energy of magic.”

“Magic? I was…seeing magic? From what I’ve read only a mage can do that, and only with training. Am I going mad? What is this?”

Al became more and more agitated – he didn’t understand, and it was scaring him.

Fergus put his hands to Al’s shoulders and looked into his eyes – the contact and the personal attachment calmed him.

“Nothing is wrong – this is wonderful. Despite your lack of training – despite your age – despite the thousand points of magecraft I can list that say this is impossible – you’ve developed a Gift. Like me own, like Sterling’s, like my lad’s here – you’ve developed the Sight.”

Al sat, stunned. This was impossible – he was just an old human – nothing special, nothing rare – just an old man.

Fergus cleared his throat, gently, breaking the hamster-wheel spinning of Al’s thoughts.

“We do have an issue, however. Right now, your Gift is uncontrolled. Ye’ll need to spend time learning to control it for your own safety and the safety of those around ye. We have no idea how much power ye have, and what aspects your Gift will assume. Ye have Sight, this we know – but we don’t know what else.”

“So, I’m dangerous?” Al asked, resigned.

“Aye, for the moment ye are.

Now these two tell me ye’ve a project that requires ye– so now is not the time for ye to be able to spend with us learning the craft. If ye ask, I can lock you down – cast a damping spell to neutralize yer power for a few months till ye’ve accomplished what ye wish to.

After that, ye come to Scotland for a few weeks and we can give you the training for control ye need. Developing yer power will take much longer, but ye dinna need to be with us to learn – tha can teach thyself.

There is a risk – if tha power is locked down – it may never return. It’s a chance – Ye’re rewriting the books. If suppressed again, tha may never have them. It’s tha decision.”

Al thought, silent. His inner self was in tumult – to be given a gift of this nature, then risk losing it again. However – needs must – and there were things that needed to be done.

“Please damp the power. Now is not the time for this, as Sterling will tell you.”

Very well, then. Sleep, Ailean.” With that Al’s eyes closed, and he dropped off again.

Sterling spoke up. “Did you mean what you said – is it possible he will lose this?”

"Perhaps. There is little information on folks like him – there have been so few. Let me leave his beloved a note to prepare."

Extracting a pad and pen from his jacket, he wrote a note, using the bonnet of the Defender as a desk.

"Daisy,

I am sure you noticed, but your beloved has a strong Gift emerging. While we figure out how to help you both (this is a team effort), I will lock it down to the best of my abilities. Sit down until the feeling passes, as it will travel down through your bond.

Once your stubborn mate finishes this very important project he says you know about, we will address this with our full attentions.

Fergus."

Poof! He placed a hand on Al, and off the note went to appear in her hand.

With that, Fergus placed his hands on Al’s shoulders again, standing behind him and the chair. Eyes closed, he began to chant quietly, and around Al an aura of power began to glow golden as the sun. As Fergus continued, the aura dimmed, the colours sliding down the spectrum from golden yellow, to violet, blue, red, green, and finally to fade completely.

Fergus stood back, a bit shakily. ”He’s locked down – he’ll feel nothing different than he did before and will be completely normal. That was not easy - for an Emergent, he's got a surprising amount of power, and subconsciously he was fighting me all the way. He wants this, and doesn’t want to lose it.

You need to keep an eye on him – if he shows signs of re-Emergence we’ll have to figure out what to do then. Without training he’s dangerous – if this means his project doesn’t get done so be it – he needs to be safe, and not chance harming those around him.

Keep me posted. I am going to Alexander House – I’ve a feeling his dam is going to need someone to talk to right now.”

With that he waved, and his portal opened with the splashes of colour seen before. Three steps, and he was gone, portal fading behind him.

Sterling and Flash looked at each other.

“Well, now what?”

“Now, I help them finish this project.” A honk and the sound of a Diesel engine sounded outside. “Damn, the transporter’s here. Wake him up – I’ll deal with the driver.”

Flashburn stepped to Al and quietly shook his shoulder. “Al, wake up old son. The transport’s here – the cars need to go.”

Al woke up, eyes panicked, then reason lit in them. “It’s over?”

“For now. You finish yer project, then there’s a spot in the Highlands you will love – and there you’ll learn what you need.”

“If I don’t lose them.”

“Ye won’t. Athair’s a worrywart – ye’ll be fine. Now help me – we need to get the cars ready.”

With that, the bay door opened and the light from outdoors flooded in – and the truck backed to the door.
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 5 – Destruction, Construction And Confusion


"The cars are here! The cars are here!" Ari was practically skipping in place as she saw the transporter backing to the vehicle bay door.

"Surprised Al's not here - he would'a known these were comin' in." Smokey said, wiping his hands on the ever-present shop towel. "So, where do we want 'em?"

Reverting instantly from teenager to project manager, Ari said, "The D-90 goes to the assembly bay, and the D1 to the bay next to it. We'll need the lift to pull the drivetrain from the D1 - and that needs to go out immediately for refurbishing - Al's buddy in St. Paul gets that. The transmission goes to the rebuilders' and gets rebuilt and modified to deal with the clutch wear issues in ZFs. The transfer case goes along - that's going to get new seals and bearings-"

"Damn, girl, yer startin' to sound like the old man. Relax! We'll git 'er done." Smokey smiled, then walked up onto the truck and climbed behind the wheel of the D1. With a turn of the key and the assistance of the trucker it was backed off the transporter and wheeled to the disassembly bay, shedding flakes of rust as its suspension and body flexed on the truck ramps.

The D-90 was next, having been winched onto the transporter. A jump battery was attached under the seat, and the engine coaxed into starting with liberal jets of Diesel fuel into the air intake.

Backed off the transporter it limped to the bay reserved for it, clouds of blue issuing from its tailpipe till it was shut down. Smokey hopped out, slammed the door, and stared at the truck.

"Damn, that engine's hurtin' - and so's that gearbox. If we get lucky maybe we can get Al to toss 'em, or knowing him he'll want to rebuild 'em for stock."

"Well, that's neither here nor there - right now let's get on the D1 and start stripping it. Save everything - we're going to need all the hoses and lines for models at least - the 90 didn't have power steering, so we'll need to model all the lines and hook-ups using the old parts before we have new ones made."

"Yes, Ma'am! Where's yer buddy? Figured she'd 'a been here too."

"She and Al went off to town to talk about her working here with me on the 90 project. I'd have expected them back by now..."

In the car on the way back from town, Al sat quietly in the passenger's seat. Sterling drove, her joy at getting her hands on the Aston tempered by the feelings of confusion coming from her passenger.

Al was quite confused, and in dire need of a cuppa and a biscuit. The joy of learning he had the Sight was counteracted by the thought that he was a danger to himself and others - and the sadness of having it taken away - even temporarily - by the needs of the moment.

"What's it like - seeing things and having the power - all the time? I'm not sure I can handle it."

"I can't tell you what it's like NOT to, Al - I was very young when I Emerged - and it was a rough time. I felt like I'd been half-blind and deaf, and all of a sudden a world opened up to me. I had no more control than you did, and no maturity to handle it.

You are going to have a lot of advantages - maturity level" Al snorted "understanding of the concepts, ability to learn and familiarity with the potential issues.

You'll also have one of the best teachers ever born - Uncle Fergus. He's amazing, Al. You've only seen him at work, really, other than that dinner when you got back from your holiday. He's an amazing teacher - gentle, kind, perceptive and able to find the unique way to reach a student."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did this happen? What caused it? Was it being around paranormals, or too much exposure to mages, or PTSD from the past couple of years or what?"

"Good question. The answer is no one knows. Every case I've ever heard of was more-or-less unique, and revolved around someone with the Gifts who was in an environment where they could not flourish.

Because of it, the Gifts never Emerged, and they lived their lives not knowing what they had in them.

Some very, very few have had the Gifts Emerge despite their environment. Most of these turned very bad - madness, suicide, murder...you get the idea. Some few of those who Emerged in that way were lucky enough to be taken in hand by people who understood and could help."

"And...me? Will I go mad as well?" Al asked, looking down at his feet.

Sterling cursed herself - she'd been stupid being as frank as she was. "NO! Damnit, no! Don't even think that."

"Al, what likely happened here was all of the above. You spent your life in an environment where these tendencies couldn't Emerge. As such, you'd never know and you happily went about your life.

Then, you got dumped in the plonker - paranormals, mages, immortals. You lived steeped in this heady brew for two years, exhausted yourself, then had to rebuild your worldview while you were away - and had a paranormal helping you through that time.
Add to that the awareness of self and others that the crystals and the diamond gave you, and your worldview was completely changed.

Then dump me and my lot on top of that as friends and confidants...and you get what you get."

Sterling continued, speaking earnestly and urgently - trying to penetrate the shock she saw building.

"You, luv, are a million-to-one shot - a Gifted individual who fell into the environment that he needed for his Gift to manifest - with the right people in place at the right time when it happened. You hit the lottery, ducks."

Al pondered this silently, then straightened and took a deep breath.

"Fine. It is what it is, at present.

NO ONE, and this includes your little winged playmate, knows this. No one knows, no one finds out, and once this project is over I spend a few weeks in the Bonny Highlands and we sort this mess."

He smiled wanly.

"Magic users - BAH!"

"Watch it, ducks - this is yourself we're talking about here!" Sterling riposted, feebly.

The rest of the ride was in silence until they reached the gates of Alexander House. Al, looking up, realized where he was and protested.

“No, we need to go to Minnetonka. By now, the transporter’s been there and the cars’ve been delivered – I need to be there –“

“No. I repeat, NO. This is what you are training that wonderful young woman to do, remember? You are going to go in the house, I am going to park this sex machine in the garage, then I am going to port to Building 2 and see what your minions have gotten up to.

Despite Uncle Fergus’ locking you down you have swum the Styx today – and you need to rest. You also need to check in with that remarkable dam of yours – she’s been through all of this WITH you, you know.”

Al paled. “No! Oh, no…nonononono…. Damnit.”

Sterling spoke soothingly. “She is fine – after Uncle Fergus locked you down he came here and spent time getting her settled down. I think you’ll find she’s up to speed on the developments – probably more so than you are at this point.

Go in, spend time with her, go for a walk in the woods – try to ground yourself again.”

As she pulled up in the drive in front of New Alexander, she put the Aston in Park and turned to look at him directly.

“Al. AL, look at me.

Al turned, almost reluctantly.

“Much as you may not believe me right now – and I don’t blame you for it in the slightest – this is a day you will celebrate in the future. You are literally one in a million or more – everything came together so that you not only had the Emergernce, but the right people were there to help. Remember that.”

She leaned over the console and gathered him in a hug, then released him. “Now, go spend time with your dam. She needs you as much as you need her. I’ll put this sexy toy away and go help your staff. Be well, luv.”

Al exited the car, slow and hesitant, and closed the door behind himself. Sterling slid the car quietly down the driveway and to the garage.

Walking slowly, Al covered the distance between the drive and the front doors in a moment or two. As he arrived the door opened, with Daisy waiting for him.

“Where’s Edward?”

“He and Rosalita have been given a night off. You and I are quite alone – the kids have been told to either stay elsewhere or in the centaur quarters. You look like Hell, Al.”

“Yes, it does seem this happens to me on a regular basis. Daisy, I am SO sorry this happened to you – everything that came through the bond. Please know I meant none of this to happen – and hate myself for it happening to you-“

She pressed a finger gently to his lips, then gathered him to her bosom.

It is said that a Busty Mom hug can soothe the most tormented soul. Al had no idea of this were true, but he did know that it was the balm his ragged soul needed at that instant. The hug went on for a minute, then two…and Daisy released him to stand, but didn’t let go of him.

She said, gently, “Come on. Let’s go to the kitchen – I think a cuppa and a raid on the biscuit tin is in order.” ,sounding not unlike the man she loved. With that Al followed his dam, the two holding hands until they sat in the kitchen.

Coffee made, tin raided, they sat together quietly at the counter, sipping at their cups and nibbling the cookies Rosalita kept stocked for him.

Finally, he began to speak.

“Fergus briefed you?”

“Yes. He said that despite all the odds in the Universe you’ve…what he called…Emerged. You’ve demonstrated mage Sight, and they have no idea what else. What the Hell caused this to happen?”

“They have no idea. Their conjecture is that it was a perfect storm – latent repressed ability, severe disruption in my lifestyle, running myself ragged for two years, then rebuilding my life…with a dryad as a sensei. Add to that exposure to their work in-process – and here you are.

I’m a freak – Sterling calls it a million-to-one shot – one that right about now I wish had missed.”

She held his hand, silently, with his words in the air between them. Finally, she spoke.

“Al, this is a miracle – either by my Presbyterian standards or yours of the Lord and Lady. You don’t question a miracle, or regret its happening…or throw it away. You grab on, and hang on...and ride the tiger for all it’s worth – hanging onto its ears.

Yet again, you silly man, you’ve been given a gift from your Gods or my God – take your pick. That’s worth what you’re going to go through – what we’ll go through – because it is you coming fully into your own, as it was explained to me.

What is it you say? ‘Never argue when your fairy godmother waves her magic wand – it beats riding home on a pumpkin.’” She laughed, a small delighted sound in the stillness of the large house. “Well guess what, sweetheart – the old broad with the wings waved a baseball bat – and she got you a good one!”

They both laughed, the tension of the day breaking at the image of Ialin swinging a bat-sized magic wand in his direction yelling "Batter UP!"

“Now, let’s just go lie down for a while and relax, then I’ll fix us some dinner.”

“Oh, NO you won’t…. I’ll take care of it. Mage or no mage, I’m still a better cook than you are.”

“HUMPH! Very WELL then. However, nap first – we both need it.”

With that, they headed off to their room to rest, holding each other against the uncertainty of the future.

*~*~*~*~*

Later, after a dinner passed in companionable silence, Al said, “I need to go for a walk.” Understanding his need, Daisy finished stacking the dishes in the washer and said “We’ll have dessert when you get back. Take a flashlight in case you’re gone a while – I’d hate for you to break your neck out there on a tree root.”

“The tree roots here are so well-behaved no such thing is possible – Ialin and Eme would speak to them VERY sharply about it. I will, though – I’ve got my tactical light – that will hold me in good stead.“

She kissed him, and said “Say hello to Ialin for me – and make sure you walk past the memory garden – they’ve made some changes.”

“How did you know?”

“I’m your wife and I’m not an idiot – I also know what lives in our woods now – and who you’d talk to about this problem. You need to sort this out in your mind, no matter what any of us says – and talking to your friend Ialin will help do that, as will a good night’s sleep.” She kissed him again, and gave him a brief but fervent hug. “Hurry back…” she said, coyly.

She always knows what to say – and how to say it. ‘I love you’ just doesn’t express it anymore…and never will. ‘I am nothing without you – you complete me…’ close but no prize. So hard to say…but not right now.

Al donned his fedora and let himself out the back door - deliberately leaving everything artificial and electronic behind him. He needed to be out of contact, and Daisy could find him in case of emergency.

A short walk brought him to the memory garden – and a wave of surprise. Last he’d seen it it had been modest, with a few rose bushes (two labeled SCOUT and TROOPER),borders of bonsai herb trees in lavender and rosemary and little else other than the tree stumps that Eme had coaxed into benches and furniture. He’d expected it would be years in becoming what he’d seen on the scroll Eme had shown him.

He was shocked to see it now.

A tall, wide trellis with deep red and white climbing roses intertwining at the top (he knew his flower codes to know this meant passion and fidelity), and borders of beautiful orange and red roses. Stopping for a moment in his travels he looked at the species tags on the red and orange roses and never even chuckled – he broke out braying with laughter.

Laughing unashamedly he walked into the garden and sat on one of Eme’s works of art, chuckling madly and wiping tears from his eyes.

Oh, you MINX – you and I are going to have WORDS about this…you and that troublemaking dryad who no DOUBT had a hand in this given this is 30 years of rose growth and care in a few days.

A voice spoke inches from his ear, startling him out of his amused reverie.

“Gods, Al – I heard you all the way over in the willow grove. You OK?” Ialin stood there, an impish grin on her face. As always, she was tall, willowy, in her green-patterned dress – and a welcome sight for a worried old man.

“You IMP. I take it I can thank you for the choice of roses in these borders? This is way too colloquial for our half-elf friend and her dark-blue sibling – though I have NO doubt that either of them would have found this hysterically funny.”

“Oh, be assured Eme found this hysterical once I pointed out the significance of the names – and how the CA crowd would react when we had a ‘tea social’ to dedicate the garden.”

“Oh, no doubt. That elf has a NASTY broad sense of humour – and I have NO doubt she was just as big an instigator of this prank.”

"I've no idea whatsoever of what you speak."

"I'm amazed I don't hear thunder."

They both laughed for a few beats, relishing the simplicity of the act.

Al sobered. To it, I guess – no beating around the rosebush, as it were.

“Got a few minutes to talk to an old man, old thing?”

“Certainly. Give me a second.” With a flicker, she was again his companion of his travels – a pixie in patchwork leathers, businesslike ‘arse-kicking’ knee boots on her feet. She settled on the arm of his chair, perched legs over the side, feet crossed coquettishly and wings waving slowly in the evening air.

“Let’s cut to the chase. I know what happened to you today – it knocked me into the air when it happened. The Gods have a lot to answer for with their timing.”

She looked up at him, concern on her face. “You going to be able to hold it together, old man?”

Al looked down, and with not the slightest shred of flippancy answered “I don’t know. This is why I’m out here and not in there having dessert with my dam. I’m scared witless – and even more scared for everyone around me.”

Ialin pondered, then answered. “No doubt. You can and will handle this – I know you. There’ll be a day not long from now when you look back on this as the best thing that ever happened to you – save Daisy, of course – and you will celebrate this day. However, I can see your point.

To be honest I strongly disapprove of what Fergus did to you – locking you down. That wasn’t the way to handle this in my opinion – you should have gone off for two weeks or three, gotten a handle on what was going on and then come back.”

Al chuckled. “To quote Hal from 2001, ‘I’m sorry, Ialin – I can’t do that.’ I am needed. It’s not just the project – worse to worst I could push that and Cinnamon would understand and applaud my common sense, but…it’s important to me, too.

This is another major step for Arania – and I can’t muck with that – she deserves me and my attentions with no delays and distractions. She’s got help – Sterling is coming in – but Sterling’s time is quite limited and if this is going to work it has to be done NOW.”

Ialin nodded.” As I said, I don’t approve. However, you are a big boy – and I don’t see this causing any harm in the long run though there will be issues. Just stop by and see me every few days – I want to keep an eye on this lockdown. Sterling will, as well, but I suspect I’ll spot issues with it before she will. If something starts to slip it’s back to Fergus for another dose – or you begin your training and hang the project.”

She flew up, hovering before his face to look him in the eye. ”I want a promise from you – you won’t try to hard-arse this through if it starts to go bad. If the locks fail you go for your training like a good boy – and pick up again a few weeks later.

Al, This stuff is DANGEROUS. Have you ever noticed that white streak in Flashburn’s hair? Sterling put it there – when she damn near killed him when they were both kids and one of her Gifts Emerged. This stuff is nothing to play with – and everything to fear if it gets loose – you have to promise me this.”

“Do I look that stupid, pixie?” Al was indignant. “If this goes bad I stand the risk of killing all those I love and risking much more. I am NOT that stupid.”

“Good. I will back you up all the way on this, then. I’m still amazed this has happened – and that it’s happened to the one man I think can handle it – you.”

She flew up, and planted a light peck on his cheek. “Now go have…dessert…with your dam.” She snickered.

“Filthy, wretched pixie…evil mind. Get out of the gutter and back into the sewer – you’re blocking the light.”

“Go on with you then – and come see me. I’ll be here for you.”

With that, Al rose, and walked back toward the house. Behind him, Ialin resumed her dryad form and thought, I hope this goes well. So many, many things can go wrong… as she faded into the night.
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 6 – Cares, Debts Paid And Owed


Upon reaching Building 2 the next morning Al walked into chaos.

Smoothly functioning and well-coordinated chaos, but chaos nonetheless.

In the assembly bay Sterling and Wing were in the process of disassembling the D-90 and carefully cataloguing the parts. The interior, roof, front wings and floors were already out and the engine being readied for removal by Wing, while Sterling worked on the seatbox and ancillary cab items.

In the next bay was the D1 – well in the process of disassembly as well. Salvageable assemblies were being set aside for stock or resale (they did see the occasional customer D1) and the assemblies required for the Defender build were being pulled and gently set aside for evaluation and refurbishment.

Smokey had taken this as his personal task, and his sure touch was again proving its worth in the steadily increasing pile of salvaged, undamaged components.

Sterling, standing up from fighting recalcitrant seatbox bolts, spotted him first.

“Oi! Warhorse! Come on over ‘X’ – got a few questions for you!”

“Not a problem, young lady – just let an old man get his coveralls on and we can talk.” With that, he headed for the office. Sterling was close behind him, chattering like a magpie with questions till she was out of earshot of Wing and Smokey in the bays.

“Wait up, mate – got to talk to you. How are you – and I want a serious answer – no games.”

Al quashed a minor amount of irritation. She fully had the right to ask that question, especially after yesterday, however this was a wee bit too public a spot to go into it.

“Come on upstairs – we can talk there. Not here.” He inclined his head toward Wing, industriously draining and disconnecting the cooling system from the elderly Diesel. The rattle of an air wrench from the next bay emphasized the lack of privacy, and Sterling’s eyes widened as she realized the faux pas she’d nearly committed.

They ascended the stairs, Wing noting she’d been abandoned by her compatriot but continuing on with her tasks.

“So, how are you doing? Yesterday was quite a roller-coaster – you all right?”

“I am as all right as a hang-fire grenade or any other unexploded bomb can be – terrified to find what is going to set off my trigger, and hoping the explosion doesn’t take anyone else out but me.”

Sterling looked disgusted, and was not of a mood to coddle the old man. “Look, you idiot. First off, right now you can’t generate enough power to move a feather, never mind do any damage to anyone. Uncle Fergus made damned sure that was the case for exactly that reason.

You are NOT going to hurt anyone – and if you get to the point where you can, I will be here to make damn sure you don’t.”

“So now you’re here as my keeper? Just a little Mary Sunshine, aren’t you?”

LOOK, you dimwitted tosser, if you were dangerous we’d have packed your arse off to Scotland whether you wanted it or not. YOU ARE NOT. YOU ARE EXACTLY AS YOU WERE. Other than the potential, you are the same irritating, suspicious, warm-hearted old grump you were before.

Al, I’m sorry to yell, but get it out of your head that you’re a danger. You’re not – and if it starts to be so, you’ll know. Now shut your damned pie hole, get your coveralls on, and get your butt downstairs. X is needed.”

Al sighed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, damnit, I’m sure. Now if you want to meet the Staff Sergeant, she and the Sergeant-Major can go toe to toe and we can have a good screamfest. Until then, get to work, your angel needs you.”

With that Sterling turned on her heel and left Al to change into his work rig. Back down the stairs she went to the assembly bay, where Ari waited, tools down, for her to return.

“What in Hades was that all about? I could hear you two down here.”

“Sorry, luv, can’t tell you. Between me and him.”

“Minotaur shit. It may be between you two, but so am I – I’m stuck right in the damned middle of this. Tell.”

Sterling looked around – Smokey was far enough away, and John was in a bay on the other side of the building. She’d have to make it fast – once Al had his coveralls and coffee he’d be down.

“Al had an...event…yesterday.”

“Oh, crap – I thought we were done with the meltdowns now that he got some rest.”

“This was…not a meltdown. If anything, it was a level up.”

“Look, just talk. Stop playing games.”

“Al exhibited Gifts. Right now he’s got them locked down till after this project is over, but he’s showing signs of being a mage – an impossibility at his age without a perfect storm of things – which happened.”

Ari looked stunned. “Oh, crap.”

“Yes, oh crap indeed. You DO NOT KNOW THIS. Don’t screw me up – I was forced to promise not to tell you this.

Right now he’s just plain old Al – that will change in a few months, but right now he needs you to just be you. Please don’t give me away.”

“No problem – I need to know more, but not right now. Here he comes.”

Attired in his coverall and cap, Al looked every inch himself. Sterling breathed a sigh of relief – perhaps being in his routine would get him to settle down again.

“All right – X is here. What do you need to know?”

With that, the two mechanics began to ask their questions, and the project swung into high gear.

*~*~*~*~*

Three days later, the project was in full swing.

The D1 drivetrain had been dispatched to an engine and transmission shop as appropriate, and the propshafts were on the shelf along with the axles and all of the axle components. The body shell and chassis had been placed on a rolling frame and it had been stored at the back of the bay, available if components were needed but slated for disposal at the end of the project.

The D-90 was no more at present – it had been reduced to a pile of parts and a marginal chassis – which had been set aside in the bay with the D1. The drivetrain had been set in the cores pile much to Smokey’s infinite disgust.

“Boss, yer a damn packrat.”

“Yes, I am. And when I can find a 2.5TD in a scrapyard here with its mating LT77 I will happily scrap these. Till then, put them in the core storage area so we can use them for spares or rebuild.”

“Aw damn…”

Like the seeds of a dandelion its components had been scattered to the winds. The body, disassembled roof panels, stripped door assemblies and interior components had gone to the AHI prototype shop for sandblasting in downtime. Any repairs needed to bring the panels to high standard would also be done there by the patient, careful craftsmen – Al was more than happy to pay for their time and expertise.

The suspension components had been piled near the sandblaster, and the slow, painstaking work of cleaning them all for reuse had begun. The air compressors were working nearly constantly as Sterling sandblasted the years of grime and corrosion from radius and panhard rods, A-frames and the hundred small components in the suspension.

With this work she had been doing her own. A dozen or two times during the day she would stop, her attention attracted to a fine detail invisible to normal man or woman, but attractive to her artist’s eye. Then the sketchbook would come out, and an accurate rendering from her soul’s eye would be rendered, or photographs taken – then the work would resume. Now and again X would be invoked, and jovially protesting Al would descend on the project from wherever he was working.

One of these times Wing and Sterling had the D-90s axles on rolling stands – and were not perhaps perplexed – but curious.

“Warhorse X, please honor us with your presence!” Sterling had announced into the air, putting a bit of power behind it so Al would hear it no matter where he was. Soon after, Al emerged from the machine shop where John was doing a tricky rebuild, and he approached the grease-bedecked pair.

“OK, so yer minion and I here are having an argument. She has one way to handle the axles, I have another – and we want you to call it.”

“No. I am a technical expert. I am not going to tell you how to do something – that is Wing’s decision to make, and yours to carry out. However, I will give you my opinion as to the cost benefit analysis of the approach – and let you draw your inferences from that. Please do proceed.”

Wing started. “The way I see it these are a complete rebuild, with bearings and other components replaced as required.”

“We’re going to strip the axles to a bare casing, and sandblast, then send out for paint. Ditto the front swivel housings and the brake back plates, but those will be sprayed and baked here – we have the capability and we can turn them faster that way.

The diffs get cleaned up, resprayed, seals replaced and get restored to a like-new condition. Propshafts the same – they’re checked, universals replaced, spline wear checked and replace if necessary - and cleaned and painted as well.”

Sterling spoke next. “I agree – however I think the wear items all need to go. Bearings, the swivels, anything that moves goes away and gets replaced. We have the gauges to set up a diff, and replacing ALL the bearings means we waste less time trying to reuse wear items. This way you have essentially a NEW axle – and you’ll never touch it again.”

Al turned to Wing. “Have you done an analysis of the cost of labour hours to check and verify bearings versus the cost of replacement?”

Wing thought, then answered, “No, I haven’t. Should I?”

“’Tis worth a look. Oftentimes the cost of disposables is not worth the cost of checking – it’s easier just to shoot them all and be done with it using quality components. Here, however, experience tells me you have a mixed situation. The differentials need to be checked and resealed, but not necessarily rebuilt – they’re good for 500,000 miles if kept well-lubricated. The wheel bearings, brake components and the like – chuck ‘em all in the skip and be done with it.

Don’t even think about disassembling the Salisbury rear differential – we have the tools to do it but those are literally bulletproof. Again, we’ll inspect it, but I doubt it will need anything other than a cover gasket.
That reminds me – changing hats for a moment – C wants the D1 brake components with vented discs front and back fitted. They should just bolt up, and as we’re replacing them all anyway they’ll be just as easy to fit.. if they’re not bolt-up, then the conversion should be simple enough with addition of the mounts – I’ve done it to D110 axles like Clara’s.”

Sterling was curious. “Why?”

“Vented discs will warp and fade less in heavy use than the disk and drum combination – and with that great lump of a V8 under the bonnet and the lead foot of C’s daughter…they will be needed. “ Al grinned. “In any case, the D1 assemblies are FAR cheaper here in the States than the equivalent D-90 assembles – so not only better braking, but the customer saves a few pence.”

“If you want X to look at the diffs – that’s a good idea. Other than that, ladies, I will leave you to it. I will warn you, though – the insides of those casings will never have been deburred – be VERY careful with them or you will slice yourselves to ribbons.”

With that warning in the air, he walked off, back to the other hundred items needing his attention.

Sterling turned to Wing. “So, who won?”
“I think we both did…let’s get to it.”

*~*~*~*~*

Sterling’s phone did its party piece – the screen showed a picture of Flashburn. She wiped her hands (her manicure was totally gone by now) and pressed the accept key, holding the phone to her ear with her fingertips.

“Hey, cuz – what can I do for you?”

“I need a favor.”


“:You name it – it’s yours. What is it?

“A while back you mentioned someone who could fix the T-tops on my ‘Bird. I assume that someone was RE?”

“Absolutely. You WILL get whined at about the damned American car, the 70s being the nadir of American styling and so forth, but if there is anyone who can stop them from leaking it’s Warhorse and his mechanics here. “

“Good – I can’t deal with this thing anymore – every time I drive it in the rain I get out soaked – and it’s ruining the interior.”

“Damn. That’s not good. Let me go talk to him.”

“Thanks. Call me if I can bring it in.”

“I don’t think if is going to be the question here more than when – he’s going to want to get in whatever he needs to make this a one-stop hit for you. He’s aware how you’ll need to move around, and will want it to be as simple as possible.”

“No worries. Call me. I’m looking forward to seeing that winged goddess Al has working-OW! THAT’S COLD!”

“Then behave, you little flirtball. Call you in a minute.” She terminated the conversation, and with a word to Ari on the side ascended the stairs to the office.

Al, as he had been of late, was behind his desk cursing fluently at his computer. True to his word, he’d assumed the reporting for the back shop, and while it was well within his capabilities, it was most certainly not what he preferred to be doing.

“... In conclusion, the samples tested consistently dated metallurgically to the late Lanthian Lowland period, approximately 15 centuries before the Kikai detonation caused by the assembly of the World Grid. As such, the distribution of trace elements in them showed the samples to be from commercial Lanthian aviation hardware, and not further samples matching the…COMPUTER, Stop Recording.”

“WORKING. RECORDING STOPPED.” Majel Barret Roddenberry’s voice sounded from the speakers.

“Sterling, my dear. Cup of tea?” Al turned to the ornate pot and kettle behind his desk, and Sterling stopped him.

“No, Al – actually I need to get RE to do something for me.” She felt a bit uncertain – she hated asking for a favor considering how she’d invaded the man’s business and interfered in relations with his employee.

“Name it. What do you need?”

“Actually, it’s not what I need – it’s Flashburn needs your expertise.”

“Flashburn – your cousin?”

“Yes, he’s got a mechanical problem he’s had several mechanics try to solve, and had no success. He asked quite a while back if I knew someone who could deal with it for him – and I thought of you, then distractions and things delayed it, and I forgot. It’s just finally reached a head now, and the problem is damaging other bits of the car.”

“Have him bring it round – I assume it’s mobile?”

“Welll…maybe I’d better detail the car – and the problem.

Flashy has NO taste in cars – NONE. He owns three – and two of them aren’t at all bad - a 64 T-Bird and a 67 Mustang – but the third is not exactly up your alley – and that’s the one with the problem.

It’s a 1978 Ford Thunderbird, with a 6.6 liter Cleveland engine, Tremec T-5 transmission and a 9-inch positaraction rear end. Thing goes like an evil wind, and corners and brakes as well – the suspension’s very modified.”

“So, what’s wrong with that error in taste?” Al was amused – he was going to enjoy this.

“It leaks – badly. The T-tops on this model have always been a problem, and he’s had the seals replaced three or four times and it always starts leaking again. It’s starting to ruin the interior, and Flash really does love this car.

I hate to ask, but do you think you can help?”

Al stared at her owlishly behind his glasses, and his colour started to ascend the scale. He spoke, thoroughly annoyed.

“Really? You’re afraid to ask me this? You ‘hate to ask’ me for something like this?” At ‘hate to ask’ he made quotes in the air.

“Damnit, you silly woman – I owe you and your family so much that Fergus could drag his JCB in here reeking with manure from his garden and I’d welcome it!”

He grinned, welcoming the chance to do something for them

“Let me call a friend of mine and get a set of NOS seals in. We’ll modify those – and I guarantee we’ll have seen the last of the leaks.”

“Have him bring it in when the seals come in, and we’ll fix him right up.”

“Sterling.” His voice changed, subtly.

“Thanks for letting me give back.”

Later, the atmosphere in the office was again shattered by Al, who was in the condition he usually was when dealing with vendors - irate.
“SIX HUNDRED AND TWENTY DOLLARS – PLUS SHIPPING? NO, you GONIFF, you can keep them at HALF that – and put them where Henry Ford’s ghost wouldn’t be able to find them!
Yeah – same to you and the Pinto you rode in on!”

He slammed the phone down, and after a minute or two to calm down, walked down the stairs to the shop. The axle casings, back from sandblasting and painting, were arrayed on cradles at waist height to make for comfortable reassembly. His “dream team” – Wing and Sterling, in white coveralls, had started reassembly and modification – and the results were a sight to see.

Al walked over to Wing, and asked, “Can I borrow your minion for a moment?”

“Oh, very well, if you must.“ Wing grinned and Sterling stifled a chuckle.

“ ’Sup, Warhorse? Heard the bellowing – problem getting the seals?”

“Yes, they’ve gone unobtainium – and I’m not willing to throw that kind of money at the problem. Can you get Flash to bring it by so I can get a look at what’s there?”

“Sure – have him here in 15 minutes. Let me make a call.”

True to her word, the Ford rolled through the vehicle door 15 minutes later. Like all cars of its era, it was huge, and the red (Lipstick Red, Al noted with a smirk) and white paintwork made it look just that much bigger.

The thrum of the Cleveland engine under the hood, barely suppressed by the glasspack mufflers in the dual exhaust system, gave the strong impression of power held barely in check.

Despite his dislike for the cars of that era, Al was impressed – the bright red and white car, with its white leather interior, spoke of power, control and a caring owner – and Al appreciated that.

There’s an arse for every seat – and it’s obvious Flashburn loves this thing. So, to work. Al chucked to himself mentally.

Flash shut the big Cleveland down, and exited the vehicle. Al shook his hand, and said “Quite the mount you have here. I’ve landed small planes on fields smaller than that bonnet!”

“Thanks, Al. She’s a wonder – found her a few years ago – some neglected rich kid’s toy. I had her fixed up again and she’s quite the ride, but the damned T-tops are not and never have been right. Did you manage to get the seals?”

“Yes and no. I can get them, but the pimp who has them wants more for them than for the virtue of his sister. Let’s take a look at what you have, then we’ll decide what we need to do.”

They opened the T-tops, and Al reached for a packet he’d brought down from his office. Opening it, he pulled out a block of strips of paper cut from copy paper. These were laid all along the seal – a half-inch apart, ends inside the car, opposite ends outside.

Closing the T-tops, Al began to pull out the strips one by one – and a pattern emerged. Near the outer latch the strips were extremely difficult to remove – some breaking when pulled. The ones toward the centre bar, however, were much looser, and the strips came out with little effort.

“Ah. Exactly as I thought.” Al mentally rubbed his hands together – he loved a problem that was a simple, direct fix.

“What you have here is a set of flabby seals – they’ve compressed, and just don’t have sufficient tension to keep the water out. Let me guess – this was fine for a year after the seals were replaced – then she started to leak again?”

“How did you know? Are you a mage or something?” Flashburn snickered, and received a small shock.

Sterling glowered and thought-spoke.

"Idiot! If you undo that in a day, so help me--"

Carefully controlling his temper at the impudence of that statement, Al responded. “No, just a mechanical type who’s seen it before. The internal pulldowns aren’t adjustable and once the seal compresses you’re done.

Well, we’re going to beef it up again – and this time it will stay the way it needs to.”

“How can we do that?”

“Simple – these seals are a hollow section that is designed to collapse and seal. We are going to fill that section with another tube – and beef up the contact pressure.”

Al wandered off to the stock room, and returned with a reel of surgical tubing, a scalpel, and a reel of wire. Slitting a tiny opening in one end of the seal, he fished the wire around the seal to the other end, making tiny slits as needed to guide it.

Attaching the end of the surgical tubing to the wire and liberally greasing it with rubber lube, he slowly pulled the surgical tubing into the cavity in the seal till it reached the far end. A bit of weatherstripping glue closed up the slits made in the process, and the job was done.

The T-top was repositioned in the opening, the paper added, and the top closed – somewhat laboriously.

“It’ll be a right bugger till the seal re-forms – but at least it won’t leak. I doubt you have these out often, do you?”

“Not really – if I want sunshine I usually take Jezebel – that’s my ‘Stang. This car’s a highway cruiser – air conditioning and tunes on and 80 down the highway all day.”

“Good – then once we clamp these you’ll be set. Just be aware they’ll be annoying.

The test was duplicated – and the results were quite different. Only a few strips could be withdrawn at all – most snapped and tore rather than coming out.

“That’s better. Now, let’s do the other side and Bob’s yer uncle.”

The other side was quickly modified as well, and the same results seen.

“In a few years if we have to we’ll change the seals out and modify the new ones – but this should do for a good long time. There you go!”

“Perfect. Sterling was right – you are a wizard with these things.”

Al looked at him a bit skeptically, trying to decide if he was being had on or not. Deciding innocent till proven guilty was it, he locked the second T-top down, and told Flash “You’re all set – she’s yours. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go back to dictating reports, though I’d much rather be out here.”

Flash looked a bit nonplussed. “Al, what about the bill?”

“What bill? Did I ask you to pay a bill?”

“Well, no, but…”

“No buts. The materials cost on this was about a fiver for the tubing, and any excuse to get away from my computer and dictating reports I would pay YOU for. So, let’s call it even.”

Lowering his voice, he continued. “I owe you all more than I can ever repay. If an hour of my time and some gum tubing helps you – who am I to count the pennies?”

With that, he shook hands and headed back for his office.

Flash turned to his cousin. “Sterling, this just isn’t right. I sucked up his time and shop space, and he wouldn’t let me pay him for it. He owes us NOTHING – we gave to him and his freely.”

Sterling frowned at Al’s retreating back as he climbed the shop stairs. “Flash, I know – but he’s a very proud man – and he feels he owes all of us. We’ll work it out – till then just appreciate it for what it is and send good wishes in his direction.”

With a hug, the cousins parted – Flash back to his studio in his now-dry Thunderbird, and Sterling back to her axle.
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 7 – Comings, Goings and Crises


“Truck incoming from the prototype shop – we’ll need extra hands for this, and X will need to inspect this stuff for us.” Wing snapped her phone closed and pointed to the loading dock door. “You seen the boys?”

“Haven’t seen Warhorse all day – think he’s been in the back shop.” Sterling, bedraggled from spending most of the day wearing a respirator and painting chassis assemblies, said. “Tell you what – I’ll hunt him down by phone if you want to run down the redneck and the Canuck.”

“Deal.”

Sterling walked over to the workbench where her toolbox lived, opened it and extracted her phone. She said “Ailean”, and the phone dialed.

“Who DARES To Disturb The Great And Powerful Al!” rang from her phone.

“Yep – said it before there Warhorse and I’ll say it again – smoke and mirrors. Smoke and mirrors, that’s what it is. “

“Hello, meduck, what can I do for you?”
Al asked.

“We have a truck incoming from the prototype shop – I have been asked to roust out X so that he might inspect the components.”

“Be right out – got an analysis going back here that the computers won’t finish for 4 or 5 hours at least.”

“Sitting, drinking coffee and eating biscuits again? Yanno, those damn things will put the pounds on you…even more.”

“Hardly. Can’t eat or drink back here – too dangerous. Been playing ‘Portal’.”

“Well, get your portal gun and zap yerself out here. Truck will be here in a couple of minutes.”

By the time Al removed his protective gear and exited the back shop, the truck had arrived. Large, bulky parts swaddled in foam and cardboard were stacked and strapped in the back of the truck, which had been backed to the dock.

Gently each part was unloaded by hand – the larger ones taking two people simply for the size – none weighed an excessive amount. With them came smaller packages – long, thin items wrapped in foam, each taped shut.

Dispatching the driver with several rolls of digestives for the proto shop break room, the unwrapping began. No knives were used – each item was carefully untaped, carried to the assembly bay, and set on trestles marked for each component.

As each item came from its package, Al (as Inspector X, now) went over each component meticulously with his eyes and his hands. The slightest flaw was noted, and circled in whiteboard marker for further inspection. These were very few – the prototype shop as always had done a stunning job.

When the last item was brought in and placed on the trestles, all stood back and looked…and looked.

The body was back – and what a job had been done on it.

At first appearance every panel was new. There were no corrosion spots, each panel was flat, square, and pristine in its matt-aluminium finish. The body trim – once presented in rusty black – had been galvanized, and the silvery sheen was flawless on each piece. These would be etched and painted body colour, but would never rust again.

The bonnet and wings, grubby as they were, had been disassembled and the steel parts sandblasted and powder coated for a rust-free tidy appearance.

Even the three doors – back and two sides – had been cleaned of their paint, any rust repaired (there is always some) and the steel sprayed in primer for eventual coating in the body colour.

The seatbox was pristine, as were all of the small bits and bobs that connect all the sections together. Everything had been finished with the long view in mind – this truck would never again need to be stripped as it had been.

The biggest steel part – the bulklhead – came in for special scrutiny, as it had been repaired fairly extensively – both for rot and for initially-unseen fire damage.

Al (pardon, Inspector X) said, “I need the chassis out where I can get at it.”

Willing hands dragged it from behind the D1 shell, and positioned it on the floor on jacks. Smokey and John then lifted the bulkhead, and Ari and Sterling slipped in the main mount bolts as they held it to the chassis. They stood back, and the Inspector moved in again, with rulers, straightedges and squares. A good thirty minutes went by as Al poked and measured, checking dimensions engraved in his memory.

He stood, took out his phone, and said “McAdams”. The four mechanics looked at each other – what was wrong? It looked great. Wasn’t it square?

“McAdams here – how goes it, Al?”


“OK – first warning – you’re on speaker – so keep it clean - Ari’s here. Doing just fine mate – just took delivery of the LR Project’s body. Got to ask you a question – how did you support that bulkhead when your weldors were working on it?”

There was a chuckle on the other end of the phone. “Thought you’d catch that. No warping at all, right?”

“Right you are. So tell.”

“Simple – and you never should have sent the spec sheets over with it if you didn’t want this.”

“Stop mucking me about, mate, and get on with it. How did you do it?”

“As I said, simple. The weldors took a steel-topped bench and built an outrigger set on it from steel tubing – laser-aligned to match the exact dimensions of the chassis mounts and the relationship to the windshield mounts at the top. They bolted the sandblasted bulkhead to it, and then and only then did they do ANY cutting, grinding or anything else.


Bottom line, that bulkhead was held in perfect 3-D alignment the entire time it was being repaired – and went to the galvanizer the same way. When it got back we cut the jig off it and cleaned up the mounting points so you’d never know.”

“You do realize this is going to cause me no end of problems, right?”

“No – what did we do wrong?” There was a genuine note of concern in McAdams’ voice – he didn’t like the thought that something might have been wrong with their work.

“There is NO Land-Rover chassis in the WORLD that is straight and square enough to match up with this damn thing!”

McAdams laughed uproariously. “Then Al old buddy, you are on your own – you know where the shims are!”

“Seriously, Mac – your team did an outstanding job. Please give them all my regards – and make sure the damn truck driver doesn’t hog all the biscuits again.“

“Thanks – and I’ll pass that along. See you, Al.”


Al snapped his phone off, and turned to the expectant faces. “The Inspector passes it. Pack it up as it’s off to the paint shop. Wing, you have the number for the place. Please tell them to send a truck over and get it.”

“Why isn’t the paint shop here on campus doing it?”

“Much as I love the lads and lasses there, this one is going to be special – VERY special. I am spending some serious cash on this paint job – it’s being done by an old friend of mine from L.A. who specializes in eye-popping paint work.

When I started this project I realized that there was no one I’d let do this for me – even if I could get Chip Foose I’d still pick Eduardo. The man is a master with detailing, and his team is like you lot – all top-level in their own rights.”

“Aw, boss, ya done gone and embarrassed the Canuck agin!” The crew – including the aforementioned Canadian – laughed, then Al continued.

“He’s also worked in the prop departments of a couple of the studios doing automotive items – which makes him perfect for this job.”

Sterling, never one to be retiring, practically shouted “So, you gonna tell us what it’s gonna look like, or just keep us in suspense?”

Al chuckled, and walked over to the wall-mounted PC. With a few swipes and taps he brought up the paint diagrams for the D-90, and expanded them to full size on the screen for all to see.

A few seconds, went by, then a few more, then a few more slipped by as everyone integrated the content of the diagrams. Then the chuckling started, first low, then louder and louder until people were laughing madly.

“Warhorse, you EVIL, EVIL old man! That is absolutely DESPICABLY BRILLIANT!” Sterling started to clap, and the rest of the staff joined in.

“I am NOT old!” Al volleyed back, also chucking. Every time he looked at the designs he’d drawn he thought to himself that Cinnamon was truly going to get the present she deserved – and she’d end up loving it.

*~*~*~*~*

Sterling dialed her phone – an air of exasperation on her face. This was impossible – and she needed help to evaluate it. Wryly, she thought to herself I need to reset my definition of impossible after being around this lot…

“Sterling, lass. Something not good is happening I take it?”

“It’s Al. He’s…leaking, to put not too fine a point on it.”

Fergus chuckled at the image, then sighed loudly – the Gaelic sigh that the uninitiated can take for an asthma attack. “I wish I could day yer talking pish, but I half expected this. Take a fully engaged and functioning bright mind, add power, don’t train it and even with a lockdown he’s going to seep around the edges.”

“What can we do about it? I don’t want to call the game on account of it – it’s not harmful, just annoying to those who can hear it – but at the rate it’s increasing Arania’s going to begin to notice it as will even the mundanes, after a while.”

Fergus sighed again, wondering what he’d done for his life to get this interesting. “I dinna ken what we CAN do. I’ll have to see. Let’s do this – I’m ‘coming to have lunch and see Al’s madhouse in action’ – and I can do a quick evaluation at the same time and decide what’s to be done.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you slip in and out of accent?”

“Aye, lass, yer mam – often she does.” Fergus deliberately slipped into ‘thick Scotsman’ mode, enjoying the byplay with his niece.

“Fantastic. Just wonderful. With all the accents around here I’m going to go mad. Love, Uncle – and see you about 1 my time?”

“Love – see you then.”

Sterling terminated the conversation, and thought fiercely. The discordant humming…for want of a better description, was driving her around the bend, especially as it wasn’t a constant she could just shield against but varied constantly depending on Al’s mental effort at any one time. It was worse when he got into the biscuits…that mental sigh of pleasure was just annoying.

"Only one thing to it, then – he needs to be shielded," she thought.

It was either expend the effort on that or start tearing out her hair by the roots – one strand at a time.

"Och. Fine, Uncle Faergus," she muttered under her breath, mimicking his brogue.

Grounding herself, she cleansed all emotion, until the only thing she could feel were the leylines. With each breath, she was drawing as much power as she could hold, slowly increasing it inch, by excruciating inch. She'd need every scrap to hold this, as the working was massive.

Empathy, she thought. Why couldn't it have been an affinity to Nature? No matter, needs must. Knowing Warhorse, he'd figure a way to do it were it me with a new Gift emerging, and him clueless.

Closing her eyes, she opened her other Senses, searching, seeking, feeling. Despite needing to shield Al, her Gift would scry everyone, and then assess who needed help.

Each presence had colourful emotional auras attuned to their persona.
Ari's was Rosy pink and brick red swirls, showing her love of the job, and current annoyance at the task she was on that dragged her from this project.
Smokey and John had what could only be described as a rainbow oilslick humming like a well-run engine, with the Canadian having an amber almost syrup swirl to it.
He was hungry, but politely waiting until they could all go together. She'd have to bring some maple smoked dried fruit and jerky for him tomorrow. He needs to stay healthy.
A violent riot of colours assaulted Sterling as she looked at Al, and she nearly retched.
How her instructors could stand it...oh, right...magical black hole. How she missed Prroul sitting in the room during book lessons grated now, but she assumed it was due to him always silently reading by the fire, just close enough to shut down...if only he weren't currently training someone...

"Focus."

Similar to how they shielded Clara, she drew lines to create a grid, closing the leak in a shimmering, gossamer web of power.

"This is gonna hurt...a lot."

She cycled his shields through her own, linking him into the flow of power. Normally, she only needed a bare whisper to keep it active, but she needed to make sure he was locked down no matter where he moved...at least until Uncle arrived. Satisfied, she took a few cleansing breaths, and centered herself to return to the task at hand.

Sighing herself in a good imitation of Uncle Fergus, she went back to work on the D-90 chassis, now receiving its axles.

The chassis, now proud in its gloss black paint, had been moved to the main shop area for access to the lift equipment, and the assemblies to be fitted were as well. The portable lifts, while capable, were simply too cumbersome for this, so Ari had decided the main lift would serve, and Al as expert had concurred with the usual warnings about industrial safety.

Annoyingly, the frame lift was unavailable – a customer car was in for suspension servicing, so Sterling was having to make do with the rail lift. With its 2-ton capacity it was more than capable of handling the quarter ton of chassis, though more cumbersome to work with.

The morning passed quickly, despite her sluggishness - like wading though mashed potatoes - even though Sterling was working nearly alone. Ari had been diverted from the floor, as she and Al had been pulled into issues in managing the back-shop facility – the bureaucrats had demanded accounting for some of the more obscure items in inventory, and the pair of them were shoveling through the nonsense.

Rear axle fitted and sitting on jacks, she made to fit the front axle, resting on its cart with its radius and panhard rods.

Using the overhead lift, she lifted the frame, ready to receive the refurbished parts.

Shoving the front axle and its cart under the front end, she stooped, and pushed the first of the radius arms through its bushing. With that, the axle cocked, and the second couldn’t be fitted by moving the axle.

Exasperated, distracted and overburdened by the shielding Sterling cursed quietly and slid under the chassis to fit the second. As this happened Ari, descending to the floor and transformation into Wing, saw this and frowned in disapproval. Relying on that old lift arm – and getting under a weight – was strictly against safety policy as Al had written it, and Sterling should have known better being not just a gearhead, but a military trained gearhead if memory served her. She was only half-right. The training wasn't for machines, but Sterling would never mention that. Ever.

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

The chassis shuddered as the rail connections to the overhead beams sheared, each broken fastener throwing more weight on the rest. The lift head, a quarter-ton of electrical equipment, began to slide toward the now-open end of the rail, moving faster and faster.

The frame began to lift, puzzling Sterling for the critical instant when she could have escaped. With a screech, the lift head rolled off the rail, releasing the frame from its lift and plummeting toward the work area – and the prone woman below.

At the first CRACK Ari absorbed the situation – and went into action. Vaulting to the rail, she leaped, wings unfurling in midair.

She dove toward Sterling, who had begun to react, but with her human reflexes made sluggish by dulled Senses, it made her far too slow. Ari flew, nose inches from the floor, gaining every iota of speed she could manage. At the last second, she furled her wings and arrowed under the chassis, striking the prone Sterling and driving her out from underneath a heartbeat before the chassis crashed to the floor, the lift motor crashing down on it and buckling the frame rails with the impact.

The two young women tumbled across the floor, one with the velocity of the impact, the other trying to stop. As they rolled to a stop, Smokey and John, startled by the noise, sprinted to the scene.

Ari pulled herself to her knees and scrabbled over to Sterling, lying on her back on the wood-block floor.

“STERLING! STERLING! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” Ari shouted, oblivious to the presence of the two elderly mechanics.

Sterling groaned, rolled to her side and muttered a pain-filled curse, then rolled to her face and managed to get to all fours. Smokey and John, concerned with her condition, urged her to stay down, but she sat, then with their assistance rose to her feet.

“I’m alive. Thanks to you. I wouldn’t have been – the whole damnable thing caught me off guard, and I’d have not made it out. Almost worth the cracked rib…” she finished, holding her side and trying not to breathe too deeply.

Ari snapped to full attention, barking orders. “Sterling, you’re headed for the medical facility – you need X-rays and a checkout. John, you take her. Smokey, safe the electrical feed to that damn lift head before it starts a fire.”

“And where in Hades is Al?”

Ari found Al in his office – on the floor, and out cold. After a few minutes he groaned, stirred and sat bolt upright. “STERLING!” He rose and tried to head for the door, only to be stopped by Ari.

“She’s all right. It was close, but I knocked her out of the way. How did you know?”

“I…felt. I…felt it happen. It was like a bolt of lightning. I woke up when you were patting my face. What in Hades happened?”

In a few sentences Ari detailed the sequence of events and the failure, carefully not mentioning his issue.

With that, Al walked over to his phone, dialed an internal number and waited for an answer at the other end.

“Portnoy. Portnoy, you cheap bastard, two of my folks just came a millimeter from being ground into paste by an overhead lift parting from its rail – and I am ANNOYED!”

Alarmed gabble sounded from the phone receiver, but Al rode right over it.

“You, you miserable, cheap cheeseparing excuse for a facilities manager, are going to get over here with your structural engineers and are going to recertify EVERY LAST LIFT DEVICE in the place.”

The gabbling increased in volume and stridency.

“Look, I realize this place is old. I can put up with the ancient bathroom fixtures, the old tile and the occasional sticking door or broken light fixture. SAFETY IS NOT OPTIONAL.

Now GET YOUR USELESS MISERABLE ARSE OVER HERE AND MAKE IT HAPPEN *NOW*.” The bellow directed at the phone was enough to stun a buffalo, never mind motivate the facilities manager. The gabbling on the other end fell silent, and a few muttered words issued forth.

“Good. I am on my way over to AHMC to see how Sterling is – that’s right – Sterling Damhnait, the artist. She’s here again working on a project, and you lot damn-near made this her LAST project.

GET HERE, FIX THIS. NOW.

He hung up and headed for the door. Ari stopped him again.

“Al, what happened to you? You were out cold on the floor. Get yourself checked out, too.”

Not answering, Al continued to the door. As he reached it, he said, “I know what happened – you didn’t see it. I’ll…explain soon. Right now, let’s make sure Sterling is taken care of. Take care of Portnoy and his lot when they get here, will you? Thanks.”

With that he headed out.

The path to Sterling was littered with mines – many of them AHMC staff. Al was kept cooling his heels in the waiting room with John the mechanic until Sterling had been X-rayed and treated for a cracked rib – basically trussed up. Once that was done and she’d resumed her coveralls he was allowed into her room, having sent John back to the shop – and the shouting began.

“AND WHAT IN THE NAME OF HADES’ HEMMORRHOIDS DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING, YOUNG LADY?”

Al was annoyed. Al was EXTREMELY annoyed – far more than Sterling had ever seen him. Seeing him in this condition made her glad her shields were working – the fire hose of power he was pouring out at present would have made the leak look like a harmless squirt gun.

“I KNOW I gave you the safety procedures – did you read them before you SIGNED them? Well? DID YOU?”

“Al, I did. I just…”

“You just nearly got your arse turned into bloody library paste on my shop floor – and would have taken my majordomo with you had the timing been off by so much as MILLISECONDS! I can see the headlines now ‘Famed Artist Killed In Shop Accident”. In a few years there’d be tours – ‘This is where Sterling Damhnait was obliterated by an elderly shop crane BECAUSE SHE DIDN’T FOLLOW SAFETY PROCEDURES!’ I’m sure your publisher would love it – artist cut down in her prime, closed casket and all – that would sell well.”

As he wound up for another round Sterling had an insight over and above her Empathy – he was worried SICK over this! It wasn’t worry over legal issues, or health and safety or anything else – he was frantic because he was worried about her.

Oh, Gods. THAT explains it. He’s acting like I’m his daughter….damn. Knew the old guy cared – but never realized it was like this. Now, she knew how to short it out before he blew a fuse – or got around to banning her from RE. She did NOT want to run across the Sergeant-Major – and he was the next stop on this worry train. Oh, well – time to derail the worry train – and a big slice of humility should do it.

“Al, please. I’m all right – barring a cracked rib that’s fine now that I’m wrapped up – And I’m going to stay that way. Let me say my piece – then you can yell some more if you want to.”

“I screwed up. Mea culpa. I blew it.

I was inattentive, and I wasn’t paying attention to the possibilities. I was thinking about other things, and I didn’t pay attention to the job in front of me. I got complacent – and took the most direct instead of the safest route.

You have every right in the world to throw me out of your facility and off the project – but I ask you not to. For my sake and for Ari’s sake – I ask you not to.

She needs me still – and I want to finish this.

Please let me finish.”

Al stared at her soberly, and as the seconds ticked through in glacial pace she thought he was going to insist she leave. Instead, he sat next to her on the examination table, took her hand, and spoke quietly.

“You scared me to death. Please, PLEASE don’t ever do that to me again. I….wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to you, to Ari – to any of you.

Please…just be careful. Yes, you can come back.

I am going to insist that you and I are going to do a few hours’ of safety training, though. With that as a caveat, after you take a few days to heal a bit you can come back. I will be happy to have you back – if you promise to be careful from now on.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a side hug – being careful of the damage he knew she’d taken.

With that, he stood up, and was again all business.

“As I came in I talked to the attending staff. As you say and they concur – you’re ready to go – though they want you on light duty for a few days. As the chassis was destroyed in the incident” Al grimaced – Portnoy was going to hear about this “we’ll have to get another shipped in and painted. This will delay things, but we can survive it.

In the meantime for what can be done I’m going to take over for you as sous-mechanic – and work under Ari’s direction.”

“You need to sign some documents, but basically I can take you back so you can head home.”

Sterling stopped. “What time is it?”

“Nearly 1 – it’s almost time for lunch. If you like we can stop-“

“CRAP. FERGUS!”

“What about Fergus?”

“Uncle Fergus was meeting me for lunch – he wanted to see the project, and see RE in operation. I didn’t see the harm in it.

He is going to KILL me for this – he’s an even bigger worrywart than you are. We need to get back to the shop – NOW.”

“OK – let me get the paperwork moving. Have you got your phone – and did it survive the game of skittles?”

“No, and it wouldn’t have – it’s in my box back at 2. Let’s get moving – I’ll come out with you and we can sign things off.” With that, Sterling eased off the examination table, and the pair walked out to the emergency-room desk.

As expected, Fergus did not take things well.

Sterling, sitting on the couch in the RE office at 2, was faced with a pacing, extremely annoyed mountain of a man. Al had, after noting Fergus’ reaction to Sterling’s escapade, vacated the office for the shop floor where Portnoy’s mechanical engineers were re-tagging all of the lift equipment, and carting away the remains of the chassis and the lift motor.

Fergus stared down at her from his great height, and Sterling started to feel like a little girl again. Only Uncle Fergus and Kay could do this to her – anyone else she’d have bravely faced up to.

He started slowly, his accent thick with anger and concern.

“Dare mar a nì thu an leithid de rud gòrach!
(How dare you do such a foolish thing!)”

“Uncle Fergus, it wasn’t like that, I wasn’t thinking situationally, and I…”

“Dos henotep aslu elggen! (You almost got killed!)”

Sterling sighed. “Yes, you’re right. However, I was distracted…”

“Egwyl calon eich Mam tlawd byddech! (Break your poor Mother's heart you would!)”

She sighed again – this was difficult, and the painkillers were staring to wear off. “Uncle, I know – I made a mistake, plain and simple. But I was dealing with the leakage, and that work befuddled me…”

“Leakage. What about the leakage?” Suddenly Fergus was all business and his accent was gone – the yelling could wait till later.

“He was leaking – badly. It was driving me insane – the man has a love affair with chocolate digestives his wife should be jealous over.

More the point – the noise changed constantly depending on his cognitive level. I couldn’t tune it out – and it was reaching the point where Ari was going to start to notice, and other paranormals. So, I set up shields, and powered them through my own shields. It was hellish difficult – and sapped me. Had I not done it, I’d have Seen the crane before it happened – and gotten out of the way.”

“Na small surprise it should pull ye down – that’s a grand bit of work for someone with tha powers, wee one.” Analysis performed, the accent was back.

“Why did you na wait fer me?”

Sterling flushed slightly – this was going to be hard. ”I couldn’t take the noise any more – it’s my own damn fault.”

Fergus sat on the couch next to her and took her hand, an action uncannily like the one Al had done at AHMC. “Sterling, lass, ye did what ye thought best – there’s nae room for fault or blame in it. Tha should have called me and I’d hae come earlier – we could hae made some pretense for it.”

“More the point - Lass, are you okay? Gods alive ye scared the life outta yer cousin Aurum. He all but knocked me over screaming to go find you when your carving fell. I was out the dooryard and on me way here, and found out tha’d been taken to hospital.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle – I had no intention of causing problems. It’s all my damned fault.” She drooped – this was not one of her better days.

Seeing this, Fergus put his arm over her shoulder, and gave her a squeeze – stopping, chagrined, when she uttered a low grunt of pain. “Och, I’m sorry…forgot ye’d been winged. Let me take ye home – or come home wi’ me. Yer auntie and yer cousin would think it grand if ye did.”

“Yes, I think I will, just for tonight. I could use to rest – and if I go home I’ll not do so.” She got up, and went over to Al’s desk, taking a pen and writing tablet.

With it, she left him a note.

Warhorse,

I’ve gone home with Fergus. If you don’t mind I’ll be gone a day or two, but I will most definitely be back.

When I return, Fergus will be coming with me – his truck is in need of some service, and he asks if he can pay you instead of the “Thieving Sassenachs” at the dealership he normally frequents. I realize a Highland transport may be a comedown for your normal lofty standards (she snickered here, knowing Clara) but he’d appreciate your help.

Call me and let me know, else I’ll just expect we’ll bring it in when I return.

Lastly, again I apologize for causing the grief I did. I will take your words to heart and sin no more – as I am sure you will not let me.

Yours – S.”


She left the pen and tablet on his desk in plain sight, then her shoulders sag. “Let’s go, Uncle Fergus – I need rest.”

With that, Fergus opened a portal, and they stepped through to his garden in the late evening. The portal closed, and the office was still.
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 8 – Restarts, Repairs And New Projects


The next few days passed slowly – with Sterling missing in action in Scotland the shop seemed somehow quieter.

The routine work went on – Smokey and John servicing customer vehicles and working on projects in slack time. The rear shop work went on, with Al dividing his time between there and the front shop – where he and Wing cleaned up the mess made by the lift motor.

Portnoy’s mechanical engineers had removed the faulty rail for analysis – tentative reason for the failure had been under-rated hardware installed long ago that had finally fatigued out and failed. At Al’s insistence all static lifting gear from the original factory had been checked – and two more examples of the poor hardware found, to Portnoy’s chagrin and Al’s utter disgust.

Portnoy and Al had a very one-sided conference, and all of the hardware was replaced that day.

“Look you cheap bastard – I don’t care WHO pays for it – I will if you insist. I am NOT going to risk any more incidents with my staff, or the vehicles in my care. Do I need to take this up the food chain?”

“No, you don’t need to take it up the food chain. Cheap I may be as you say – I call it effective cost control – but this is just unsafe. All this will be done BOD tomorrow – as soon as you and your folks are out tonight we’ll kick in.”

“Good. And if you see anything else dodgy call me – like I said I’ll ante up if I need to – but this can’t happen again.”

With the facility in hand the next day Al and Wing surveyed the remains of the project’s chassis. Kinked in the middle from the lift motor landing across the backbody crossmember, it still sat on the jacks that supported its rear end.

“RN was out of galvanized 90 chassis, so I called Atlantic British – we’ll have a new chassis in three days freight express. I’ve booked time in the proto shop to get it etched and sprayed – they’ll cook it for us and have it done in a day. By the way, Eric says you’re a …wanker… and when are you coming out to upstate New York again?”

Al laughed – he and Eric were old friends of long standing. “I’ll call him later – should have stopped by when I was on holiday – he’s a good chap and an encyclopedia on the latest Rovers – something I’m not. SO, let’s look at this mess….”

Together, they surveyed the damage.

“Thankfully, looks like the back axle is fine – the levering damaged the chassis rails, but didn’t hurt the A-frames or the radius arms. We should be able to easily salvage those items and an hour or two will see them bolted to the new one.”

Wing frowned. “The brake lines are shot – when the lift motor hit it smashed them. The fittings look all right if we want to salvage them, though – but the lines up the chassis are shot.”

Al was unconcerned. “Don’t care. We’ll make up new lines and throw these in the scrap tip – they’re not worth the effort of salvage except for the copper. So, what do we do, boss?”

Wing was startled – and then realized Al was going to play this out no matter what.

“Apprentices…always asking what to do” she mock-grumped. Al laughed, then asked again, “Now what?”

“Let’s strip this chassis, then haul the remains off to the scrap-metal skip.”

Al listened, then disagreed. “Perfect except the last bit. Let’s set it aside – I have a project in mind. I’ve thought about building myself a get-arounder – a small Landy with a Diesel like Clara’s but in a small, nimble body. This is going to be the beginning of it.”

“Do you think you can fix those rails? They look pretty badly bent to me.”

“They can be fixed – it’s not simple but it’s not impossible. We own it for nothing, anyway – the insurance company will write it off.”

“Fine. Let’s get at it, then.”

Stripping the chassis and checking the assemblies for damage took the better part of a day, and removing the bushings and salvageable suspension items another hour or two. That day, the engine and transmission arrived, both crated carefully and plastic-wrapped.

Stripping the packing, Wing SQUEEd and clapped her hands. The tired, travel-worn assemblies from the old Discovery gleamed in the light – all of the exterior surfaces had been glass-beaded and looked new. Custom valve covers with the old Rover logo had been added, and the top of the plenum had been fill-welded and CNC routed with the Alexander logo and the centaur – a machinist friend of Al’s had owed him a favour and paid off in precision machining.

The assemblies were packed off to the assembly bay and recovered – they would be ready when the chassis was ready to take them.

Finally, Sterling returned, looking much less worn then after her ordeal. With her came Fergus, ostensibly to have his missed lunch date with the RE crew but with the unspoken intent of taking a good long look at Al.

While recuperating under his roof Sterling and he had discussed Al and his Emergence in detail – the first time they’d had the opportunity.

“Uncle, what do we know for sure about what’s happening here? Gods, I love Al dearly but he may be right – he might be dangerous.”

“It’s true – he may be – but tha can’t condemn him without trying. He’ll be right, if we can train him properly.

Right now he’s a nuisance to us because of his ‘leak’. We’ll plug it right and proper, and he’ll be fine till we can get him here. A few weeks of Auntie’s cooking and working with me and he’ll be where he can help himself. He’s a very controlled man – tha knows. Decades in the Army of the Sassenachs provided discipline, and we’ll tap into that.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I canna think anything else, lass. If I do, then there’s doott…and I canna permit that. He will come here, we will succeed and he will join our kind sure as me name is Fergus. Now stop wi’yer doots. Another drink?” He refilled her glass and his own; hers with a finger of Glenmorangie Signet, his with Armagnac Castarède Vintage 1979 and they sat before the fire in the living room, each to their own thoughts.

*-*-*-*-*

At eight the next morning, Al’s phone rang, Olivia Newton-John purring into the air.

“Al Richer”

“Good morning, Al – Sterling on the way in – would you open the gate, please?”
Sterling shouted into her phone. Wind noise and the clatter of a Diesel underscored her speech, and he wondered where she was.

“Certainly. Why didn’t you just portal in?”

“We’re in Fergus’ truck. We popped in on Chesnut, and we’re at the gate.”

“No problem." He pushed a button on the console near the office door, then said ”Should be opening now. Remind me to issue you a key card for the auto-lock in case you want to use it with Red or whatever.”

“Thanks. See you in a minute.”

They hung up, and Al keyed the door to the vehicle bay. As the door rolled up, a vision in faded bronze green crowned by a halo of blue smoke like a monk’s tonsure rolled through – and Al started laughing delightedly. Grabbing his mug, he walked out of the office to the top of the stair as Fergus’ truck rolled to a halt in the middle of the main bay, its asthmatic Diesel wheezing to a stop as the halt cable was pulled.

Sterling hopped out in her street clothes, and delightedly shouted “Isn’t she a beauty?”

“She’s certainly SOMETHING! What, I dare not guess! Fergus, what did they pay you?”

Exiting the right side of the cab, Fergus looked up and said “Pay me for what?”

“What did the tip pay you to haul it away? Seems to me they’d have paid handsomely to get that off the property!”

“Ye miserable heathen – I thought tha appreciated a good Land-Rover!”

“I do – what’s that, then?”

At this point, both men started laughing, and Al descended the stairs to have a closer look. What he saw did not displease him at all – it was one of the best ever to come out of Solihul – with sincere apologies to Miss Clara and the later vehicles.

Fergus and Sterling had driven in in an early-1960s Land Rover 109 – the second generation of the “Farmer’s Friend”. This version of the design had remained in production from 1958 to 1986 – and the best of them were the early-1960s ones.

In full canvas with a proper tailgate, the truck showed its age and was well-worn – and his trained nose said the engine was well past its prime. Still, it was to his eye sound and a respectable vehicle, with its original square metal license plates embossed with DWK 597 C.

Al reached over and shook his friend’s hand. “Fergus, good to see you! Sterling, you as well! You’re looking hale and hearty – I’m pleased to see this. How’s the rib?”

She looked a bit chagrined, then replied ”Just fine as long as I don’t overdo. This means no heavy lifting for a few days, but other than that I’m top-notch. If you don’t mind I’m going to let you two talk and get ready to work.” With that, she headed for the locker room and her coveralls and work boots. Uncle and Al needed to talk, and she was better off if she wasn’t there. Al’s leak had gotten worse, and the humming was annoying.

“So, Fergus, what can I do for you?”

“Well, as tha knows, me old bus here can use some work. She’s been a good sort these many years – I bought her in the 1970s – but there’ve been many miles and some repairs – but it’s at a point where it’s do her up proper or bid her farewell.

The cost is not a major object within reason, as she serves me well for the game and lands work I need to do. She needs a good cleaning up – and whatever it is she gets it.”

Al looked concerned. “Fergus, much as I am happy to do this – this is not going to be inexpensive. From the look of her she’ll need at a minimum her braking system replaced, all new seals, a respray and a canvas, new trimming – the seats are done – and that engine is fit for a garbage scow – as an anchor. That given, I’m not sure she’s worth her bottle.”

Al opened the door and looked inside. “She’s even missing her calendar.”

Fergus looked puzzled. “Calendar? What calendar?”

“Well, yon speedometer there is useless for a truck with a 2.25 Diesel engine – where’s the calendar you use to note your rate of travel?”

Fergus looked confused a moment more, then barked a laugh. “I will happily challenge you to a race against your Aston-Martin, you Roman barbarian.”

“Race? How could you possibly…oh, mage. Forget I asked.” Al laughed as well, then resumed his analysis.

“She is a beauty, but as I said this is going to be extensive, and not done in a day. We’re talking likely the better part of several thousand pounds, and perhaps more if I run into anything irreparable. The fact she drove in and has been in constant service is a very good sign, but we will need to evaluate as we go along.”

“And this is why I brought her to ye.” The accent was back and Al realized this meant the discussion had gotten serious.

“I’ve owned the old girl many years, and she’s been reliable beyond her capabilities. She is to me what Clara is to you – and I dinna want to give her up. She has a life force of her own, and a good heart. I want ye to make her condition match her spirit – if ye ken my meaning.”

“I understand completely – and with the understanding that this will not be cheap nor fast I will happily ‘make her young again’ for you. We can start on her soon – not today, but soon. I need to get the 90 project back on track, then I can start building her an engine, strip her down and send her out for paint. Bronze Green again?”

“Aye – nothing else will suit. Canvas – the best ye can get. Money is not an object here.”

Al eyed him keenly. ”Are you sure you’re Scots? Never heard those words from a Scotsman.”

Fergus glared good-humoredly at him. “Heathen. Unlettered barbarian from the South. Fix the truck.”

“Certainly. Why don’t we go up and sit – Sterling should be along in a bit and I assume she’ll be giving you the grand tour.”

“Aye. A coffee wouldna go astray, either, and some of tha digestives.”

“This way, please.” With that, the two men ascended the stairs to the office.

Settled at the conference table, Al started the coffeemaker for a fresh batch.

“So, Al, how are ye? Any headaches, irritation, issues with…anything?” Fergus was wasting no time – he could well see and hear the leakage – and as Sterling said it was irritating and reaching a flood volume. The lock was not retaining it – and would need to be patched.

“No – everything’s been…all right.”

Fergus snorted, his voice flat and accentless now. “Liar. Al, you’re leaking like a sieve – and where there is power leaking out things are leaking in. Tell me the truth.”

Al hesitated, then spoke, his own voice flat and despairing. “When Sterling had her…accident, I collapsed. Her shout of fear knocked me for six, and my majordomo found me on the floor, unconscious, and brought me back out of it once Sterling was off to the hospital. I assume this means the lock is failing?”

“Yes, it is. It’s not failing, per se, but I did not allow for the levels of power you seem to be developing. I can do a better job of tying it down, and you and I are going to spend a few minutes doing a bit of linked learning – and I’m going to show you how to control a bit.”

“Linked learning?”

“Your mind to mine – and you see what I see and learn to work through it.”

Fergus stood, and walked behind Al’s chair. “Now close your eyes, and focus on my voice.”

Fergus mind-talked to Al – Can you hear me?

Al, querulously, answered Yes, but I don’t know how – or how I’m answering.

Concentrate – and watch what I show. A riot of colour appeared in both men’s minds.

This is your mind – and its Power.


A serene river of colour appeared, now. And this is mine. See the difference?

Yes, I do. Mine is a tangle – a snarl. Yours is controlled, serene.

GOOD! Now, we’re going to try and make it serene. Follow me.


The chaos again appeared, with the words of Fergus ringing in Al’s mind.

Al, how do ye solve a real puzzler?

When I get a head-scratcher, I stand back and look at it, and look at it, and look at it some more – and the solution comes to me. Thinking of it does no good – I need to let it come to me.

Visualise that chaos, then look for the solution. As you solve it, it will become serene.

The riot of colour quieted, brightened, quieted again, and brightened, finally.

It’s hard – slippery. I kept losing my grip on the ‘solution’ and slipping.

It means naught. Ye ken HOW – and you can do it. Practice at odd times during the day – see how long ye can hold it. Proud of you – first steps taken and all that. Now, let me tighten the lock so no one sees this but you – you are leaking a bit.


Fergus again began to chant – and the coruscation in gold of Al’s Power again appeared and faded.

Finished, Fergus sat, just as the coffeemaker beeped.

“I’ll have a cup of that, and ye should as well. Now, about me truck…”

Down in the women’s locker room, Sterling slowly changed from her street clothes to her working coveralls and boots. Hat on head, coveralls zipped and laces tied, she presented a perfect image of a tried, competent engineer ready to go to work.

In reality...

Sterling felt miserable.

She remembered with agonising clarity the white streak in her cousin's hair. That she had put it there when she couldn't control her emerging Gift.

That the Empathy forced it's way so sharply, even though she was already an accomplished mage, her Magecraft stable, that its control unraveled as the emotions flooded her mind all seemed secondary and irrelevant.

He laughs about it now. Even had it turned into a professional name. Flashburn. He did it for her benefit. Helped her so she wouldn't give up and become dangerous.

Who the bloody hell was she to deny Al the chance!
Who the bloody hell did she think she was?

A very rotten, selfish...


"Sterling! Ari calling Sterling! Come in Sterling!"

"You're not old enough to know that one."

"Sure I am. There's Cable TV."

"Right. I forget about tech most of the time."

"Sure you're up to this?"

"Today? No, but I promised I wouldn't abandon you."

"If you need the~"

"Falling off a horse. I NEED this. I'm rather frightened at the mo'."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

Taking a deep breath and conjuring an image of the Sergeant-Major, she concentrated on it, focusing on the commanding presence to forget the butterflies in her stomach and the tremor in her heart.

"Damhnait! Shake a leg! There's to be no lazing about on my watch! Move it, move it, move it!"


"Sir, yes, sir!" She stood to, spine straightening, and pivoted on a heel to march to the bay – and back to work.

Once there, Sterling snapped her fingers, and aneye-rolling earwormstarted up.

"Just know I'm here for you," Ari whispered quietly as her friend left the locker room.
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

CHAPTER 9 - Disassembly, Assembly and Meditations


The project resumed its momentum – the engine of creation spinning back up to speed after an interruption in its operation.

Two days later, the new chassis arrived, and the day after that it was back, coated in AHI Implement Black over an etching primer. Wing inspected it and approved it, with a dual vetting by Inspector X – insisted upon by Wing, though X had no doubt of her abilities.

Set upon jacks in the assembly bay, it was fitted with new cupronickel lines for the braking hydraulics for its conversion to LHD. The axles were added, each with its radius arms, pitman arm or triangular cradle, and new springs and shock absorbers.

With this, the old wheels from the 90 were added, and the chassis became a rolling base – ready for a power train and electrical wiring.

Steering was the next checkbox – the front axle having been converted to LHD during its sojourn on the rebuild bench in Sterling’s care. The original RHD wheel and swivel assemblies had been combined with the components from the LHD Discovery axle, each lovingly sandblasted and sprayed with the tough black enamel used on the chassis.

New ball joints were fitted, and the steering box from the Discovery fitted to the chassis after a comprehensive overhaul and replacement of seals.

Wiring was next – the long run inside the chassis to the rear crossmember, and the connections where the bulkhead will attach. Al-as-X was insistent this be put in place, and in a certain manner.

“I have seen more LR wiring harnesses ruined by idiotic runs – cut, sheared and mangled. Follow the factory run – they did it for a reason.”

The momentum gained – but without X most of the time. The dream team were forced back on their own resources (as Al had intended), with Sterling working as task mechanic alongside Wing as project manager and senior mechanic.

Al had taken on another project – informing MIB that he was going to be off-line for a few weeks.

In a bay on the far side of the building from the project 90, an ancient wheeled toolbox still showing shrapnel scars and fire singing stood, filled with the remains of Al’s tools from his Minneapolis days. In the centre of the bay sat the project he’d taken on – Fergus’ IIA 109.

After a thorough pressure washing outdoors to remove the muck of the moors inside and out, the disassembly began.

Bonnet, doors, front wings, canvas hood and frame, seats – all began to find spots in wooden racks built for the purpose, or simply to be discarded as befit their condition. The cooling system was drained as was the Diesel system, and the radiator with its mounting and fuel tank removed.

With those out of the way the engine and transmission were lifted from the frame and set on rolling stands.

Now the fun began – with Smokey’s help Al completely removed the body from the 109, leaving nothing but a rolling chassis much like that of the 90.

Now, for a phone call…

Al picked up his phone, and said “Buck”.

A ring at the far end, and the deep voice of Al’s son answered.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?”


“Pleasure? What pleasure?”

“My point exactly. What’s up, Al?”

“Nothing too much – got another job for your paint boys over at the proto shop – wondering what the schedule’s looking like over there.”

“Shouldn’t be bad, but I’m not sure, personally. Best bet’s to ping McAdams and see what’s in the pipeline. I know they had time to do that chassis you sent over for a rush job, but not sure what else they’ve got going. If you’re asking permission, go ahead and give them a call and work out the details.”

“Thanks – that’s what I wanted to hear. Much appreciated.”

“What’ve you got going on? Anything sneaky, devious or nasty?”

“Who, me? No, not a bit. Just want to send over some body assemblies for sanding and painting – I don’t have the hands here to do it and your lot are VERY good. Likely send over some galvanizing, as well. I’m doing a rebuild of an old Land-Rover for Fergus, and –“

“Fergus the mage?”

“Yes – his old 109. Lovely old thing but it was getting long in the tooth. He asked for a rebuild – not show quality but a solid refurbishment.”

“Damn, Al – you’ve come up in the world. Need to hang out a shingle ‘Engineers to the Paranormal World’. Seems to me a half-page ad in the PP is in order here.”

“Go ahead and laugh horse boy – I’m seriously considering it. Between orders for custom weapons, the Dixie Flyer and its cousins and the work like this I could put another half-dozen people on tomorrow and keep them busy.”

“Bravo. I for one am thrilled for you – and as always AHI’s facilities are open to you. “

“Thanks. Love, you big nag. See you tonight?”

“Love to you too, you old two-legs. Sure. Drop over – teapot’s always hot.”

Call over, Al dialed again.

“McAdams. What’s up, Al – destroy another chassis?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I didn’t know you’d taken up comedy – Goddess knows you need another career considering how poor an engineer you are.”

“You should talk. Still faking it over there in 2?”


“Sure. Been doing it for enough years – someday I might actually know what I’m doing.

Look, got a job for your lot in the paint shop. Got the body and galvanized cappings from an early Land-Rover here that need good paint. Cappings need to go to the galvanizing shop and be re-dipped, and then refastened to the body once it’s painted. Simple enough job that – ½” drill on an air drill will pop all the rivets in good order – then re-riveting is a triviality.

Bulkhead will need some repairs, but it’s not in bad shape. Your weldors have got that down to a science – this one looks good enough to work with just a few struts – won’t need to full cradle it though if you still have the cradle by all means use it.”

“As a matter of fact, we do. We figured this was going to happen, so we hung onto it.”

“Good! Bravo on your foresight. Take out the worst of the dings and dents – it’s not a show toy, but a work truck. It does, however, have to be LR Bronze Green – you think the mixers can handle that in the AHI formulation?”

“Don’t see why not – as long as it’s not John Deere green we should be all set.”
McAdams laughed – a deep rumble from his barrel chest. “Want me to send over a truck?”

“Please do. I’ll send over the requisite biccy bribe, as well.”

McAdams laughed. “Juan will be happy to hear it – he’s gotten addicted to wholemeal cookies.”

“Biscuits! Biscuits, you unlettered heathen!” Al laughed as well – the AHI prototype shop folks had become friends as well as contacts – and he loved working with them.

“Biscuits – cookies – who cares? Just send them!”
McAdams laughed again. “Truck will be on the way – I’ll expect to see those parts this afternoon.”

“Thanks, Mac – see you soon.” Al terminated the call.

*-*-*-*-*-*

It was the dream again. It had come occasionally, but now it was an almost nightly occurrence.

It wasn't frightening, or horrid as his old nighmares were - but it was odd.

He was stumbling down an alleyway, clothes torn, and the copper taste of blood in his mouth from a bloody nose. Anger filled his breast - he was small enough, and a loner, which made him fair game for the bullies at the council school.

His father, when sober enough to notice, had told him to "Buck up and fight back like a man!" not understanding or caring that odds of three to four to one were a little difficult to deal with.

He sat on a crate, and wiped his sleeve across his nose. At least the bleeding had stopped, though Mum would scream at him for the bloody shirt.

The more he thought, the worse the anger became, until he made an angry throwing-away gesture in the air. When he did, he felt - something - and the trash cans across the alley rattled.

He did it again - and the something flared, and the cans rattled.

Again, again, until he became exhausted, the anger dying away in his breast. Now, nothing happened, nor would it happen again though he tried again and again.

He awoke, the sounds of the house stilled at the early morning hour. Forsaking the warm, comfortable spot snuggled to the back of his dam, he rose, threw on a robe and slippers, and padded to the kitchen for a cup of tea. With that secured, he padded to his office, opened his desk drawer, and pulled from it his journal.

Turning to an empty page, he took a pen from his desk, and in his fine longhand began to write.

Late night, New Alexander House.

The dream is almost continuous now. Nearly every night save the ones where I am too exhausted, the dream comes.

It is not frightening, nor is it disturbing - it is sad, and poignant.

Over and over again I am that child, beaten by bullies, skulking in an alleyway in Manchester. Afraid to go home, nowhere else to go - and sick with the anger over his situation. He throws the anger - and things happen, again and again, till the anger is leached out of him.

I know why I remember this - it is the Power that I now manifest - or the first inklings of it.

Alone, lonely, afraid - thank the Gods it did not show further then - as from what I have heard from Fergus and Sterling this is nothing that a child could have dealt with alone - death or madness would have been the result.

I shudder to think of what might have happened then - as I am still disquieted about what may happen now.

Here where no one else can see - I can be honest with myself, as I have been before, and Gods willing will live to be again when I need to.

I am frightened - not of failure - but of success. What will I become when these Powers are within my grasp, and I can control them? What will I be to my family, my friends - my love? What kind of a foreign creature will I be to them - one who can control the powers and energies of existence itself?

Will I be - me?

Yet again I am pitched into things I desired not - as they were beyond my wildest dreams. I have the chance to become so much more than a simple human mortal - but what will I lose in doing so? Is the price of the dance too high?

Sigh. So many questions, and no answers. I need to return to bed - all of this spinning in my head will not help me if I am exhausted on the morrow.

Till then..

He closed the book, and put it back in the desk drawer. Rising and turning off the light, he made his way through the dim recesses of the home he built, to his room and the side of his dam.
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

CHAPTER 10 - Worry, Fear and Dryads


“He’s worried about you, you know.” Ari spoke over a bagel and cream cheese, as Sterling picked at a bowl of summer porridge, consuming little.

Al, unexpectedly, had called and said he was going into Minneapolis for coffee and to talk to the painter, leaving the normal morning conference just Ari and Sterling.

‘The feeling is mutual – I’m worried about him.”

Ari slammed her bagel down on the table so hard the dishes rattled.

“Look, there is something weird going on here. I know it, you know it, he knows it – boy, does he – and I want to know what in Hades it is. I am DONE with all this moping and skulking – and him hiding in the bay with Fergus’ old truck.”

“He’s scared. Unless I miss my guess and I never do, he’s scared out of his wits at what he’s going to become.”

“What do you mean? What can he become? Al with Power is still Al, right? I know you’re a mage, and you’re not all spooky-ooky – you’re you. Flashburn’s a mage, and other than being a hottie he’s dead normal – he’s a photographer. Fergus – Fergus is a little spooky, but that’s because he’s been a mage so long that it’s kind of…him.”

“First off, if you’re not careful I’ll tell Flashburn you called him a ‘hottie’ and you’ll never be rid of him. Secondarily, all of this is new territory to the old guy – he has NO idea what or where he’s going to end up on this wild ride. He’s scared it’s going to cost him everything – his family, his loves…everything he holds dear.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow, luv. He doesn’t understand – and we can’t give him any guarantees.”

“Why not?”

“Because he is what he is. Late Emergences as we call them are a tremendous unknown. He could just have a little – a little Sight, a bit of fire magic, or water magic – or he could have a full boat set of Powers that we will be hard pressed to keep up with and train him to handle.”

“Oh.”

“Right you are, sweetheart. Oh. He’s got a right to be worried, but it will all come right in the end – and that’s what he has to trust us on.”

Ari straightened up, and looked Sterling in the eye. “You – YOU – need to sit down with him and tell him this. Or ONE of you has to – and I think it should be you.”

“Who, me?”

“What’s this – name two pronouns? Yes, you.

Look at it this way. You’re a sergeant and ex-military like him. He trusts you implicitly, and has known you the longest. He’s seen you in his environment here day after day and dare I say cares about you.”

Sterling thought back to the shouting, and the concerned moment at AHMC. “Yes, that he does. I get a feeling I have the status you do – ersatz ‘daughter’. “

“See? Then you need to pin his arse down and beat some sense into that thick English skull of his.

I am SICK OF BOTH OF YOU. HE needs a swift kick in the reality to shock him back to it – and YOU NEED TO STOP WALKING ON GODSDAMNED EGGSHELLS.

He is not going to explode because you yell at him – and he needs to hear what you have to say – for his own sake and for the sakes of his family – who no doubt have noticed this as well.”

Sterling sighed, and began to eat her porridge..

“You’re right – I’ll talk to him at lunch. Better yet, we’re going to play Kick-The-Brit.”

“I’ve seen that light in your eyes before…..I don’t like it.” Ari frowned – kicking was not what Al needed in her opinion.

“Knowing Al, he has not spoken to the one being that can give him some reassurance – and that’s his forest friend Ialin. I’m going to boot him in that direction – and let HER deal with this problem. I’m going to take him out to lunch over to the diner – I can talk to him there and we won’t be interrupted. From there…I’ll let her handle it.”

“OK. Let’s get to it, then – we’re getting behind. We need to start fitting the engine and transmission – and that’s going to be a real thrill using portable lifting gear.”

“On it.” With that, the two women tidied their breakfast leavings and headed for the shop floor.

*-*-*-*-*

Al was in his element.

The greasy entrails of the Diesel engine that was on the stand were spread across the bench, which in itself was covered with a sheet of butcher paper. Pistons and connecting rods, each marked as to the cylinder it came from, roller lifters each in a plastic compartment, keepers, crankshaft, bearing caps - all marked and cleaned for reinstallation sat in their quiet sentinel rows.

On the end of the bench stood the cylinder head, and it too had had its share of attention. Cleaned, tested and refinished it stood proud with new valves and guides, awaiting its place in the reassembly.

The larger pieces - covers, housings, water pump - were under the bench, each wrapped in plastic after having been tidied and resprayed as necessary. The unpainted pieces had been glass-beaded and shone as new.

A roll-around cart bore its burden as well - packages of new parts - seals, gaskets, timing belt, ancillaries and Diesel fuel injection parts - all new or refurbished to a high standard.

The block on the stand had been cleaned, inspected and rebored - the new pistons fitted to the finest tolerances.

Al was fitting bearing shells for the crankshaft, with the block inverted. Thrust washers in place, the bearing shells were fitted, each to its recess. Plastigage was laid on each, and the crankshaft and upper caps fitted and the torque wrench applied.

Caps and crank removed, the Plastigage was measured and satisfactory results given cleaned away. Shells oiled, the crank was refitted and the caps again torqued in place. With a spin, the crank was in - and so it went. Then the oil pump - engaging with the camshaft already nestled in its dark recess.

Sterling walked into the bay, camera in hand. Al greeted her, wiping his hands on a rag, and stopped his work until Sterling interrupted the interruptions.

"Just keep doing what you're doing. Pretend I'm not here - I want pictures of what you're doing - not the macro assembly, but the details."

Nodding contentedly, Al went back to work, his hands as sure and steady so those of a surgeon - which in a sense he was. As he refitted the new pistons and connecting rods, Sterling flitted about, camera clicking, and focus mechanism making slight whirring noises, almost unheard over the music Al was never without.

Under his hands the engine came together - each step documented in photographs, with the play of light and shadow over the components in their stark black and silver, relieved by the robin's egg blue of the paint on the block. At her bidding, Al removed his nitrile gloves – Sterling wanted the interface between the hard, shining steel and the soft flesh of his hands in the pictures.

Al sat back on the mechanic's stool, and sighed with contentment. When he got into the zone on an intricate task like an engine assembly time stopped, and the only reality was the task and its thousand details each of which had to be right and no less. This was the reason he'd taken Fergus' truck on for a project - he needed all the tranquility he could get right now - and dealing with the mechanical details of a 50-year-old car was right in line with what he needed.

Sterling set the camera down, and ran her gloved hand over the smooth, glossy block of the Diesel. "Damn, Warhorse, you do nice work. If Red or Skitty ever need engine work I insist you do it. I know John's GM-trained, but you have the touch."

He took a slurp from a long-cold cup of industrial coffee and grimaced. "Bloody-well should know what I'm doing - this engine and its progenitors are all old friends of mine. I hate to think of how many of these I've rebuilt over the years."

"This isn't the same as the one you took out, is it?" She pointed to the old engine - on a storage cart along the wall. "Injection pump's in a different place and a different front cover, though the basic design's the same."

"Good eye, though I'd expect no less. This is the next generation of that engine. The old one had issues with piston wear in the bores, and was a gutless old lump on a good day with a fresh rebuild. This one's a good, solid performer and with the internal changes made to it it's nearly bulletproof. It's the same engine that Clara had before the upgrade to the Alexander turbo diesel - it'll run forever if you change the oil regularly and do the timing belt every 40,000 miles. I've known these to go 1/4 million miles between rebuilds - and no major work needed.

And to add to that, this one has had the few idiocies in the design dealt with - along with working to the minus side of all the tolerances. In short, it will be better than new, and a considerable improvement over the same engine run-of-the-mill coming off the line in Solihul. If he takes care of it decades will pass before it needs work.”

Sterling nodded. "And I know Uncle Fergus - maintenance is never an issue - he's a man that cares about his machinery."

She hiked herself up onto the bench next to Al, folding back the now-empty butcher paper to avoid soiling the seat of her coveralls.

"Let's do lunch today - I love Ari, but I need a gearhead fix."

Al nodded, mind still in the innards of the partly-completed Diesel.

With that, Sterling slipped out. By now, Ari had the engine and transmission bolted together, and she'd need her help to drop the combination into the chassis. Behind her, Al slid off the stool intent on the next phase of the engine assembly. Behind him, unattended, the audio system hiccupped, stopped playing Jimmy Buffet, and started playing an old Animals tune - a fitting tune for his feelings.

However, there were other ears – those that had heard all of the conversations that morning – and noted them well.

Fluttering unseen, and hiding her telltale, Ialin watched the scenes unfold.

Smart girl Ari, though it's less 'throw the mess at me' than you and Sterling think. I can see why Al's adopted you.

Sterling, on the other hand, you require a combat boot to arse as well. You’re taking your guilt-trip a bit too far. I will say, though, that your friendship is a fortuitous event even I did not see.


Al, I can't say it will be quick, easy, nor painless, but it is a step towards growing. I do hope you’re less secretive with me now.

With that, she winked out of the shop, and back to the gardens, where in full form, she began chastising furry critters trying to eat Daisy's squash, vegetables and garden greens. Settling down after ousting the forest friends from where they did not belong she waited – knowing Al would be heading in her direction sometime today – and considering what she was going to say to him.

*~*~*~*~*

They were in a booth at Kronski’s Diner, a little place off Parker’s Lake Road in Minnetonka. Sited fortuitously across from the AHI complex, its no-nonsense menu and quality food provided plenty of reason for people to stop there for meals.

Settled into the plastic and Formica of a back booth, they looked at the photocopied menus, and then ordered once the waitress came over – a waitress that reminded Al quite seriously of Mavis. Thankfully, she left before Al thought to ask her if she had family in Lockeharbor, Nova Scotia.

He and Sterling chatted over their drinks until their order was delivered – a bacon cheeseburger and chips for Al, and an Asian salad loaded with baby greens and grilled chicken for her.

As they started to eat Sterling thought to herself, OK, no time like the present. Let’s get this show on the road…

“Yanno, Warhorse, I need to apologize to you…again.”

Al stopped, chip covered in malt vinegar halfway to his mouth. “Whenever anyone starts a conversation like that, I invariably end up getting yelled at for something. So, what have I done this time?” He stuck the chip in his mouth and enjoyed it, figuring this was the last of his lunch he was going to enjoy untroubled.

“No, seriously – I do. I’ve been acting like you’re an unexploded bomb around you – when it’s just not the case. It’s been a lot worse since the accident in the shop, and I very seriously want to apologize for it.”
Al was unfazed by the apology. “Why? I am one – and your caution is entirely understandable. I expect that leak Fergus plugged made my presence uncomfortable for you – you can sense it. I am a bit miffed you didn’t mention it to me – and I suspect that’s what Fergus’ ‘visit’ was all about that day.”

This was going wrong – ALL wrong. All she was doing was confirming his belief. OK, change of tack.

"First, no, what I sensed was your wallowing in self-doubt, and your smegging chasm deep pity-party. It's part Empathic, part reading your Aura."

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then two, then three.

“OK, yes, I am going to yell at you. Actually, I am going to strongly suggest you go and talk to someone.”

“And who might that be – Fergus?”

“No. Uncle Fergus has been a mage for so long that he, while very knowledgeable on what you’re going through, is incapable of seeing it as an Emergent would. You need to go talk to your dryad friend – Ialin.”

Al considered the question. Since the first night when he had gone to the garden to speak to her, he had been back only once, and this after the accident – and been roundly chastised for it.

“And why should I do this?”

“OK, cards on the table time. I know what you’re scared of.” Sterling stared him in the eye, levelly keeping his gaze.

Al quailed internally, though nothing of this showed in his face. He picked up his burger and bit a mouthful of it, giving himself time to think. Sterling broke her gaze and forked up a portion of her salad, patiently waiting for what he had to say.

Finally, he answered. “So, what is it that scares me?”

“You’re afraid of what’s at the end of this wild ride – and you don’t have answers…you hate not having answers. You talk to us and we say ‘we don’t know’ and that is no answer at all as far as you’re concerned.

You don’t know what you’re going to end up – and the thought of losing everyone you hold dear because of what you will be scares the stuffing out of you.

In short, you think you’re going to be some kind of mage freak that no one could love, and can’t love.

Am I right?”

Al stared at her, all interest in his lunch gone. “How do you know this? Are you reading me, somehow?”

Sterling put her fork down. “Sort of. I’m putting myself in your place, and thinking as you would. I’m looking at a man who has been given a new life in what is on the calendar a very short time – and is being handed yet another major change.

I’m looking at a man who has put his life on the line to keep what he has and protect it – and is horribly frightened that it was all for nothing – as this new development could take it all away.”

She looked into his eyes again, trying tremendously hard to make him believe. “Al, no matter what, at the end of this – you will be you. Grumpy, intolerant, tea snob, coffee snob, indulgent to his grandkids and a right son-of-a-bitch to his enemies. YOU ARE YOU, never less. And you will be so much more…so much more.”

“What if that ‘something more’ no longer loves, or can love? What then? What good is Power with no humanity?” His expression was stricken, and his food now completely forgotten.

“Do I look like an emotionless power seeker? Does Flash? Does Uncle Fergus? Uncle Fergus is one of the most powerful mages you will likely ever meet – is he Mister Spock? No, oh, no. He and I have sat in front of the fire and talked and drunk the night away – and been yelled at by Auntie for it the next morning when we both had big heads.

I know you have a limited field to compare to here, but Power or no Power – we are as human as anyone. ‘If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?’ Answer me that question, and we’ll both know.”

“You do realize that quote was Shylock complaining of anti-Semitism, do you?”

“I know – I’ve read Shakespeare, though I have not enjoyed it as much as you. Answer the damn question.”

“How can I? How will I know? How CAN I know? I can’t – and you lot can’t give me firm answers as to what’s at the end of this thrill ride.”

“You’re right. I can’t give you those answers in a manner you will believe. I'm 'young', I have had magic from birth. I have also had Gifts that emerged later. I nearly killed Flashburn when it overwhelmed me, and the sodding wanker pranked me. So no, I cannot give you the answers you want – but Ialin can. She knows you, she knows us, and lots more besides. She is the closest you can come to an authority who is not a mage – and she will never lie to you – I doubt she CAN lie to you.

Talk to her. Ask your questions. I doubt you will be disappointed by the answers – and perhaps we can restore some of the peace in your soul, old Warhorse. Now eat your damn lunch – we need to get back before they figure out they don’t need either of us and change the locks on the doors.”

Al picked up his now-cold burger and bit into it, eating in a mechanical fashion. His mind was awhirl, and he dreaded the possible answers he would get, but Sterling was right – he had to know.

The audio system, playing random elevator music, hiccupped, and the beginning strains of an old 60s protest song came on at a low but recognizable volume.

Al and Sterling looked at each other, and Al asked, “Did you…”

“Nope. Not me. Hate that song, anyway.”

“Hmmmmmm…odd.”

With that, they continued their lunches, each immersed in their own thoughts.

*~*~*~*~*

After dinner that evening, Al wandered out into the garden, after a kiss and hug from his mate. She could see his inner turmoil and appreciate it for what it was – and if he could gain solace from one or another of his friends (the term ‘harem’ came to mind unbidden and was laughed at) she was all for it.

Daisy could only imagine what was going through his mind – he’d been much more tender and desirous of contact of late – not only with her but all the family. When he was huggy, he was concerned about something – and it involved the family.

Stepping out of the kitchen, he walked to the rose garden, and sat down upon one of the benches that Emerauld had sculpted from a willow tree stump.

He called out, softly. “Ialin! Ialin, are you here?”

*THWACK*

*THWACK*THWACK*THWACK*

“WHAT IN HADES WAS ALL OF THAT FOR?” Al was rather shocked and considerably nettled.

Ialin appeared, again in the guise of his traveling companion.

“You MISERABLE, USELESS GIT. You…WANKER. YOU No-good, unappreciative…PRAT. I am VERY angry and disappointed in you!”

Al, never at his best when confronted with an angry female, recoiled in shock.

“What is your problem? I come out here to have a quiet talk and you start in by pounding me with a roll of blueprints – and then question my ancestry and personal habits!”

She landed on his knee, stalked up his leg and stared him straight in the eye, wings fluttering angrily in her wake.

“My problem? MY PROBLEM? My PROBLEM is that you, YOU of all people, had to be TOLD to come and talk to me. “

Al’s temper, never tranquil even now, began to rise. “And how do YOU know this?”

“I know this because I make it my business to pay attention to what you’re up to you…you…IDIOT. When you didn’t come to see me regularly I made a point of checking in on you – because Gods alone know you won’t take care of yourself!

NooOOOOooo, you’d just as soon hurt in the corner, and let things fester until you work yourself up into a FINE lather – and then create a self-fulfilling prophecy where you fail out BECAUSE you’ve lost confidence in yourself…you, you MORON!”

She stood tall, and began to waggle her finger at him. “You know, I’ve got half a mind to just walk away and let you bugger this. All the same to me in a hundred years – the trees will still be here, the Lady will still be here….” She sagged, her wings stilling, and sat back down on his leg.

“I really am very disappointed in you. I thought we were compatriots – pulling you out of that slough of despair you were in on your travels. Now, big things – IMPORTANT things are happening to you – and you have a source of information – me – and you’re not using it because you’d just as soon hurt alone. I don’t understand it.

Don’t you trust me anymore? Do you want me to go?”

Panic welled in Al’s breast, accompanied by a bit of indignation.

“Of course I don’t want you to leave! You are welcome here, and always will be. This is nothing to do with welcome – and more to do with fear – MY fear.

The mages all seem to think this is something wonderful – and that I will be so much...more…when I get done. They act like being what I am is not good enough.

This is wonderful – it’s marvelous, all right – the thought of it…but I fear that I will lose what is me in the middle of all of it. Do I want to be a powerful controller of elemental forces? I would be a liar if I said no – but I would also be a liar if I said that I was willing to sacrifice all for it.
THAT is my fear. I am not going to lose all of…THIS… for it. I REFUSE to. THIS” he waved his hand around, encompassing the forest, the grounds, and by extension the people in it “THIS means more to me than my own soul. I refuse to give it up – and if losing this ‘gift’ is the only way I can keep it…then so be it.”

There. He’d said it. Let the Gods strike him down for it. Buggrit, he’d not asked for this.

Ialin looked up at him soberly, having moved to the chair arm when his gesturing had nearly knocked her off his leg.

She drew a breath, sighed, and started in.

“OK, where do I begin? There are days you are thicker than granite, but I understand where you’re coming from with this one. It’s all down to the fact that this is all new to you – even now.

First, let me ask you a question. Do you like coffee and choccy biccies?”

“Does a centaur have four legs? Yes. A bit too much for my waistline, but yes.”

“Has that changed since you came here?”

“Yes. With Rosalita stocking them my consumption’s gone up, but-“

“You still like them, though.”

“Yes. What’s the point?”

“That hasn’t changed. You’re still a damn good engineer, you’re a crack shot, you can tiptoe through a forest with the best of them even now, and you’re still infuriating.

So what has changed FOR THE NEGATIVE since you came here – and discovered the paranormal side?”

Al thought hard. ”Not a damned thing. Many things have changed – none that I would consider negative.”

“However, in that time you have had your mind blown wide open by the changes. From a narrow little world of mortals you’ve been introduced to magic, mystery, and the paranormal world in all of its glory.”

“So where’s that got you then? Looking back from now, should you have turned away at the gates when you took Greg to the hospital, back then, and holed up – or gone away? You could have, easily. Rootless as you were you could have sold up and been gone in days.”

“True enough. With my contacts and a car transporter I’d have been gone in no time. “

“What would you have lost?”

“Well, my business would have been a net…oh.”

Oh. Damn right oh.

Everything you see here, and all of the possibilities for the future…none of this would have happened. No loves, no family, no magic, no Ari, no paranormal friends…none. You’d still be a lonely old man, somewhere, as you said ‘waiting for the Gods to call your number’.”

She turned and looked him in the eye. “This is the same. The reason you didn’t turn away when the first happened was your own personality. Others were in danger, and they needed you. Because of that, you dove right in and damn the consequences.

Now, you have time to think – and for you that is the WORST possible thing you can have. I love you dearly, but this damned obsession of yours with worst-case scenarios and what-if is infuriating.

The big difference on this one is something I am going to bring up - this is the unicorn in the room.

The other changes were EXTERNAL – this one is INTERNAL.”

Al nodded. “You hit the sore spot. Before, all of this was outside. All of it was things changing around me – but I was still me, still a plain old human. Still weak, still old…still what made me…me.

This is not the case here. The changes…no guarantees. Not even probabilities. No answers.”

Ialin flew up off the chair arm. In a second she’d transformed – becoming her dryad form. She bent down to look him in the eye, head cocked in a quizzical fashion, and asked, “Am I still me like this? Am I the ‘me’ that traveled with you all those miles?”

He answered unhesitatingly. “Yes. The package, and the outside means nothing. It’s like Daisy – two legs or four I still love her.”

“Is Clara still Clara after the paint job and an engine change that made her more powerful?”

“Of course – same old truck, just faster and more powerful.”

She stared into his eyes – he could not look away. “Are YOU the same after Neil played God and healed you? Don’t think – just answer me, damnit.”

“Yes.”

She changed back again, and fluttered back down to his knee. “I rest my case.

Not all of the changes you’ve gone through are external – some VERY LARGE ones were internal. They if anything made you MORE you, rather than less. Are you less than you were because you can hear properly, walk properly and” she stared downward momentarily and snickered.

“Getoutofit you. Miserable insufferable pixie.”

“All I can say here, old man, is what I’ve said before while we were traveling together.

ANYthing and EVERYTHING that happens to you ends up being a net positive – though it may not appear to be at the beginning. You have this uncanny knack – extraordinary things happen to you and you turn them to advantage every time.

This is another one of those. You’re a million-to-one-shot and the circumstances of your Emergence even more so. You will end with Power – and the ability to handle it properly – and you will do what you do with everything – you’ll use it to help people and do things for others.

Ever think this is maybe why this keeps happening?” She smiled up at him.

”Then why am I still scared white?”

“Why shouldn’t you be? It’s a big thing – and will be even bigger when you get your hooks into it and start learning. However, you will do what you always do – dive in, learn, and eventually surpass the teachers and go on even further.”

She fluttered up, and took her dryad form again. “Now go on – and KNOW this will turn out well. I won’t say I’ve seen it, but ‘I have a good feeling on this one’.” With that, she disappeared – leaving Al in the garden, dusk falling around him.
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

CHAPTER 11 - Engines, Vendors And Conflicts


The next morning, Al was in the office early – MIB had been complaining about his lack of reporting, and he was again dictating memos and had been since a bit before 6:AM. With this head start, he could go out and finish the Diesel and transmission rework, and John and the interns (even though Al thought of them as ‘apprentices’) could finish sprucing up the chassis and axles with new bushings and shock absorbers, fresh paint and cleaning.

Ari, coming in for her morning routine in the office a bit after 8, noticed the nearly-depleted coffee pot, and Al’s voice droning on behind his office door. Settling in her office, she heard him going on, just at the threshold of audibility.

“... with this analysis of the latest set of artifacts we can conclusively state that the components supplied were not of Lanthian military grade and were likely from civilian or light commercial hardware, as the previous set of samples had been determined by in-context co-located material to be Lanthian heavy commercial of the same period.

Unless further samples are unearthed from the same area and can be identified as being from the same general Lanthohistorical period we can determine that the area was indeed a civilian port, and not the military base that it was originally thought. The presence of the few sections of military hardware found must have been either a later addition by accident or the presence of a …”

Ari knocked at his door, and heard “COMPUTER – STOP RECORDING.” Again Majel Barrett responded to the commands, and Al’s voice cheerily said “Enter, oh minion, and tremble in the presence of He Who Signs Your Paychecks!”

“Remind me to switch you to decaf – you’re getting delusional from all that caffeine. How are you this morning, Al?”

“Just fine, Ari. And you?”

“Not bad at all. I just wanted to check in – heard you working on the reporting on that latest set of samples you did the analysis on, and wanted to see if you wanted me doing anything on that.”

“No, I have it. Just as easy for me to dictate it to Hal here, and just get it done rather than dictate it and let you transcribe. Anyway, with the last set of tweaks Glytch did to the text-to-speech algorithms it’s actually doing a pretty good job. That is not, however, what you wanted to ask.”

Ari, chagrined, sat down next to Al at his desk, and shrugged.

“Look, to be blunt I know what’s going on. I know what’s popped up, and how you and the Mage Squad are working on it. I also know it’s been disturbing the Hades out of you.”

Al began to speak, and Ari cut him off. “No, Sterling told me nothing but the basics about the Emergence – and only because I forced her to. She didn’t want to, but I wasn’t letting her off on it – because to be blunt I’m here between the two of you, and I deserved to know.”

Al considered a moment, and realized she was right. She was stuck in the middle, and other than Daisy and the people at Alexander she was the person he spent the most time around.

“Astute. So, you know the basics. What else do you know?”

“I know it had you worried terribly – what about it I have no idea. I also know that this morning you seem much less…concerned about it. The peacefulness in you is mostly back. Do tell.”

“Well, I had a very long talk with a very good friend last night on the subject. She’s got a special viewpoint on the whole thing – being part of the paranormal clan but not a mage. She pointed out more than a few things that had escaped my notice – both about the problem itself and things that have come before. You, for example.”

Ari blushed slightly – neither of them had forgotten that fight though Ari’s memories of the second were still more than a bit hazy.

“So, what’s the resolution?”

“The resolution, you nosy angel, is that I am going to do what I should have done – trust that it will all come out right – because it will. I will still be me, and still my irascible, grumpy and generally insufferable self. SO, any thoughts you have of taking over my vast empire are slightly too early – I’m not going anywhere.”

Al grinned, and said “When she shows up send up your minion – and be all sober and serious and scared and give her the ‘I’m not sure what’s going on but Al wants to see you…’ She and I will be taking a run into town for coffee, and I’ll make sure to bring back a go-box or two for you, the lads and the mini-minions.”

“Those need milk and pacifiers – who thought it was a good idea to hire toddlers?”

“They are NOT toddlers – they’re old enough to be learning engineering and shop work from the ground up – and they’re doing it. Need to get their hands dirty to try and sync in some of the book learning they’re getting in mech-eng courses. Anyway, all we need to do is pay them, feed them and provide coveralls, though at the end if they’ve done well I’m going to gift them with some cash as a bonus.”

Ari left, grinning, and thoroughly relieved that her boss was alive, well and back on track as his usual self.

Soon after, Sterling ascended the stairs, having been intercepted by Ari before she got to the locker room.

The conversation had been dark.

Ari started, sober-faced, with “Al wants to see you. He’s been sitting alone in his office since before dawn – not sure what he was doing. I stuck my head in, and he asked to see you.” Other than the untruth about knowing what he was doing this was all perfectly accurate – and quite misdirecting.

Sterling was concerned for just long enough to scan Ari’s aura – and detect the nearly demonic glee behind the sober mien and words. Adopting a similar attitude, she replied. “Fine – let me go up and see what old Warhorse’s problem is. This sounds serious…I’m worried.”

Ari’s glee spiked, and Sterling snickered internally, though not a whit of it appeared on her face or in her eyes. She mounted the stairs, and walked into Al’s semi-darkened office (he’d heard her coming).

“Al, what’s going on?”

Without turning his chair to face her, he said, “I had a long talk with Ialin last night. It was…interesting.”

Sterling had had just about enough of this. Snickering loudly, she turned on the office lights and said “Al, never try to bullshit a mage. I can see your aura even around the chair – and you’re laughing like there’s no tomorrow inside. So’s that lying angel downstairs.”

Al spun around, a big smile on his face, “Solid touch, mage. You have found me out.”

She sat at the side of his desk. “I take it the conversation went well? Your aura is the calmest it’s been since this dance started. Just curious – what did she say that I didn’t?”

“It wasn’t what she said more than who she was in this escapade. Actually, let me revise that – a few things she said I can’t reveal to you as they involve third parties, but she pointed out that some of the things that have happened to me in the past few years have been of the same level as this – and they’ve turned out well.

One thing she said rang true – and it was that maybe these things were happening for a reason – and because no matter what happened I tended to turn things to helping others – be it learning of the paranormal or learning of…myself.”

Sterling nodded. “Good points, all. There was something else, though – something you are trying not to tell me.”

Al was nettled. “What are you - a polygraph?”

“No, I am a Staff Sergeant who is going to get RIGHT browned off if you keep dodging on me. Now, spill.”

Al hesitated a further second then spoke. “In everything you and your family said to me, you kept saying that I will be ‘so much more’ when I learn to use this. So much more…like what I am is nothing, or not enough.”

Sterling was stricken – face expressionless. Oh, crap – he’s right – we acted like this was a fulfillment rather than an addition – like he was broken. Idiot, Idiot…IDIOT.

“I cherish what I am now – and always will. I have earned my defects – my dings and dents – the patina on my soul. It is what I am that Daisy loves – and I love her for what she is, dings, dents, patina, four legs and all.

That you all kept saying that was profoundly disturbing – and I realized last night was a large part of my fear. I didn’t want to be MORE. I wanted to be ME who could DO MORE.

Don’t take this wrong, but you were pushing me further over the edge every time I heard that.”

Sterling hesitated, first angry, then chagrined as she realized he was right again. ‘So much more’ – what a frightening thought for someone who cherished the life he had now. ‘So much more’ – a statement in which anything could lurk.

“Al – what can I say other than I’m sorry? This didn’t occur to us – we all come to this so early we know nothing else. To us it is 'business as usual'. Like breathing. Nature's natural flow.

It never occurred to me – and no doubt to Uncle Fergus and Flash – that for someone who is ‘come into his own’ long ago, that this is a step that is frightening and unnatural.

I’m so sorry.”

Al soberly listened to the apology, and then looked at her soberly. “That was not an admonition – that was a statement of the difficulty. I am not angry, and now that I see what was happening I can understand your meaning – and it concerns me – but it no longer frightens me. We’ll call this the end of it – and say no more.”

Al rose from his desk, and reached for his hat. Donning his fedora, he dug into his pocket, pulled out his keyring, and said “This is not going to become a habit, understand me – But I feel the need for a chauffeur today for my coffee run. Shall we go to Tina’s?” He tossed her the keyring, and even he could feel the spike of pleasure in her aura.

“Warhorse, you’re ON! Key in, notch down, right?” She grinned in the same manic grin of Harley Quinn, and said, “Well, Mistah A, ler’s get goin! We got paces tah be and people to mess up, and time’s wastin! Move it, Puddin'!”

Al laughed, opened the door and bowed, offering the courtesy. She bowed back, and they exited she office.

*-*-*-*-*

Several days later, two chassis were nearing completion.

The project had its drivetrain, and the axles connected to the transfer case with newly refurbished propshafts. All of the hydraulics were on the chassis, and the mounts ready to accept their burden of body panels.

Tires were stripped from the D1 wheels previously, and the wheels sent out for stripping and powder coating in a custom colour to match the paintwork in process. Five wheels back, they were mounted in Michelin LTX tires and balanced to a nicety, then set aside for later addition.

Seats and interior trim were shipped in from the UK, then sent out to the trimmers for recovering in leather with the custom touches ordered by C. These had come back as well, and were still safely wrapped in plastic and stored away from the work area.

Over on the other side of the building, another project was taking shape. Al and John had been working on Fergus’ truck – welding, cleaning, painting being done by John’s capable hands with the assistance of two interns from the Gryphon summer-jobs program.

The brakes and brake lines had been replaced completely, and awaited the return of the body to be hooked up and bled. The clutch slave, too, had been replaced – with the inexpensive nature of the parts Al had no patience with old hydraulic assemblies.

The Diesel had been assembled, and re-mated to the refreshed transmission. The propshafts had been inspected and refurbished, as had the swivel assemblies with all new bearings and seals. The wheel hubs had had new seals and bearings with the braking system out – all under Al’s careful tutelage.

For his mentor in all things mage Al was going to pull out all the stops – this was as much a Zen koan for tranquility as it was a simple refurbishment of a customer vehicle.

With the drive train in place, Al rigged a support for the radiator, filled the cooling system, and with the addition of an exhaust and a new Diesel tank, the engine was started and the rear axle lifted – and the transmission put through its paces in high range.

The thrum of the Diesel penetrated the atmosphere of the shop – to the acute jealousy of the LR Project team.

“Damn. He started after us – but he got running first. How’d that happen?” Sterling was annoyed – this just didn’t seem fair. Then again, fair was not exactly going to be the name of the game when competing against an individual who wrote books about this type of work.

Ari, just as nettled but trying hard not to show it, spoke after some thought. “Simple – he was doing a simple refurb – we’re essentially building a new vehicle here from the parts of two old ones. Also, what he’s putting together is a LOT simpler – the Diesel over there has one – count ‘em – ONE wire to make it go.

The EFI on this engine has a cable the size of your wrist, and has the better part of two dozen sensors – engine temp, ambient air temp, coolant temp, anti-knock, front and back catalytic converter, road speed…you name it, it’s there. Still, I agree – it’s annoying.”

Sterling grinned. “So, simple – we get Warhorse over here and we get THIS one running. Dunno about you, but I want to hear this sexy beast roar.”

Wing thought about it for several seconds, then nodded. “Fine, but first we have to get this thing rigged out. Let’s get the header pipe on with the cats – we have a new one – and the Magnaflow exhaust. We can rig out the EFI to the test bench – I’ll get Smokey to bring it over, and we can start setting it up.”

With that, they pushed the chassis over to the chassis lift, and raised it to a comfortable working height.

She had another thought. “We’ll need to plumb up the transmission cooler lines as well – we have those for a D-90 in the parts storage. Let’s not bother to rig the power steering just yet – we don’t need that for a few minutes’ engine run. Now, get on the exhaust!”

“Yes, ma’am!” Sterling snapped off a salute, causing Wing to respond with “Don’t call me that – I WORK for a living!” Both started to laugh, then they parted – Wing to find Smokey and the test bench and Sterling to hang the exhaust.

Four hours later, the D-90 chassis looked dramatically different.

First, it had an exhaust system – a high-flow catalytic converter header pipe was suspended from the ceramic-coated manifolds attached to the V8. With them had come lambda sensors fore and aft of the catalytic converters, with their plugs tied off to the back of the engine in cable clamps mounted there for the purpose.

A high-flow exhaust system had been mounted from the Y-pipe to the rear of the chassis, proud in shining stainless steel with clamps and mounts to match.

The ignition wires and coil packs had been added to the top of the engine, mounted to the back of the engine with silicone wires between them and the plugs. The heavy cabling had been added from the starter and the ground to the battery box area – the battery would have to be supported on a plywood panel for the test.

The EFI harness had been rigged to the engine, each plugged into the proper sensor. The EFI computer had been mounted to a plywood panel, and this sat where the passenger’s seat would be for the moment. Next to it, on the test bench, a laptop computer had been plugged into the ODB-2 port to monitor the operation of the EFI’s systems.

The radiator had been set in the lower mounts, and two ratchet straps held it in place. The cooling hoses had been rigged, and the heater lines blanked off. The cooling system was filled with water – it would be replaced with animal-safe coolant later, but for a test water was sufficient.

The other fluids had been filled – the tank had five gallons of premium gasoline, and the oil sump filled with break-in oil. An electric fan had also been rigged to push air through the radiator – overheating was not in the range of permissible deviations here.

The fuel tank and lines, already rigged, had had a temporary lead run to the fuel pump that would be switched by the test bench.

“Well – looks to me like this thing is ready to go hot.“ Wing said, looking over her checklist. “Fuel, ignition, connections to the EFI, coil packs, knock sensors…all there and all connected.

The laptop isn’t reporting any faults other than the road-speed sensor that isn’t there, and the rest of the sensors seem about right. Exhaust is on, extractor’s on that. Cooling system is full, transmission cooler lines are hooked up and the transmission has a full pan. We’ll need to keep filling that as the pump pulls fluid, but that’s not a big deal right now.”

Sterling nodded. “So, do we go get the old Warhorse out of his stall, or do you want to roll the dice?”

Wing grinned. “Hey, he didn’t invite us when he started Fergus’ truck – we don’t need him here right now. Let’s go for it. Just in case, pass me a fire extinguisher, and you take the big 20-pounder and stand by. If there’s one thing I don’t want to do it’s burn down the building if something goes bad on us.”

“Agreed.”

With Sterling on fire watch, Wing flipped toggles at the test bench. The EFI activity lights were off, but a flip of a toggle cranked the engine as Wing watched the oil pressure readings. When the sensors registered pressure, she shut the starter down, then turned on the EFI. Another toggle started the electric fuel pump growling, which slowly built pressure in the lines, purging the air.

“Contact?”

“Contact!” On that word, Wing turned the starter over again, and the V8 cranked…and cranked…and cranked further. Hearts in mouths, the two women watched the engine – until it lit up with a lusty GROWL – and a thunderous clacking.

“It’s the lifters pumping up – Al warned me about this. Keep the RPMS high – the cam has to break in – she needs to be at 2500 or better.”

The clacking quieted, and the engine now thrummed a mighty beat of power at its high speed. One minute, five, then ten the engine sang its song, with constant minor changes to the RPM allowing the cam surfaces to burnish and embed with ZDDP lubricant as needed.

The two smiled at each other as they watched the instruments.

The trouble happened at the twenty-two minute mark. One second the engine was flawless, the next a horrid cacophony of CLANKS, BANGS and the sound of shattering metal was heard in the air. The engine began to stagger and lope – its beat no longer steady. The vents – not yet connected to vapor recycling – began to gush with oil smoke, and Wing hit the master kill switch and shut the engine down.

“Damnit. Damnit, damnit, DAMNIT. What in Hades went wrong?” Wing was beside herself – this was awful. What had they done wrong?

“We didn’t, near as I can figure.“ Sterling said, examining the records of the run on the computer – it had been recording as the engine ran. “Look – the numbers are all perfect – oil pressure was right in there, the water temp was fine, emissions were high, but on an engine breaking in that’s not a big surprise or so Warhorse tells me.

Hate to say it – but I think this is a manufacturing defect.”

Wing was decisive. “Get X down here – we need an evaluation on this. I’m going to get drain pans – we’ll need to drain the coolant and pull the manifolds to get the heads off – I want to see what’s going on here.”

“Ask, and you shall receive.” Al said, as he stepped into the bay. “I heard my name, and popped over. I also heard the evil noises this thing was making – tell me what you did.” True to his nature, he did not accuse or bluster – he merely started to work the problem in his role as expert.

“We had the engine on a static run – 2500 RPM with variations to run in the cam with break in oil full of ZDDP – she ran beautifully for 20-odd minutes, then it sounded like it ate something internally. She started to smoke, and loped like it had lost a cylinder or two.”

Al donned heavy rubber gloves. “Start it up again, but hold the RPMs at idle. Right now I don’t think worrying about the cam break-in is going to pay.”

Wing started the engine, and by pulling sparkplug wires he was able to determine that the back two cylinders weren’t firing. A further test showed neither of the cylinders showing any compression.

“All right. Drain the cooling system and get the intake and exhaust manifolds off. The engine’s going to have to come out, but I want to see inside first.”

20 minutes had the intake manifold off, and they peeled back the valley gasket. The center of the engine looked like a battlefield – metal shards were everywhere, and the pushrods for the valves on the back two cylinders were bent.

“OK, who wants to tell me what happened – Wing? No marks for this – just wondering if you have a speculation.”

“Camshaft. It snapped the cam in the rear bearing. Bearing seized, and the cam snapped just back of the next bearing. Pistons shoved the valves up and bent the pushrods – likely bent the valves and broke the rocker arms too – they’re just aluminium.”

“You called it. Either the bearings weren’t reamed right or the camshaft not installed properly. We didn’t do that here, did we?”

“No, we didn’t. That was all down to the machine shop.”

Al wiped his hands, and turned to leave. As he did, he nonchalantly said “I suggest you make a call to the shop – and suggest they come and pick this thing up and fix it. Feel free to invoke me if necessary – the troll who runs the place is a misogynist and won’t take lightly to dealing with you.”

“Do you want to talk to him instead?” Wing asked.

“No. If I get on the phone with him I’ll get angry – and I’m just not up for it. I’ll leave it in your capable hands.” With that, he walked away, headed back toward the far bay and the elderly Land-Rover.


*~*~*~*~*

“Bellwether Engineering – Bell speaking.” The gruff voice on the other end of the phone was familiar to Ari – she’d dealt with Arthur Bell before – and not enjoyed it. Smarmy, condescending, treating her like a go-between to Al rather than the senior administrator of Richer Engineering.

“Arthur – this is Arania Wardoff over at RE. We ran up that 4-liter Rover V8 you rebuilt for us – and it snapped its camshaft 22 minutes into the conditioning run for the cam. You need to come and get this thing, repair it, figure out WHY that camshaft failed and make damn sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“I saw that engine assembled – what did you do to it?” Arthur as usual for him was truculent – Al hated doing business with him but he was the best shop for rebuilds on non-American products – and usually absolutely reliable.

“Not a damn thing we shouldn’t have, considering the parts that failed were assembled by your people – but this is what we did.” In a few sentences Ari described the engine installation, the test setups and the instrumentation hooked to it, as well as carefully detailing the use of the proper break-in oil, as well as the addition of ZDDP lube to the cam lobes – a step that Bell’s technicians had neglected.

“OK, so that sounds right. What speed did you run it up at?”

“2500 RPM, with runs to 3000 and down to 2200 after 10 minutes.” Ari had her notes in front of her, and was quoting directly recorded numbers.

“Well, THERE’s the problem! What the hell were you doing pounding a fresh motor with speeds like that? OF COURSE IT FAILED! We aren’t taking responsibility-“

“Bullshit.” Ari, surprised at herself, was simply not buying Arthur’s nonsense. She knew very well what that engine needed and wanted for proper break-in – and she was not going to take any grief from Arthur – or let him dodge responsibility for the actions of his business.

“What did you say to me?” Arthur responded with more than a little heat. He certainly wasn’t going to take that from some secretary!

“I said BULLSHIT. That engine is the same design as a Chevy 350 or any flat-tappet engine – when you run them up with a new cam and lifters if you DON’T run them hard for the first 30 minutes the cam lobes don’t burnish properly – and the whole mess will fail in about thirty thousand miles. You need to flog the daylights out of them to break them in right – and you know it – or if you don’t, then Al’s been doing business with the wrong shop.”

“Now, look, young lady, put your boss on the phone. I am going to discuss this with him, man-to-man.”

“No.”

“Sorry, no? I am not going to have this discussion with some secretary-“

“Okay, first off, I am not ‘some secretary’. I am the manager of this facility, and second in line on the engineering side behind Al. I am NOT a secretary, and you WILL deal with me – as Al has told me to handle this.” She didn’t tell him Al didn’t want to talk to him, as that was in reserve – a reserve she had a feeling that she was going to need.

“OK, then we’re at an impasse. You pounded that motor, and we’re not taking responsibility-“ Arthur thought he could bluff this woman and get his way – and he was about to be sorely disappointed.

“Look, Arthur. Your techs messed up. Bottom line either the bearings weren’t reamed right, or the block wasn’t cleaned and rodded out properly and starved for oil in the back bearing. The bearing seized, and the cam snapped between there and the next bearing up. I just had the top off that block, and I saw the damage myself.” She did not say Al was there – she was going to win this her way, and not on the coat-tails of her boss.

“You did this? You installed that motor?” Bell was incredulous – Al had WOMEN working for him as engineers! What was WRONG with that man?

“Yes. Is this an issue?”

“Well, not sure what your training is-“ Bell was grasping at straws – his natural stupidity on the subject of females was decidedly not holding him in good stead right now, but he was not going to yield the point.

“I was trained on this by Al. I ran and worked on the team that built the DeLorean ADMC-1 that I’m sure you’ve seen in the papers. I INSTALLED the Chevrolet LT-1 in that car, with help from Al and the other mechanics here.
I BUILT that car, with two mechanics working with me when I needed extra muscle or a pair of hands. I assure you my qualifications are far better than that required to bolt up a tiny Rover V8 to an automatic transmission.”

“Well, I’m not-“

“No, you’re not. What you’re NOT going to do is argue with me here.

Your techs blew it. Suck it up, and tomorrow morning get a truck over here to pick up that engine. I expect – EXPECT – that you will strip it down, FIX THE PROBLEM, and inspect and replace ALL of the components that could have been affected by this – including the two back pistons that I am VERY sure took crown strikes from the valves.

The cam bearings are undoubtedly shot, and the cam itself is a total loss along with the lifters, pushrods and the rockers on the back two cylinders. You will also replace ALL of the lifters as they’d begun to wear in to the cam, and I’m not taking any chances with this engine considering who it’s being built for.”

“No, I am not doing this just because you think you can tell me what to do – I am not answering to some jumped up secretary-“ Arthur’s attitude – always larger than his common sense – had just run him aground.

“Twenty-six thousand dollars.”

“What is that?”

“THAT is the amount of business you get every six months from Richer Engineering - and your mouth just ran off your books.

“First off, I am not a ‘jumped-up secreatary’. I am a damn-sight better engineer than you will ever be, and the fact that I have a vagina is irrelevant. Secondly, this problem is just an example of the shoddy work we’ve had out of you for the past six months or so – Al kept passing it off as your being in a rush or whatever – but this is the end of it.

DO you REALLY want me to invoke the Sergeant-Major on this one? DO YOU? I GUARANTEE that if I do A) you are not going to enjoy the conversation, B) you WILL fix that engine, and C) you will NEVER see another dime of business from this company or anyone Al ever talks to – or I do for that matter.

NOW, LISTEN UP
. YOUR TRUCK WILL BE HERE TOMORROW MORNING AT 0900 HOURS. YOU WILL PICK UP THAT ENGINE, AND YOU WILL RETURN IT TO THIS FACILITY NO LATER THAN ONE – ONE - WEEK FROM THAT DATE. NOT ONE DAY LATER - AM I UNDERSTOOD?

IT WILL BE REPAIRED, AND YOU WILL NOT I REPEAT WILL NOT – CHARGE RICHER ENGINEERING FOR THIS WORK.

LASTLY, YOU WILL, I SAID WILL, PRODUCE A REPORT DETAILING THE FAILURE AND THE CORRECTIVE ACTIONS.

AM I UNDERSTOOD
, OR DO I NEED TO SEND AL DOWN THERE TO EXPLAIN IT TO YOU? I GUARANTEE YOU I HAVE BEEN KIND AND GENTLE COMPARED TO WHAT THE SERGEANT-MAJOR WILL DO!”

Down on the floor, Sterling worked to set up an engine crane to hold up the failed engine for removal. As she rigged the chains to the lifting points, she was shocked to feel an emotional spike from Ari’s office that rivaled Al at his most truculent. With this she heard the end of the discussion with Bellwether Engineering – and stopped, jaw slack.

“Damn. Wing, dear, that man has been a horrible example to you – and that is the BEST use of a Command Voice I have heard in years. GOOD FOR YOU!”

On the other end of the phone there was a dead, thick silence. This went on for five, then ten seconds, and Ari thought Arthur had hung up on her. Finally, he spoke, a shaken tone in his voice.

“Very well. I accept your conclusions, and we will meet your schedule. Do you want the failed parts back for analysis?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I trust you to produce a factual report of the issue and the corrective action – you know what you’re doing.”

“I will personally be there tomorrow morning at nine to pick it up. Do you need anything else?”

“No, Arthur. Thank you. See you then.”

With that, Ari hung up the phone – and succumbed to a case of the shakes. After a few minutes and several calming pulls from a bottle of water, she headed back to the floor – that engine had to be out and ready to go.

In his office, Al sat at his desk – he’d picked up every word of Ari’s side of that discussion. As he wiped away tears of silent laughter from his eyes, he thought to himself that his majordomo had come very far, indeed…

*~*~*~*~*

{Continued in next post}
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

An hour later, Al’s private line rang. Looking down at the caller-ID he saw it to be ‘BELL, ARTHUR’

Debating seriously if he wanted to pick it up, he sighed, decided Arthur would hound him till he did, and picked up the phone.

“Arthur old mate, how’s it going? Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

“Yah, Al – nice weather. Look, I need to talk to you about your secretary, Arania. She got up in my face a little while ago over this Rover V8.”

Al, never a man to be patient with fools, grunted. “Oh, you mean the RV8 that snapped its cam 20 minutes into a break-in run? What about it?”

“Well, she’s tryin' ta say that she did the install on that, and started tellin’ me what I was gonna do and how it was all our fault…seemed to me I needed to talk to you about this.”

“Well, Arthur – I told her to deal with you on this. I have no reason to doubt what she has to say, as she and her pal Sterling DID install that engine and get it wired and plumbed up. Did a quite competent job of it, as well – quite shipshape and Bristol fashion.

The failure was not from the installation – it was from shoddy work in assembling the long block you sent back.”

“Sterling – what kind of a guy’s name is that? What’re you hirin’ down there – fairies?”

By this point Al was beyond annoyed with this prattling fool. However, through a titanic effort of will he managed to keep his temper – as Arthur insisted on digging the grave of any further association between RE and Bellwether Engineering.

“As a matter of fact, Arthur – Sterling is in this case a woman’s name, though there are other famous men with that name as well. I have a dream team working on that project – my majordomo and her friend – who’s not only an accomplished artist, she's a damned fine mechanic-which is about the ONLY way I'd have let her in there. She wanted to do an art book on the creative process. They are two of the more competent engineering types I’ve had working for me – both very good, and handling the build themselves with me just adding my bit now and again.”

Arthur’s voice turned sly.

“Oho – so that’s what it’s all about – gotcher own little harem going at work, do ya?”

Right about that point Al’s temper snapped. In a deceptively silky calm voice, he said;

“Arthur, in the past five minutes you have insulted the competence of my staff, their ability to carry out tasks, committed at least one hate crime referring to homosexuals, and insulted me and the two ladies I have working for me by suggesting that I maintained them on my payroll for sexual favours.”

“Now, Al, I didn’t mean it like that – ya know I was just talkin’ between guys-“

Arthur, realizing the tremendous hole he’d dug himself into, tried to back out but found it was far too late – and the hole had collapsed behind him.

“:First off, Art, that type of speech is demeaning, disgusting and completely unnecessary in any civilized gathering – in which I expect you have not been in a while. However, let’s discuss the engine first.”

“Well, they over-revved it on break-in – ya can’t do that to-“

“Arthur – BULLSHIT. This is a flat-tappet engine as my majordomo told you and you DAMNED well know – so don’t blame my staff for the incompetence of yours.

WE did our jobs by the numbers – the installation, wiring and plumbing of that engine was DEAD ON. It was run up by the FACTORY PROCEDURE – and you know me Arthur – I KNOW THAT PROCEDURE.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to do something about it, then. We’re not eating the costs on this, though – we-“

That did it. Standing at his desk, Al summoned the Sergeant-Major. His back straightened, his face flushed, and all of the command skills gleaned from a centuries-old military tradition came to the fore - yet he was completely calm.

Hmmm…interesting, Never thought of that before. Need to ponder on that more once I’m done with this mess. But for now~


“You Incompetent PRAT. You niggling, tiny-minded orangutan. Your manners and your morals match your engineering prowess – bankrupt, terminally out-of-date and utterly useless.”

Arthur, obviously desensitized by the slamming he’d had earlier, tried to respond. “Now, there’s no call for that, Al-“

OH YES THERE IS. I am DONE with your drivel. LET ME TELL YOU WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN.”

“YOU – YOU PERSONALLY – WILL BE HERE WITH A TRUCK AT OH-NINE-HUNDRED TOMORROW. YOU WILL BE MET BY MY ENGINEERS, AND YOU WILL LOAD THAT ENGINE.”

ONE WEEK AFTER YOU WILL RETURN WITH THAT ENGINE - FIXED AND IN PERFECT CONDITION. IF YOU DO NOT, I WILL COME DOWN TO BELLWETHER ENGINEERING MYSELF TO COLLECT IT - AND YOU. AM I UNDERSTOOD!”

A squeak issued from the phone that sounded like “yes”.

“I HAVE HAD MY LIMIT OF YOUR SHODDY WORK, INCOMPETENCE AND DISGUSTING NEANDERTHAL ATTITUDES. IF YOU WISH TO RETAIN ANY KIND OF A WORKING RELATIONSHIP AT ALL YOU WILL DO THIS AND DO IT RIGHT! AM I UNDERSTOOD!

The squeak sounded from the phone again.

“LASTLY AND FOREMOST, YOU WILL NEVER DISRESPECT MY STAFF AGAIN. YOU ARE A DISGUSTING, FILTHY WORM AND THEY ARE EACH WORTH TEN OF YOU, YOU REVOLTING EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING. IF I HEAR OF ONE, ONE WORD SPOKEN IN DISRESPECT TO OR ABOUT ANY MEMBER OF MY STAFF I WILL DEAL WITH IT – AND YOU – PERSONALLY!

AM I UNDERSTOOD!”

Again the squeak, even fainter this time.

Meanwhile...

On the floor, the shouting had attracted the attention of Sterling, Wing – and everyone else in the building.

Just before, while taking a short break, Sterling had gratefully taken a proffered mug, and had brought it to her lips when a sharp spike of rage startled her into spilling it on herself.

"Bugger!"

Wiping the floor and surrounding area of her accident, she excused herself and went to change into fresh coveralls.

Deciding to check up on Al, she searched out his aura and found it to be calm and serene - as it was when he was barely able to hold in his amusement when he and Ari tried to pull one over on her. This was totally at odds with his emotions. Searching deeper, she ran headlong into one of the strongest shields she had ever encountered, as his emotions...disappeared.

Becoming a trifle concerned, as well as a bit browned off, she scryed without trying the "snoop". Al was completely locked down and in full control, and she could see the power flow being channeled correctly.

Hmm...it’s like he has completely mastered it all. What is he trying to pull with that barely holding it in song and dance?


Sterling was a trifle irritated at this apparent deception when she smacked herself in the forehead.

I am a bloody thrice-damned idiot! As the Sergeant-Major, he does have it all down perfectly. He has it under control because as a Sergeant-Major, he HAS TO BE in control because lives he is responsible for are at stake. When he channels that, he's in control...how interesting.

Thoughts now filed away to tell Uncle Fergus and Flash later, she finished cleaning up, and stuck the soiled coveralls over the locker to dry off before tossing in the laundry bin. Whistling, she walked back, a cheeky wide toothy grin stole upon her face.

The interns looked at each other in fear – they’d never heard the like, and seeing Sterling grinning like a Cheshire Cat, they looked to John for guidance.

“Wow, Mr. MacDonald – what’s Mr. Richer yelling at?”

“Kids, that is the Sergeant-Major you just heard. If you value your sanity and your eardrums, don’t EVER make him that angry. You are free to disagree, to question, to make mistakes and be stupid – but NEVER make him angry.”

They stared at him doe-eyed. “How will we know?” Pamela asked, in her British accent.

John chuckled. “He will give you plenty of warning – just pay attention. Anyway, you’re good kids – I don’t see it happening. Back to work, now.”

Sterling, now back by Ari over on the other side of the shop, who was looking at her goggle-eyed.

“What in the WORLD set him off?” Wing was amazed – that was an exercise in Command Voice that she could never hope to match – and was frankly overawed by,

“Can’t you tell by what he was saying? Arthur Bell called him and tried to get Al to countermand what you said. From the context of what he said, I expect that Arthur dug himself a NICE deep hole – and Al shoved him into it and brought a bloody mountain down on top. I am truly impressed – the old boy has some serious chops.”

Back up in his office, Al sat, took a sip from his coffee (Command Voice is painful in long endurance) and continued.

“Art, old boy, you have royally as they say screwed the pooch. Your output the past half-year or so has been marginal at best, but I’ve hoped that you would straighten your works up and deal with your employees. Obviously, this has not happened.

I am giving you a chance to redeem yourself. Shut your filthy mouth, get over here, pick up that buggered engine, fix it PROPERLY and produce the report my majordomo asked for and our business relationship might continue.

If not – it won’t. Simple as that.

I will expect to see you tomorrow at 0900 sharp. Good day, Arthur.” Al hung up, took a deep breath, and opened the tin on his desk and extracted a digestive. Nibbling that and sipping his coffee, he wandered down onto the floor and headed for the assembly bay where the D-90 was having its engine removed.
“Arthur will be here at Oh-nine-hundred tomorrow promptly. Can we have that engine out if there in time?”

Wing spoke up. “No problem – it’s nearly ready to come out now. The biggest issue was the ancillaries – getting them off and re-stowed took some time, but now it’s just undo the flex plate and the bellhousing and she’ll come right out.”

“Good. How bad is a week going to hurt us on that?”

Wing grimaced. “It’s not a help, certainly. That leaves us little margin for error, but does give us body time if your friend delivers on time.”

“He will – Eduardo’s a gentleman and a damn good paint man. I’ll call him tomorrow – no, better yet, you call him – and ask if we can move it up a few days. We have room in the schedule to get this done.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you both later.” Finishing his digestive, he wandered off toward the far bay and his project.

*-*-*-*-*

The phone burred, then burred again in the double-ring Al had programmed into the system. Ari looked over and saw the caller ID of the AHI prototype shop, reached over, snagged the receiver and intoned “Richer Engineering – Arania speaking, Can I help you?”

“No, but I can help you, young lady! How are you this morning?”

“McAdams – how are you today? Good to hear from you! I assume this means the body of that 109 is ready?”

“You have it in one! It’s here and ready to come in your direction – can you tell your boss that it’s on the way in, and dig out the requisite bribe?”


“Dark or milk chocolate this time?”

“Surprise us - a mix wouldn’t hurt, as there are folks here who like both. As always, the bribe is most appreciated and quite unnecessary – the stuff you folks come up with is fun compared to the usual run-of-the-mill AHI work. Don’t tell Mr. Alexander I said that, though!”


“As long as you keep delivering the quality you do, your secret is safe with me!” Ari chuckled.

Within an hour a plant flatbed backed up to the loading dock, and Wing, John and the mini-minions all gathered to help unload the cardboard-wrapped bundles. These were conveyed by hand, hand truck, and forklift to the far bay, and Al’s careful inspection.

Insatiably curious, Ari and Sterling downed tools and “helped” to convey the parcels to the far side, and helped to unwrap them from their overburden.

The back box, panels, doors, door tops and bulkhead all gleamed in Land-Rover Bronze Green, in colour identical to the original but in formulation the tough AHI urethane enamel used on farm implements. The trim, once worn, scuffed and rusty steel, shone again in new galvanizing, with new rivets fastening it into place on the panels.

The doors had come in for the same treatment. Panels separated from frames, the frames had been galvanized, the panels reattached with barrier caulk between. They were then sprayed in the proper colour and shone as if new.

The bulkhead had been handled according to its needs – sandblasted, welded and galvanized, then painted to match.

The small panels – dashboard, floor panels, transmission tunnel, locker covers and seatbox – had all come in for the same treatment, and shone as well.

“Aye, you’ll be a bonny lass when you’re together.” said Al, unconsciously mimicking the truck’s owner Fergus. He ran his hands along the panels, noting the paint finish, looking for voids or poor coverage – and as usual, found none.

“Al, the paint’s nice and all – but the panels aren’t straight. The proto shop blew it. Should I call them back?”

“The proto shop blew absolutely nothing, Wing. These were done exactly as I told them to.

This is a working truck as Sterling will attest. Sterling, tell Wing what a typical day for this truck is.”

“Well, with Uncle Fergus being a gamekeeper as well as a woodsman, gardener-botanist, sometimes Justice of the Peace in the fullest sense of it, this old crock can do anything and pretty much has done everything from hauling thatch, rocks, plants, composting materials, animals and every damn thing in between – as well as him and his mates all over the moors for things like delivering supplies in bad weather to folks who literally cannae get away – and getting in and out of spots that no other car would even think of – including the Unimogs the Forest Service uses on occasion.” Sterling spoke surely – she’d been everywhere with him in this truck as well, and knew well the things it got into – and out of.

Al picked up the narrative again. “This is a very different job to our usual restoration. Most of what comes through here is like Mike Klingensmith’s Singer Gazelle – it’s a rebuild to like-new condition like it just rolled out of the showroom in Dagenham – or Duxbury – or London.

Then, we have the folks coming in for modifications – like Sterling’s ‘stereo speakers’.” He nodded to Sterling, who chuckled quietly. “Those folks want the looks of a vehicle to remain the same, as they don’t want to draw attention to the changes.”

He pointed to the Rover – chassis proud in new suspension components, with a reconditioned drivetrain in place.

“This truck is a worker, and because of that we gave it a functional rebuild to a high standard, but not so much of a cosmetic one. She looks like what she is – a hard-working, well-loved Rover that’s been kept and rebuilt to a good standard – but not fussed with cosmetically.

I could have replaced the doors and all the outer panels and given Fergus back a show toy – and he’d have hated it every time he tossed cordwood in the back. This way – he’ll be careful but he’ll use the truck for what it was built for.”

Wing wasn’t letting it go. “Then what are we doing with the D-90?”

“The D-90 is a resto-mod. We are taking the basics of a tried and true truck, adding the power of a much newer model with the modifications to suit for braking and steering, and cladding it in a far higher level of fit and finish then it was ever designed for.

That truck is sheer luxury – it’s the Defender equivalent of a Range Rover Sport or the like – custom fitted with leather, air-con, and all the bells and whistles that it never had new.

That truck will never haul sheep, or cordwood, or anything but my darling daughter, her friends and their haul from shopping wherever it might be.” He grinned, showing how little seriousness he placed in his words.

“Under all of the luxury it is still an ex-MOD 90 like Clara – tough, able to run hard and do the impossible – so worse to worst if she handles it properly it will keep her alive where a Lexus, Jag or Bentley might let her down.”

That said, he spoke to John. “That chassis ready to take panels?”

“Sure is, eh? The kids and I have been right aboot it – she’s rarin’ to go.”

“Then rare away – I can’t wait to see her assembled.” With that he turned back to his office, and Sterling and Wing to their tasks.

John, now free of the interlopers, turned to the two apprentices he had with him and said, “Well, let’s be aboot it, then. Blossom, you get on setting out the panels in the order of assembly, and we’ll get the back box in place…”

*~*~*~*~*

Well within the appointed time span, Arthur Bell returned with the engine.

Again wrapped in plastic, it was accompanied by a cardboard box – which contained the damaged components from the original run. Also in the box was a slim report – ten pages or so – detailing the failure, the reason for it and the remediation methods performed.

Wing and Sterling met him at the loading dock, and between the three of them and the overhead rail lift manhandled the crate containing the engine to a dolly, and unwrapped it.

The engine, as before, was pristine – clean and sporting its modifications for the task. This time, however, the valley gasket had been loosely dropped in place rather than bolted down with its keepers.

Wing noticed this. “Arthur – what’s with the valley gasket? This was supposed to be fastened so the seals would have time to cure before we bolted on the intake.”

“Miss Ari, there’s a reason for it. Let me show you.” With that, he took the valley gasket off and laid it aside, then took out a tactical flashlight and shone its beam on the interior. Wing and Sterling both looked in, and were impressed by that they saw.

The interior of the engine was pristine – all the debris from the failure gone, and the components destroyed by the piston strikes replaced. The rocker arms upon the back two cylinders were new, and the engine sported a new set of pushrods. The new cam and lifters nestled in their valley, and were all carefully treated with healthy dollops of break-in lubricant.

“I’m reasonably impressed – but it looked good the first time. What did you find?” Ari wasn’t buying the apparent attention to detail alone – like the engineer she’d become, she wanted to know the why – and the means to prevent it happening again.

The look on Arthur’s face told it all – chagrin mixed with not a small amount of anger. “It was stupidity, plain and simple. The guy who USED to work for me who did the refurb on the block pulled and pushed in the cam bearings by the book – but got sloppy on the alignment. Most of the oil ports were occluded to one degree or another – but the back one was almost completely shut off. Even if it had passed the initial stress of the run-in it would have failed in sustained high-RPM operation – and as we all know the RV8’s not a revvy engine, but she’ll cruise at 3000 all day.

This one would have died fast – and it is all the fault of my people – and mine for not keeping better track of what’s going on in my shop.”

He pointed to the box. “Those are the failed parts – I thought you folks would want a look at ‘em even though you said you didn’t.

The pistons from 7 and 8 are there, as are the valves from the same cylinders. The pistons took strikes – they might'a been OK, but…I wasn’t gonna take chances. After strikes like that the thing could’a gone fine for 110 K, but then again it could'a developed hot spots and detonated. Best to just get rid of ‘em.”

Wing nodded. “Best to get rid of them indeed. What else did you have to change?”

“Fairly simple. We Magnafluxed the con-rods on the back two cylinders in case of cracks from the strikes, and shot the valves just because. We re-cut the seats to make sure they were OK, and while we had the engine completely stripped down – which we did – everything got cleaned and the oil passages were checked for debris and rodded out.”

“She’s basically a new engine – and in damn good shape, now. I inspected it myself every step of the way – it’ll give no more grief.

As an added extra, while we had the pistons out I balanced the assemblies – she’ll be really smooth. We also ported and polished the head runners for the intake and exhausts – it’ll breathe really well with the large-bore system I know Al’s going to want to put in it. That will be one happy engine.”

During this, Sterling stood back, attentive, but not listening specifically to the words though understanding them was no issue.

She read Arthur’s aura – and was pleasantly shocked. Gone was the belligerence, the truculence – and to a great extent the instinctive, gut-level misogyny.
She’d expected something different – a sullen acceptance of the status quo, and a deference to the women on the surface but no deep change – but this was something very different, and far deeper.

“Well, thank you Arthur – we’ll be installing it today, and we’ll let you know how it goes. I expect from what you’ve said it will run up and pass all the tests – it looks quite good.”

Ari, while quite polite, wasn’t cutting Arthur any slack - she remembered altogether too well the conversations that had happened five days before.

“I got something else to say.” Gone now was the engineer, and in his place was an uncertain man – unsure of the reactions of the people he was speaking to but determined to say his piece anyway.

“And what would that be?” Wing was neutral – willing to listen but not yielding her opinion of the individual in front of her.

Arthur took a deep breath, and dove in.

“Bottom line, I was an ass. I didn’t respect you and your work, and I sure as hell didn’t respect you as a lady. I said some things that were downright nasty about both of you and about Al...”

Wing was shocked, as was Sterling – neither knew anything about it --

“...and for that I’m sorry.

I been doin’ a lot of thinkin’ during the time I been in the shop workin’ on this RV8 – and it’s been a good thing. I’ve never been too bright when it comes to how to treat people – and I’ve gotten sour over the years – prob’ly because people treated me the way I treated ‘em.”

He sighed, took a deep breath and dove in again. When he did, Wing looked sidelong at Sterling – who was standing there, outwardly blank, but inside she was in shock.

The blinding white of the change shone clear as daylight, the Truth flowing swift like a crystalline river, flooding every part of him, cleansing him of the filth she felt mere days ago when Ari asserted herself, and later when Al backed her up.

Every word he’s saying is true, and from the heart. Damn. This took solid brass balls. Sterling thought to herself.
At that, she nodded at Wing – whose eyes widened slightly as her friend’s affirmation of the sincerity of the man.

“I’m not sayin’ any of this because of the business – after this mess I gotta figure Bellwether’s never gonna see another dime of business from RE – but I hadda clear the air – and let you know how I felt.

I’m sorry.”

With that, he walked to the cab of his vehicle, and extracted three large, gaily-wrapped packlages.

“It isn’t much, but I felt like I hadda say ‘I’m sorry’ somehow in more than words. These are from Painted Turtle out in Osseo – they’re good stuff, and I get ‘em for myself now and then even though I’m not supposed to have ‘em – sugar and all.

There’s three boxes – one for you, Miss Ari, one for you Miss Sterling, and one for Al’s Missus. He doesn’t need any more sweets.” he finished, with a bit of a twinkle in his eye and a slight, humorous poke at Al’s slightly rotund girth.

“Again, I’m sorry, and thanks for listenin’, and for hearin’ me out.” With that, he shook their hands, climbed back into his truck and was gone.

“Whatthehell just happened?” Wing was nonplussed – this was not how she expected this to end. It wasn’t what Sterling had expected either, but then again this had been a time of twists and turns.

“What just happened is someone had a change of heart – and figured a few things out. I expect getting Command Voiced by two of the loudest people I know...“

Wing looked disgruntled, then smiled when she realized she was being complimented in a backhand way,

“...and basically forced to realize he was being stupid did him some good – but then again most people would have just ignored it.”

“He was completely and utterly sincere – and probably feels a good bit lighter in his soul having realized it. It will be good for him in the long run.”

Wing looked at the engine, the boxes, and then shook herself.

“All well and good, and bless him for realizing it, but we have work to do. This engine’s put us a week behind.”

"No Ari. You dinna understand. This just doesna happen. Maybe but one in a billion. This is like Ebenezer Scrooge on Christmas. Tha' is a different person."

She took a deep breath. For some bizarre reason, when it came to magecraft, she found herself verbally channeling Uncle Fergus. Slightly amused but trying to get her point across, she plunged back in.

"Like YOU are a different person. Handled right, he will surround himself with GOOD people who do GOOD work. It propagates.
You have a decision to make before he gets to his office. He's in a car, but I'm a MAGE.

Arania, will you help him grow?"

Sterling grabbed the handle of the pallet jack and drew power. She sent it to the assembly bay, and then deposited the candy boxes securely in a cabinet away from the prying fingers of the apprentices.

Sterling crossed her arms and waited, smiling as realisation bloomed on Ari's face.

"Al's gotta be told, Sterling. About you scrying, that Bell is changed, that since he is sincere, maybe we can finally get the craftsmanship we KNOW he's capable of. You with me?"

"I was hoping you'd ask. It would be my extreme pleasure." For some reason Sterling had taken a liking to the curmudgeon – and felt that he was worth the effort to salvage. Seeing the changes in him and the naked honesty of his confession left her with little choice.

They trotted up the stairs to Al’s office – again, he was dictating reports. Seeing them, he bellowed at the computer to cease and desist, and again Majel Barrett’s dulcet tones were heard.

He regarded them with suspicion. “What do you two want? I heard the doors open – what showed up?”

Wing led off. “Well, the RV8 is back. Bellwether delivered it – Arthur brought it over personally, and went over the work that had been done bit by bit. Frankly, he and his folks did a beautiful job – the engine is stunning inside and out, and I have little doubt it’ll run perfectly.”

“Bloody-well hope so, considering the grief the prat gave us over it. Nice to see Bellwether’s swan song is at least making good on his stupidities.”

Wing and Sterling looked at each other – this was not going to be easy.

Wing shifted gears, becoming Ari. “Well, you know, Al…might be worth giving him another chance.”

Al was unmoved. “And what might possess me to do this, Ari? The outfit’s quality has become execrable, and the last go-around I had with him left me with a personal distaste for the man that there is not enough tea in the world to wipe out. I cannot see any reason I would do business with him, or have anything to do with him.”

True to Al’s standing as a gentleman, he said nothing to the other two about Arthur’s allegations as to their presence in his shop – some things were better left unsaid.

Sterling spoke up. “Al, to be blunt, it looks like the man’s turned a new leaf.

He rolled in, we unloaded the engine, and he took us for a guided tour of the repairs and work done to the engine over and above the minimum to fix it. He not only stripped it, cleaned it, repaired it and found the issue and fixed that – they ported, polished and balanced it. That engine is going to be a Swiss watch when we install it – mark my words.”

Ari picked it up from there. “It wasn’t just the engineering work.

Al, he apologized. Straight, simple and from the heart, he apologized. He said flat-out that the time working on the RV8 - I get a feeling he did a lot of it himself – and I suspect the reamings he got from you and me – made him reconsider a lot of things.”

Sterling again picked up the narrative. “Al, you know me – there is no normal human who can blow smoke up my arse. It’s not possible and you know why.”

Al nodded. “Scrying.”

Sterling nodded as well. “Yes, scrying. I had a good long look while he was apologizing. To be blunt, that is not the same man that said rude things about the three of us – I can only guess what they were.

The old Arthur Bell has been – washed out. The new one needs encouragement, or he’ll end up as bad as the old one – worse when his business finally fails because people turn their back on him.

We need to do something.”

Al was thinking and thinking hard. “Honestly, after the insults he heaped on you two I am not inclined to forgive, OR forget. Even though he’s changed we owe him NOTHING, and he owes us considerably.”

He sat back with his patented “Convince me” look on his face.

Oh, damn. Warhorse is just not buying it. Gonna have to push hard on this – hope we can pull it off.

“OK, so the guy’s a screwup. Al, you didn’t see what I saw – you didn’t see the difference.

Right now he has two ways to go. If he gets the right encouragement, he can turn around, and you can as Ari says ‘get the quality you KNOW he can provide’ from him. Not to mention you will NEVER have a more loyal supplier – the man’s no fool.

Barring that it’s a downhill spiral. He’s too far down the path to pull this off alone, he quite simply needs that second chance.

Anyway, I thought you were all about second chances there Mr. Alexander-Richer?”

Al froze, and Ari sucked in her breath and winced. Sterling realized that she’d gone too far – way over the edge with that last comment. Damn, did it this time. I just screwed the pooch.

The seconds stretched, and Sterling could feel Al controlling himself – that rigid control from decades in the military. Finally he spoke, the words coming out low and nearly accentless.

“You, young lady, impose upon my good nature on occasion. Staff Sergeant, you and I are somewhere along the line going to have a discussion about boundaries – on the floor of a dojo if necessary.

However, that does not negate the validity of your statement. Yes, I am all about second chances – and this one will cost me little.”

He turned to his desk and picked up his phone. Pressing a speed-dial, he waited for the connection to be made.

“Mort, it’s Al. Pull the contract for Bellwether Engineering. I need you to do a quick update on it and get it to me here.

“No problem – when do you want it?”


“Take what you have, change the date and get it to me here ten minutes ago. I mean NOW, Mort. Email it and I’ll print it here.”

“What the Hell are you up to? OK, done…on its way. At least have the decency to tell me what you’re doing.”

“Don’t worry, Mort – it’s an investment – an investment in a man.” With that, Al hung up, and a discreet beep a few seconds later heralded the arrival of the document. Al’s fingers moved on the keyboard, and a letter began to form.

Arthur, this is a renewal of our contract for standard rates and times. Given the recommendation I received from my two engineers I feel comfortable in offering this – but I will not be forgiving again should either your attitudes or the quality of your work slip again.

Find enclosed with this the RE and AHI codes of conduct and ethics that every employee is issued when hired – and held to. I suggest you use it in the same way – establish a strict code of conduct and you will reap the benefits.

Also, should you require assistance, I can arrange for you to borrow AHI’s head of Personnel, who performs the same function for RE on the occasions I require it on a contract basis. Constance is a dear soul, and the epitome of integrity. She could be of endless benefit to you if needed.

Lastly, were it not for the integrity of my ‘harem’, you would not have this opportunity. Be aware of that, and let it guide your actions.

Yours, Al Richer.

N.B.: This is an opportunity – don’t bugger it up. –Al.

This was slipped into an envelope with a signed copy of the contract, and a copy of the code of conduct. Sealed with wax, it was handed to Sterling.

“Be off with you, then. With a bit of luck and some traffic you will hopefully beat him to his shop.”

Al looked very seriously into her eyes. “Then, you and I are going to have a talk about boundaries – but for now, off with you!”

Sterling, document in hand, stepped into the woods and created her portal, walking out from the side of the building, and in the front door. Handing a packet to the receptionist, she said,
"For Mister Bell's eyes only, as you have not got an NDA. Scan it if you must, it is your job, but it is full of boring paperwork, and you do not have clearance."

With that, she crept around the corner just as Bell pulled up.

His heavy step told volumes, and she hoped this would tell more.

As he trudged through the front door Arthur was thinking about his business – and wondering what the loss of cashflow from the RE work was going to do to him. Things were never all that good, and hadn’t gotten any better over the last half-year or so. Sighing, he headed for his office and the latest pile of invoices, when his receptionist stopped him.

“Mr. Bell – someone just dropped this off to you – said it was ‘eyes-only’ for you. I didn’t think I should open it.”

She passed over the heavy, white envelope, the red wax on the back a jarring counterpoint. Looking at it, Arthur opened it, breaking the wax seal and sliding out the packet of documents.

He began to read.

Sterling felt a surge of surprise, relief, then as she stepped into the portal, gratitude and joy.

Smiling as she stepped back into the woods, she patted the nearest tree.

"Tell the old troublemaker I said 'Thanks luv. I understand now.'

May your branches grow ever greener."

Whistling, she walked in, grabbed her water bottle, took a long pull, and to the two anxious faces, saluted and said,

"Mission Accomplished."
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 12 - Growth, Apologies and Deliveries


After the tumultuous morning, and the events with Bellwether Engineering, Sterling should have been thrilled. After all, she’d seen the change in Arthur, and between her and Ari they’d persuaded Al to help him.

So why did she feel terrible?

Feeling uneasy, Sterling excused herself from her usual lunch with the crew, and carrying only a wooden mug, she walked to the woods and drew energy for a portal.

Stepping through, she found herself walking towards the Camp. She still found it hard to believe Maggie and Christine...no, Emerauld and Safyr, her sisters, had spent all that time masquerading as humans so she could have a normal life.

Al didn't have that.

She wasn't intentionally being flippant, but it just happened. She'd been a mage for so long, she'd forgotten how it was before she was one. She'd been so awful to him, "assuming he was too dangerous, assuming he'd be thrilled and assuming he'd just get it". She even assumed he was playing around before she realised his military training was a key control feature. Too many damned assumptions.

I'm a horrible friend.

As she wandered and pondered, tree branches tripped her up as she wandered through to the camp, even whacking her smartly. As she dodged one headed for her face...

*WHACK!*
*WHACK!*


"Bloody hell, Greenleaves, 'geroff!"

Ialin appeared, swishing a handful of willow branches in the air, hearing them whistle and whip musically.

"Quit feeling sorry for yourself! You screwed up, yes, but the pity party is quite frankly minotaur shit and you know it.

In the past, when you had problems, who did you talk to?"

Sterling thought.

"Flashburn, Aurum, Mag-Emerauld, her sister...my sister...my sisters! It is still hard to get used to."

"Suck it up, buttercup!
They gave you a normal life. Did you ever wonder what your life would be like without them? I can tell you of at least two scenarios.

One, you'd have been born into drow slavery. Your magic would emerge, and they'd have stuck you in the arena with threats to your Mother's life to get you to fight until you died, the end.
You'd have fought siblings. All half-elves with the same thrice damned jerk as father. The only crime any of you committed was being born looking like half-elves instead of Drow.

Two, you'd have grown up in the human world, magic gone haywire, you'd have run away, trying desperately to make your freakish nature go away.
If there were no mages to take you on, you'd have likely been put down by MIB to protect humanity.

Be glad for it, and get over your screwup. You've been helping them grow, Sterling, let them help you as well.

Talk to Ari and Al. Tell them you don't know how to act "normal". Apologise often when you realise it.

Communicate, damnit!
"

"I have been an arse again, huh?"

*WHACK!*


"Cut it out, please?"

"Cut the pity party, and think on what I've said. Now go back to your friends. They need you. The real you."

*~*~*~*~*

Returning to the forest, Sterling slipped in the personnel door in the ancient factory building. As always the place rang with the work in progress, and Wing’s trademark 70s rock and roll emanated from the bay where Wing herself was in the process of bolting the finely-rebuilt RV8 back into the 90's chassis.

Sterling walked up to her, and touched her on the arm. Wing spun, startled, and stopped still at the look on Sterling’s face.

“Sterling, hon, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Want me to call your Mom or Flash?”

Sterling chuckled mirthlessly. “Yes, I’m sick. Sick of treating people badly. I need to talk to you and Al – upstairs in the office, please.”

Wing was startled – what had Sterling done she should feel so horrible for? She’d been a friend, a companion, a well of strength and support…what was going on?

“Sterling this doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand – please, explain.” The distress in the young woman’s countenance was obvious, as were the talons extending from her hands.

“So, where’s Warhorse – still upstairs?”

“No, back shop – checking a batch of results. Let me call him.”

“Ari, what’s up? Problem for me or for X?”


“You. Sterling wants to talk to us – in the office. This isn’t happy.”

“Oh. Bugger. Be right out.”


Soon after, the three of them sat around the conference table. With a gesture, Sterling disabled the door lock using the switch on the panel by the door. With that, she got up and started to pace, back and forth in the small space.

Al and Ari looked at each other – this was not the confident, earthy mage they both knew and held in very high esteem.

Finally, Sterling stopped and began to speak.

“I just had an interesting talk with someone, Al – a certain Forest sprite we both know –"

"Ialin?"

"Ialin."

"I went to see her – and the first thing she did was beat the breath out of me with a handful of willow branches – while berating me for the pity party I was indulging in.”

Wing looked confused, and Al laughed.

“I know that sentiment well – except with me it’s a roll of blueprints. Just as annoying, and likely louder. However, this is not what you’ve gotten us here to tell us. Please, do go on.”

His light tone belied the look in his eyes – he was quite concerned for his friend, and this self-exposition scared him.

“One of the things that my pity party was about was – me.

I do not know how to act around normal, real people. I have spent a good part of my life around mages – people like Uncle Fergus, and Flash, and my other cousin, Aurum. You haven’t met him – he’s a tower of stability – an earth mage. Very grounded, very calm.

Then there was growing up with my sisters in disguise...as hippies, no less. Elves trying to pretend to be Human. My whole world-view is skewed.

Problem is – between them and then the fake art-type snobs, I have NO idea how to behave with normal, real people.

What I did to you, Al, is a classic example. I thought you would just get it – you would be thrilled to be what you were becoming. I understood nothing, and none of us did. I saw you controlling your Gift perfectly when you were slapping Arthur – and did not understand that this was not you playing with me – but your training coming to the forefront.”

Al, quite disturbed, spoke out.

”Sterling, how could you KNOW? Simple, you couldn’t. I’m a million-to-one shot – NO ONE knows about. Your Uncle Fergus has told you this – beating yourself up over it is foolish and counterproductive.”

“Ari, I have been the same with you – breezing in, riding to the rescue...little Miss Magic with all the answers. I have been horrible about it. I damn near got you killed by my actions, and got both of us dinged up for it.”

Wing got up from her chair and threw herself at Sterling – hugging her hard. Sterling started to speak again, and Wing hushed her, holding her. Finally, after a time measure in eternities though it was no more than a minute, Wing released her and held her at arm’s length.

“Before you keep beating yourself up, I have something to say.

Your help is the only reason that I’m still here and not back asking ‘Paper or Plastic?’ I was in a panic, and you talked me off the ledge and made me realize I COULD do this. If the cost of that is a few bruises from that incident with the lift head – so be it.

You’re not allowed to beat yourself up on this. Period. Get it out of your head. You’re as bad as he is on this.”

With that, she hugged Sterling again, eyes a bit moist.

Al harrumphed a bit, and said, succinctly, “What she said goes double for me. No recriminations, no nonsense. It is what it is, and you’ve done nothing but be you - and that is infinitely welcome.

Don’t EVER think it’s anything else.”

Sterling said, brusquely,

“Fine. I can accept that, though I do not feel that way about it.

One thing. If I step out of line or speak less...'normal' –"

From two throats as if from one, a statement rang out.

"Define normal."

" --TELL ME. Please. I need your help on this and I cannot do it alone. Deal?”

Once more a statement from two throats but in one voice rang out.

“Deal.”

Sterling walked over to Al, arms out. “May I?”

He harrumphed again, and said “Oh, very well…if you must.” The brusque nature of the sentiment was not, as Sterling suspected, reflected in either his eyes or his aura. With that, they hugged each other deeply, and then let go.

“Now, enough of this self-flagellation. We are behind and that engine is not going to install itself. You lot need to get back to work, and I need to placate the gods of MIB with sacrifices of reams of printed paper. Off with you both.”

With that, Sterling and Wing headed for the door, and as Sterling stepped out, Al called her name. She stopped and began to turn, to hear him say, “Thank you – for being here. For BOTH of us.” When she turned around, he was busily putting on his headset, and Majel Barrett was readying herself on the computer.

*~*~*~*~*

One morning soon after, Al picked up his phone, a gleeful chuckle ringing in his mind.

“Fergus”.

The phone trilled, trilled again, and the voice of Al’s mage mentor and now friend answered.

“What is it ye want ye lackwitted Sassenach?”

“Nae, it’s what YE want ye manky Scots git – yer truck is done. Bring yer checkbook and come tae visit.” Al, giving as good as he got, mimicked Fergus’ brogue at its incomprehensible best, and both men laughed.

“So, Beitris has had her spa day, eh? How bad is the damage?”

“No more than I initially quoted. She was in reasonable shape all in all, so no major nightmares. I could have saved you a bit by keeping the body reconditioning in-house, but frankly the AHI prototype shop does a better job of it than we do – we’re not really body shop types and they have the large-scale gear to do it properly. Horses for courses, I say – and this way you got a better job of it.”

“I couldn’t care less who did it, as long as it was done to a good standard. How’s the old girl look?”

“Ah ah ah! No cheating, no advance billing – come and see for yourself. So, when can I expect to see you?”

“Al, I canna see you till tomorrow – got some things here that need to be taken in hand. Is that an issue?”

“Not in the slightest. Frankly, I can see myself and my crew in the old girl running out for ice cream…so that is perfect timing.”

“Not for your waistline, it isn’t. Do ye ever think about anything but yer dinner table and yer…” He let the sentence trail off suggestively.

Al laughed. “Fergus, you’ve just described my partner Greg – there’s a man with the appetites of a 20-year-old – in all respects. It’s a truly impressive sight, as you’ll remember from dinner a bit back.”

“Aye, I do remember. In any case, I’ll see you about nine your time tomorrow. Ta.”


As the time rolled around, a portal opened among the trees in the park, and Fergus, clad in his signature grey suit, strode through with his son Aurum.

Aurum, to the unaware, was a reedy thin young man, thick glossy blue black hair, short, but extremely curly, not unlike a Botticelli Angel. His gaze missed nothing, eyes a stormy grey but for a dark blue outer ring. Unlike his brother, he had sort of golden olive skintone but a bit darker, where Flashburn was a pale olive.

If he weren't so sullen looking, he'd easily beat his brother in the looks department, but being very shrewd and bookish to most, made him appear unapproachable.

The two strode to the personnel door of RE, and stepped in.

As usual, the work of a busy engineering form continued. Music played, grinders howled, machinery sang its songs of power, and the murmur of work went on.

Walking to the stairs to the office, they were met by Al – who came out and headed down to meet them.

“Fergus! Good morning! Ari’s here somewhere – she’s going to want to see you, of course. I assume this gentleman is your son Aurum?”

“Aye, that he is. And where Flashburn is a loudmouth, this one be quiet. Say ‘Good morning’, Aurum – he won’t hold you to anything by it. “

Aurum, as formal and proper as his brother was brash, held out his hand, spoke a polite “Good morning", and subsided again.

Introduction over, Al led the way toward the bay where the Land-Rover had been restored. While they walked, he told them of the work done.

“Fergus, Beitris was in wonderful condition for a truck her age – but a half-century had taken its toll.

The engine was fit for the tip, the transmission was tired, and the hydraulics while functional were past their sell-by date. With regard to that, she still had the original single-master brakes – not the safest thing on the road even with a good parking brake.

The chassis had a few holes, and needed paint and cleaning. The axles were the same. The springs and shock absorbers were past it – they went to the tip as well.

The body was very good, but did have its fair share of damage. The cappings were worn and rusted, and the trimming was just junk. I saw all of this when you brought her in, but these were all things we could deal with – and we did.”

They walked around the corner into the bay – and Fergus saw his old companion of the trails.

Proud in a fresh coat of Bronze Green urethane enamel, she shone in the light from the windows. The trim, regalvanized, added a silver counterpoint to the dark green of the body, and the limestone beige of the wheels. On the driver’s wing was a saltire, proud in its blue and white on a white rectangle on the dark green wing.

Shod in new tyres, she stood foursquare and proud, looking regal with the care obviously lavished on every inch of her. A new hood in light green canvas topped her open body, sides rolled up to reveal the interior.

Fergus exclaimed softly, “Aye, ye’re a bonny lass” as he walked around the truck, Aurum at his side and equally captivated by its transformation.

“Athair, she’s beautiful – it’s magic,” Aurum said without the slightest trace of irony.

“Nae, not magic – good engineering. She is well-transformed, though, and there’s more than a bit of magic in the hands that did this.”

Finishing his circle, he turned to Al and said, “Please, walk us through what ye’ve done. I dinna want to miss a trick of the work yer team’s done.”

Al, obviously pleased at his reaction, stepped up and opened the bonnet, with its spare wheel shod in a Michelin LTX tyre like the road wheels.

“Let’s start out here. The engine was very tired – I could have rebored and rebuilt it, but it seemed to me a bit of an upgrade was a better idea.

What’s in here is a Land-Rover 2.5D diesel – a cousin to the one that I had in my ambulance. As your work is mostly low-speed and off road, it seemed to me a turbo Diesel was an unnecessary refinement.

These engines are quite bulletproof, and well-cared-for, will last a quarter-million miles or more. In short, you’ll not need to think of it again except for maintenance every 50,000 miles – maintenance any shop can do for you inexpensively, or you can do yourself if so inclined.”

Fergus nodded, and Aurum queried, “It’s definitely not the engine that was there, but a cousin. This is what the 90s and 110s had, correct?”

“Exactly. Good catch. It’s a good compromise between power and complexity – a much better engine than you had, but not enough grunt to damage the rest of the drivetrain.

Speaking of that, the rest of the drivetrain was rebuilt - the transmission had new bearings and seals as did the transfer, and the propshafts new universals as they were in fine shape. The axles were quite good other than the swivels and seals – we replaced the bearings as a matter of course, cleaned and painted them. The brakes are all new, as this this.”

Al pointed into the spotless engine compartment at the round saucer shape of a brake booster.

“I do apologize, but Beitris no longer has her original braking system at all. I never liked the old single point braking system of the early 1960s vehicles – if they failed you had nowt but the parking brake.

What she has now is the original setup at the wheels, but the master is a Series III power-assisted one that is dual circuit. This way, the failure of any component won’t knock the brakes out completely – which could be fatal in the field. The Diesel has a vacuum pump to run them, and you’ll not lack for brakes ever again.”

They walked toward the cab, and Al opened the door and motioned Fergus and Aurum in.

As they sat, marveling at the new trimming, Al pointed out changes.

“She’s been completely rewired, and all new switches where possible, and if not the items were reconditioned. Under the skin she’s basically new, so she’ll give you no trouble. Start her up.”

Fergus reached for the pull stop, and his fingers found a blank panel. Al laughed, and said, “Luxury, lad, luxury. Just turn on the key and do the glow plug time and there’s no more pulling and pushing of levers to start and stop her – it’s all electric.”

Fergus turned the key, counted ten, then turned it to start. With that, the Diesel lit off, clattering softly, and the slight roughness and exhaust smoke cleared a few seconds later to leave a smooth running powerplant.

“Take her for a run – you know where you are.” With that, Al keyed open the vehicle door in the main bay, and Fergus eased the clutch, released the brake, shifted to first and he and Aurum rolled out, propelled by the chunky, reassuring rumble of the Diesel.

As Fergus pulled away, Sterling stepped into the bay and sidled up next to Al, ostensibly watching her uncle drive away but with a question in her mind and a grin forming on her lips.

“You didn't show him the Teasmade, did you?”

“No – the papers I’ll give him include the manual for it. I’ll let him find it himself. Unless I miss my guess, he will be very happy to be able to have a proper brewup on the moors.”

“You do realize he’s going to laugh himself silly when he finds it and make all sorts of noises about ‘Effete English luxuries’, don’t you?”

“Of course – and if he comes back to me on it I’ll accuse him of forgetting to paint himself blue if he’s planning a sheep-stealing raid or some such. He and I understand each other.” Al chuckled as the Diesel revved, pulling out of the garage and away.

"OOOOOooooo...disrespecting the woad..." Sterling chided.

Al put his hand over his heart and the other theatrically to his brow and declared "Oh, woad is me! I've upset a Scotsman!" in his most theatrical tone. Sterling laughed.

After a half-hour or so there was a beep at the vehicle door and Sterling, anticipating their return, opened it allowing the Rover entrance. Fergus pulled the renewed vehicle back to its parking spot, and shut the Diesel down with a twist of the key.

Disembarking, he and Aurum greeted Al and Sterling with broad smiles, the elderly engineer having come back down from his office on hearing the distinctive chunter of the 2.5D.

“Aye, she’s a new truck. The steering is light, the brakes firm, and the response of that Diesel is a treat compared to her old lump. Yer team’s outdone themselves – can I meet them before we talk business?”

“Certainly.” Al called out – “John! Bring the interns and come on over – the customer wants to meet you!”

John, accompanied by two of the interns, strode over from where they’d been observing.

“Fergus, this is John MacDonald, a gentleman whose skills are eclipsed only by the level of his modesty. With my thumb-fingered help, he and the interns cleaned up and refurbished the old girl, producing what you just took for a ride. “

Fergus stepped forward, and proffered his hand, and he and John shook warmly. “’Tis a truly fine bit of work ye’ve done. The old girl will last as long as I’ll ever need her – she looks like she just rolled off the dealer’s floor and runs a sight better. Thank ye – and who are these two young people?”

John introduced them. “The young lady here is Pamela Belshaw, over for the Summer from the UK to work with us. The young gentleman is Philip Weisner and comes from UMN Twin Cities – he’s in the mechanical engineering program there. Both of them are with us to learn engineering and mechanics from the ground up – and hands-on is the way we do it. It complements the book learning they get – it’s Al’s approach on the old apprentice system.”

Fergus shook the young man’s hand, and as he turned to Pam she curtsied, and in her accent said “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir – I’ve ever so much enjoyed working on a proper vehicle. Me da’s got one at home – not as old as yours, but still ever so capable.”

“Thank you, young lady – it is a lovely thing, now – and this is thanks to you and your friend here.” Turning, he addressed all three. “Thank you, indeed – she’s a sight to behold, and I’ll enjoy having her at home.”

With that, he turned back to Al and Sterling, and said “Shall we adjourn to your office to discuss the no-doubt-scandalous bill to spring Beitris from durance vile?”

“Certainly. You know the way.” With that, they let John and the interns return to their tasks, and ascended the stairs to Al’s office.

As they entered, Al offered seats at the small conference table, and started the tea boiler and the coffee pot going. As things brewed, boiled and dripped to a satisfactory conclusion Al dug out the good serving dishes and cups and set them out.

As he worked Fergus surreptitiously watched him. Though locked down the evidence of the power was like strongly present – that intellect never stopped even when playing host to friends.

Fergus was starting to understand the man he looked at – and his relation to the Power. It wasn’t that he was all that powerful – no guarantees on where that was going to go at his age – but it was more the intellect behind the affable old man that would drive it.

Fergus wondered how much Sterling really understood of the old man she called ‘Warhorse’. That, while a large part of his personality, did not account for the scientist, the engineer, and the very human being that lay at the base of it all and held all the facets together.

Al returned to the table, tray laden with a teapot, coffee urn and the requisite plate of digestives along with the service pieces.

“So, Fergus – satisfied with the old girl, are ye then?” Al smiled as he served – coffee to himself and Fergus, and a cup of Bewley’s to Aurum and Sterling.

“Aye, she’s grand – and no doubt will be costing me more than a few of those at the end.” Fergus smiled, stirred sugar and cream into his coffee, and sipped.

“Actually, it’s not as bad-“

Fergus interrupted, his accent gone. “If you tell me this was inexpensive and short-sheet the costs on me, I am going to be very annoyed…and I expect that is about to be what you were going to do.”

Al spluttered a bit, and Sterling silently dreaded the next ten minutes. Aurum, as befit an earth mage, sat silently, grounded and serene despite the rapidly increasing tension in the atmosphere.

“Well, of course there are certain considerations…you get the friends and family rate, of course…”

“And then there’s the steep mage discount on top of that, eh? No. Absolutely not.”

“And why not? This is my business and I will charge what I choose to, and I will not allow a friend – one I trust and value highly – to tell me how to run my business. I will charge what I will charge – and that is MY business.”

Fergus’ visage grew stormy. He respected Al greatly, but was not going to accept this in any way shape or form. No, indeed – this matter of obligation and debt was going to be settled – and settled NOW. He rebutted the argument, his accent reflecting his annoyance.

“Nae, this willna stand as it is. I willna be indebted to a lackwitted Sassenach who thinks he is paying a debt by forcing me to incur one.”

Al, shocked by Fergus’ interruption, warmed as well. “And who are you to tell me how to run my business or treat my customers? While a master of your craft and your lands you may be, here I am Master and Commander – and I will not take interference in my business from a friend – no matter how well intentioned.”

At this point Sterling leaned toward Aurum and stage whispered “Twenty on Uncle Fergus – and get ready to damp them both if it gets ugly.” She tapped a leyline for energy, and got ready to feed it to Aurum if needed. Then, snagging a pair of biscuits from the tray, she leaned back to enjoy the show, resigned to being an unwilling spectator but not entirely able to ignore the action.

Aurum, completely unfazed by the fight and more than a bit amused by it, whispered back “No bets. Athair will win, nae doubt, but he is nae comin’ away unscarred. Look how yon Englishman’s up to high doh!”

While they whispered, Fergus responded to the imperious statement. “Typical Englishman. Ye’re a wee scunner! Nattering on like a milk maid."

“Care to try that in English, you hill heathen? Just for translating that I should charge you double!”

“Ye dinna ken why ye’ve angered me! A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind horse, eh?”

“Leave my wife out of this. What are you rattling on about? I am simply trying to show my appreciation for what you and yours have done for me, and I will not permit your woad-covered ire to stop me from doing so!"

Sterling and Aurum both winced. Knowing Fergus, references to Braveheart or the Scots past as warriors in a denigrating tone were a guaranteed way for someone to end up in hospital.

Fergus, normally the most controlled of men, wound up for a blast – then suddenly deflated. He’d seen the problem – and realized that yelling was not going to solve it.

After a breath or two, Fergus continued – accent gone. Al was impressed despite the head of steam he still held – he knew what that level of control cost.

“No. While this is your business indeed, you are suffering from the impression that you OWE us – for what we’ve done and what we will do.

Al, part of being what we are – ALL of us – is an obligation. Nurturing and helping those with the Power if they require it is part of our obligation – we can’t turn our backs on it.

You are Sterling’s friend, and mine as well, I might add. Even if you were not, that obligation would still be there. A human Emerging with the power is as helpless as a tabby kitten in the face of a hungry Sphinx – this is nothing that any being can manage alone. Other species have their parents, or are born with defense mechanisms. The Power as it is comes to us requires nurturing like any other Gift – except this one can kill.

You owe us NOTHING but an obligation to the next, and the next, and the next. You when settled will join us in that obligation – so the next one of you will not suffer and die or go mad because of the lack of a helping hand.”

Al sat quietly, with his mind in a whirl. This was news to him, and required a bit of thought. It wasn’t that he minded the obligation at all, but it had never occurred to him that there was one there, and it was a sobering thought. With that, he realized the error of his ways – he’d been trying to pay an obligation he didn’t have – and indebting those who he was trying to repay.

“Fine. Have it your own way, you stiff-necked Scotsman. I will need to recalculate these things – you are getting the friends and family rate, though. That I will not budge on.”

Fergus, realizing that obligation or no this was going to be the extent of his bowing to pressure, nodded. “Ye’ll nae hear a Scotsman say no to saving a penny – especially from a Sassenach!” With that, he laughed, the heat dissipating as he could see he’d made his point.

Al turned to his desk, and extracted a folder from the rack on the corner. “And before we forget, here’s the paperwork on the new items – warranties on the hood and trimmings, and so on. The major mechanical items are warranted by RE, of course, but as these items were produced in the UK if there are issues you might be better served calling the companies there.”

Fergus took the folder and began to leaf through it. “Purchase on the hood…good…seats...door cards...Teasmade? TEASMADE?”

*~*~*~*~*

The Alexander compound slumbered under the bright stars soon after two on this brilliant early morning. The outside lights, few in number and dim to preserve the beauty of the night sky, glimmered near the doors of the buildings. Other than that, all was peace and tranquility - the only sound being the nocturnal creatures of the forest going about their business.

With a spray of violet and green a portal opened onto the front walk of New Alexander house, and the night was simultaneously rent with a demonic howl. The creatures of the night, startled by this apparition, scurried away as three figures walked proudly through the portal and arrayed themselves on the lawn of New Alexander, the hellish sound being revealed as the martial blare of the Great Highland pipes each played.

Each clad in full formal kilt from immaculately pressed jacket and frilled shirt to full kilt and polished shoes, they continued their rendition of "Scotland The Brave" - to the inevitable results from the occupants of the house.

The instant the pipes blared, Al reacted in a predictable manner. From tranquil slumber to bolt upright to standing with slippers on feet was the reaction of seconds. Reaching into the nightstand for his .38 Webley and its shoulder rig was seconds more, and he was out the door of the room and headed for the source of the noise before Daisy's exclamation of surprise had time to register.

Down the hall, down the stairs and out the door he ran, snatching his hat as an instinctive move as he passed the hall table, then out into the night with pistol drawn to oppose the attacking hordes howling outside the door, as announced by the blaring of the pipes.

He charged into the yard in the dark, eyes scanning around to find the source of the problem called by the pipes. As he saw the trio his pace slowed, then stopped, as he slid the weapon back into the holster under his arm. By this time, the rest of the household - Daisy, clad in a robe and little more and Cinnamon, similarly attired, appeared at the door and wandered out onto the path.

With a spray of colours Sterling appeared behind them and conjured a park bench. Utterly confused, the two lades sat, and Sterling passed out buckets of popcorn before sitting herself and beginning to munch.

Finally realizing their garb through the fog of sleep, Cinnamon whistled, and said, “Momma, boys in kilts are PRETTY! Can I have one, or both?”

At that Flashburn’s eyes widened, and a mischievous grin appeared on his face for a second, till the sound from his chanter SQUEALED as Sterling dropped a snowball in just behind his sporran.

Also appreciating the view, Daisy waited a few seconds to respond, then bellowed “No, you never take care of your pets.” She then went back to enjoying the scenery. After a minute or two, Daisy leaned over to Sterling and shouted conspiratorially "OK, what's going on?"

Sterling shouted back, "Well, Uncle Fergus and the lads are greeting the morning with pipes. It's a thank-you for the fantastic work that Al and his team did on Beitris - Uncle Fergus was dead chuffed at the quality of the work and the new lease on life that they gave the old girl."

Daisy was incredulous. "Morning? MORNING? It's two in the morning! Morning won't be for three hours yet!"

Sterling smiled wickedly and said, "Well, it was morning in the Highlands when they left...not their fault the Sassenach is behind the times. Eat your popcorn - this is going to get good."

Realizing he'd been had, Al stood, arms akimbo, and waited for the pipers to complete their tune. After they did, Fergus stepped forward and spoke.
"Mister Richer, we wish to thank you for the work you did for us. Beitris is absolutely fantastic, and she will be with us for many years. In your honor we decided to 'call the dawn forth' with the pipes."

Al was unmoved. In an even voice, he remarked "During World War Two, the last use of the pipes was at the Battle Of El Alamein. The 51st Highland Division used pipers to mark the presence of the various groups - each with its own tune. The practice was stopped because of the high attrition rate of the pipers.

At that time they decided that putting pipers in front of people with weapons was probably a bad idea. I will let you draw the inference."

“Heathen Sassenach. Casting pearls before swine, we were, lads – the Englishman would not know fine music if it pissed on his leg as he stood there.” Flashy and Aurum held their faces rigid, though both dearly wanted to burst out laughing at the pseudo-harsh words their father uttered.

Still unmoved, Al rubbed his temples, and replied “I assure you, if I hear music I will appreciate it – till this moment it hasn’t happened.”

“Southern barbarian. Ye dinna ken the honour we’ve paid ye – dressing up in our finest to come here and raise the sun into the sky for ye.” Outwardly, Fergus was enraged. Inwardly (and Al could sense it as easily as the mages) he was laughing uproariously at the byplay and enjoying it at much as Al was.

Dropping his hands from his temples, Al replied. "I appreciate the sentiment here, but did it occur to your addled Highlander mind that serenading a military man in the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT with war pipes - especially one who has MARCHED TO THEM ON A FEW OCCASIONS - might be hazardous to your health?”

“Nae, ya wouldna shoot harmless, innocent pipers who were just serenading yer house, would ye? On second thought, dinna answer that…”

As the byplay went on, Cinnamon, truly enjoying the scenery, leaned over and asked Sterling, “What’s worn under a kilt?” with a bit of a lascivious leer on her face. Sterling, without batting an eye answered, “Aye, nothin’s worn under a kilt, lass – it all works just fine.”

Hearing this, Al turned to Sterling, who by this time had returned to innocently munching her popcorn as the other two ladies worried about bladder control as they laughed helplessly. Extending his index finger, he pointed at her and warned, “You are NOT going to corrupt my daughter’s morals, mage. Behave yourself.”

“Awwwwww, but Alllll, she’s sooooo GOOD at it!” Cinnamon whined, turning her big coltish eyes on her stepfather. Utterly unmoved by the exhibition, he remarked, “Young lady, I appreciate your youth, and the sheltered upbringing your mother gave you. However, men in kilts are RIGHT out…. They’ve no interest in centaurs. Sheep on the other hand…”

Sterling, Aurum and Flash all involuntarily uttered a low “OOOOooooo…” on that last statement, looking to Fergus for a rebuttal – which was not long coming.

“Ah, exactly as I would expect a lackey of the Roman occupiers to respond. They make fun of what they fear, in hopes of holding their water when they meet us in battle.”

Al began to sing. “Bring me some whiskey Mother, I’m feeling frisky, Mother…Need I go on?”

Fergus bellowed with laughter, and said ”Very well – ye win, miserable Roman!” With that he stepped forward and seized Al in a crushing hug. At that, the two young men broke and began laughing hysterically as well.

“Al, this really is a thank you for what ye did for Beitris. However, it was yon niece of mine’s idea, there, to take the pish in quite this way. I hope ye dinna mind, but the idea was irresistible when we heard it.”

“Somehow, Fergus, it does not surprise me in the slightest who the instigator of this little charade was. There will most definitely be a reckoning somewhere along the line, but now is not the time…witnesses and all.”

“Well understood. Well understood, indeed. Now, what have ye for breakfast then – is there a proper groat or a bowl of porridge anywhere in this fine grand mansion?”

“Groats, no, Porridge, perhaps. However, if you are willing to risk your life on my cooking, I think we can do a bit better than that. Perhaps some hotcakes, or an egg or six might be at hand and some rashers of proper bacon.”

With that, Al turned back toward the house. Fergus and the two younger mages in tow. As they strolled across the lawn to the stairs to the portico Sterling held Cinnamon and Daisy back a bit, muttering "trust me..." then hung back further herself.

With the half-dozen steps to the portico, the reason was evident.

"OOOOOoooOOOOooo, Momma! Now I have to have a pair of these!" Cinnamon said, appreciating the view as the men ascended the steps.

"Indeed...quite decorative. We'll see...clean your room and eat your vegetables and we'll see." Daisy remarked, also appreciating the sight. WIth that, Sterling remarked from the back, "Careful, Daisy - that's me uncle yer ogling, there..."

"Oh, I know....and a fine bit of ogling he is!" she said. While clearly audible to all, Al strenuously ignored the feminine byplay at the back, though its appreciation was not lost on the gentlemen in question. Aurum blushed, Flash grinned madly and Fergus smugly appreciated the compliment as they reached the portico and entered the main hall.
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

CHAPTER 13 - Roles, Reactions And Bodies


The truck backing to the loading-dock door was a sight.

Originally a plain Western Star 4700 chassis with a cargo box installed on its rear, it had been taken in hand by a master of the airbrush. The cab was a light pearl white, with just the right amount of chrome to offset the stark simplicity.

The back box, however, was no longer the plain white it had left the factory. The sides were a trompe d'oeuil picture - depending on the way it was viewed, you were treated to views of the painting of a 1957 Chevrolet in all its glory.

Partially masked with paper and tape, the car was having detail lined onto its side by a swarthy young man clad in jeans and a T-shirt, with the background being a brick wall with large, industrial windows.

The back door approaching the dock showed the same scene from the rear, with the fins and taillights of the Chevrolet shown against the front wall of the mythical shop.

Wing stared at the artwork, as did the rest of the crew assembled to unload the truck. John remarked, "Well, now we know why Al chose this guy to do the paint on the 90, eh?"

"Damn..." Wing breathed, captivated by the detail shown in the mural.

With a slight thump the truck backed against the dock bumpers, set its brakes and shut down. From the cab exited an older version of the young man in the mural - thicker at the waist, and the jet-black hair now gone to salt and pepper.
"Good morning, folks. Eduardo Villanueva, Havana Customs. Al around?"

"ED! Good to see you! I didn't expect you'd deliver this yourself!" Al greeted his old friend effusively, in the Latin manner.

"Well, hell, Al - it never hurts to get out and stir around - been meaning to come down and say hello, anyway. So this is your new digs - I'm impressed! Quite an improvement over that dump downtown."

"That dump downtown is sorely missed. I spent some good years there, but you're right - this is a palace compared to there. "

Eduardo looked Al up and down. "Married life seems to be treating you well - not like you've lost any weight. Congratulations! Been meaning to meet up with you for lunch, but you know how the time goes."

"Ha - know how it goes indeed. Not enough hours in the day, and the ones that are there are full. How's Consuelo and the kids?"

"Kids! It has been a while. Both of them are working with me weekends and free time from college, learning the trade in case they want to become paint-slingers like the old man. They're pretty good - got 'em to give me a hand on this. They have the detail eye like I do - so good to have three sets on a job this special. So, this is for your...daughter?" Eduardo looked at Al quizzically.

"Stepdaughter, though I don't think of her that way. She's graduating law school here soon, and this is her graduation present from her Mum and me."

"Lucky lady - the paint you specified and the detail work is going to be beautiful on a D-90. I did an artist's sketch of the design when I started, just to have an idea of what I was doing. Remind me, I'll send it over - should'a brought it over when I loaded the parts, but I flat-out forgot about it."

"It would be most appreciated - that will get carefully framed for my office. I can't wait to see the real thing, though."

"Fine by me - let's get 'er unloaded."

Al turned to his staff, patiently waiting while the two old friends caught up.

"These are my folks - let me introduce you."

Introductions made and received, Eduardo slid open the back of the truck, to reveal a huge pile of parts, each carefully wrapped in foam and carefully secured.

"The big pieces are all secured to a pallet - if we can get a jack under it we can slide it out. The boxes behind the pallet are the plastics and trim pieces - each of those has been plastic-sprayed to the proper color and should be perfect."

"Are they handled as we discussed?"

Eduardo's face, already merry, took on an almost manic look. "Oh, yes. MOST certainly. This was done to the letter as you asked me to - my folks thought I was nuts, but we made it happen. Haven't done anything like that since...well, that job you and I worked on back in the nineties."

"Oh, yes...THAT job. Official Secrets Act is still out on that one, meduck."

"Doesn't matter to me, man. Never been a loyal subject of the Queen..." Eduardo grinned. "I will, however, cede you the point that we shouldn't talk about it."

The pallet was rolled out and hauled to the assembly bay, and the boxes of parts behind stacked on carts and carefully moved there was well.

Like they were handling crystal, the team removed each piece of the Rover's body from its packaging and set on the body buck as it was when it returned from the prototype shop. Then, however, the panels awaited their coats, and the trim and fasteners were in their own packages.

Here, the trim was all in place, glistening in the overhead and natural light. The panels glowed in the light, with the care and attention to the finish was blindingly obvious to even the least car-savvy individual - which none of these people were.

"Damn, Al - it's SOMETHING!"

Eduardo, who'd stayed to inspect the parts as well, preened visibly.

Al stifled a chuckle at his friend. Eduardo was a master - he'd always been, and this job showed it.

"Pam, would you run up to my office please? There's an SLR camera sitting on the credenza behind my desk - and I'd like you to fetch it here, please."

Pam nodded, and set off for his office at a trot, returning shortly with the SLR.

Raising his voice, Al stated emphatically "This is covered under all your NDAs. If ANYONE leaks this outside us here in this room they will be dealing with the Sergeant-Major - am I clear?"

A rapid set of nods from all in the room, and a chuckle from Eduardo, who'd first met the Sergeant-Major long ago, answered Al's statement. "Fine. With that said, arrange yourselves around this thing, I want a picture! You, too, Ed - get in there and take your spot. This picture will be available after the reveal, not before. I will make sure everyone gets copies."

The team arranged themselves around the body on the stand - some kneeling, some standing. Al jotted a mental note to himself that he wanted a shot of Wing with this - wings out, of course.

A few snaps, then a few more. Al then shooed off the adults, and positioned the interns with the body. At this time, Eduardo, claiming the press of business, headed for his truck and back to work - but not before making a promise to return for lunch sometime soon.

"This will go well on your dorm wall - let you point to what you did on your summer holiday!" Al said as he snapped away.

The interns done, he positioned Sterling and Wing to both sides of the body's front end, and snapped away. "This one is going into the conference room upstairs - the Dream Team in action." He snapped a few photos, then completely irreverently Sterling struck her Harley Quinn pose and stuck her tongue out at the camera. Wing, momentarily startled, yielded to the moment and struck the same pose on the opposite side - two madwomen and their charge.

Delightedly, Al snapped away, getting several shots before both broke out laughing.

"Wonderful - the moment, immortalized. The customers are definitely NOT getting that shot!"

Done with the camera he set it down, and clapped his hands for attention.

"OK, folks - the body is back - and it's time to make this happen. Time is short, and that engine failure put us behind - we need to get moving on this. We'll need to deliver this to the customer soon" the interns looked confused, till John whispered the explanation to them "so we need to make it march.

Other than immediate customer deliverables, let's consider this one the priority. Anyone has a question what they should be doing see Wing."
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 14 – Wires, Whines And Wheeling


With the return of the body from the painters and the delivery of the interior the 90 project shifted into high gear.

The bulkhead was mounted to the chassis, and the myriad systems that required its presence began to occupy their spaces. Hydraulic lines were built and installed, pedal assemblies for brake and accelerator were mounted and all of the tiny components that made up the operating controls of a modern vehicle began to appear on the dashboard.

MIB had been put on hold (again) and Al had again taken to the shop floor - carefully staying within the bounds of his role.

When Sterling came in one morning, she was amazed to see the bay next to the D-90 taken over by a cross between a model railroad layout and blueprints for a Saturn 5.

As she walked in, she called, "OI, WARHORSE! What in the WORLD are you doing in here!"

Her call was greeted with a loud THUMP and some very fluent cursing in what she thought was Arabic.

A muffled voice came from below the panel. "THANK YOU Ms. Damhnait - you like the rest of my staff have managed to make me rap my head on the underside of my worktable."

Completely unapologetic and somewhat gleefully, Sterling reiterated her question. "What in the world are you doing? It's fascinating, but looks like your teamaker is trying to bugger a robot octopus."

"Very funny. At present, my role is that of electrical specialist - combining the new LHD D-90 wiring harness with the additions for the fuel injection system, Peltier cooler, audio system, video system and other additions like central locking never thought of in the original design.

Many of the ‘fancy’ systems are also coming from the Discovery I – the central locking, for example, is an easy move and convenient to have. The original underseat battery space is also serving for the black boxes – it’s fine for this, as it’s a well-sealed box and the truck will likely never wade to the depth needed to drown out the systems.

I've done things like this for decades - and this is not something you teach overnight. Hence, Ms. Wardoff of RE has 'farmed this out' to a 'local electrical specialist' for construction."

The wiring harness itself was splayed out on a huge panel - two sheets of plywood secured side by side, with dozens of pins secured to its surface at carefully measured distances and patterns. This was covered with a drawing of the chassis and front body panels of the D-90 - not artistic but symbolic.

Drawn clearly over the body shape were bold strokes of paint in different colours, with the sometimes-incomprehensible labels of "EFI MAIN HARNESS POWER", "AUDIO BUS", "VIDEO FEED REAR CABIN" and "PELTIER SWITCHED POWER". All but "SECURITY MAIN" were in solid colours, the security harness run being decorated in skulls and crossbones.

Through a center hole in the panel Al popped up, happy as a gopher in a turnip patch and somewhat resembling one despite the coveralls and ball cap.

Sterling, seeing the possibilities, said "I need to get shots of this from above - it's fascinating. Where are you getting all of the locations for this?"

Al, warming to his subject, said "All of this is coming from the vehicle itself. The dimensions and topography are well known, and using the dashboard as the zero/zero reference along with the fuse block lets me then measure the vehicle along the runs and determine what needs to go where - and how it needs to get there.

The 110 is much the same – they’re kindred in manufacture, so I could pull a lot of the dimensions from Clara without having to wait for the 90 body to be assembled.

Sad that all of this will either be in the engine compartment or hidden in the dashboard, or in the roof panels."

Sterling agreed. "The shape, the colors, the intricacy. I need to get pictures of this rig - you just keep doing what you're doing."

"I plan to." Al, utterly unconcerned with the graphic possibilities and in the moment, continued his task of running the harness, section by patiently crafted section.

Through the morning, and with every loud noise or disturbance in the shop, loud, fluent cursing in several languages was heard from the bay with the electrical panel as Al, startled, scored on the back of the panel with the back of his cap. As the morning went on, the cursing got louder and more strident, and considerably less inhibited.

John, taking his role as guide for the interns seriously, found them work away from the cursing.

Finally, Al's phone ringing as he was passing under the table set his temper off.

Emerging in the center hole, he extracted his phone, hit REJECT on the random wrong number who'd caused the latest impact, and just stood, silent. He then began to pound his fist on the panel, slowly but with emphasis.

With each pound the audio system in the bay hiccupped, playing the chorus of a song in its inventory. Each THUMP produced a song lyric that succinctly expressed Al's opinion of the soreness of the back of his head, the annoyance of the morning and his general opinion of telemarketers.

THUMP.

"DAMN!"


THUMP

"We're On A Hiiiighway To Hell..."

THUMP

"Oh my golly, Oh my golly, Oh my golly.."


THUMP

" $%^# YOU!..."

THUMP

"Send lawyers guns and money, the #$%^ has hit the fan!"


Al stopped pounding on the panel, and the audio system went back to the 70s rock and roll it was playing.

Utterly nonplussed, Al bellowed, "STERLING!"

On hearing his call, Sterling sprinted over from next door.

"What's wrong?"

"Could be one of three things. One, I've gone off my nut and I'm hearing things. Two, my audio system is possessed. Three, I've developed the ability to change the song on the audio system without the remote."

"Is THAT what I just heard? If it is, then you can discard #1, luv, because I heard it too. I thought you were stomping the audio remote into the table.

Tell me what happened, and let's figure this out."


In a few words Al detailed the event, Sterling snickering when he described his attitude as "somewhat piqued". As he completed the narration with the description of his last actions she stopped him.

"So, every time you hit the table the audio system changed its tune - literally."

"Yes. I was just tired and thoroughly piqued at hitting my head for the twentieth time today."

"Thoroughly piqued? How quaint. Sounded more like thoroughly browned off to me.

Okay, let's ask the question here, luv. Did you feel anything other than your fist hitting the table when you did this?"

"I was annoyed - not angry but annoyed. Frustrated."

Sterling thought for a minute.

"Okay, we're going to try an experiment. Pick out a song in your head and summon the same feeling you had - then hit the table."

Al thought, then summoned his anger, feeling a bit foolish - and thumped the table.

Undisturbed, the audio system continued with the Moody Blues uninterrupted.

Sterling snickered. "I knew it. Jerking my chain. Where's the remote? More the point, got to get back at the 90 - that body is not going to install itself." She turned, and made to leave the bay.

Al, already upset, felt his face redden, and thumped the table again. The audio system instantaneously switched.

"You have to believe we are magic - Nothin' can stand in our way..."


He thumped again.

"I get a strange magic....."

Once again

"I got a black magic woman...got me so man I can’t see…"

Yet again

“You can do magic…you can have everything that you desire.”


He thumped again, and the player placidly went back to its rendition of the Moody Blues tune “Legend of A Mind”.

"Shall I continue?"

Sterling turned back, a broad smile on her face. "Soon enough, you'll be able to do that without the anger and the table-thumping. Not bad, there Warhorse, not bad...at all.

From here, it looks like the anger lets you harness the Sergeant-Major's discipline - which gives you control. Now, you need to summon that discipline without the trigger.

I get a feeling you and Fergus won’t work all that long on control - you do it now."

With that, she smiled, dazzlingly, and walked back to the bay where the 90 was being assembled. Wing looked up from aligning the steering column and said “What’s Al yelling about now, and what’s going on with the audio in that bay?”

“He’s just grumpy because he keeps hitting his head on the underside of that silly panel he’s working with. He’ll be fine.” Sterling carefully said nothing about the audio system, and walked over to her tool case, extracting her phone.

“I’ll be back in a minute – have to make a phone call.” With Wing’s assent she stepped out of the assembly bay, and out the door into the forest area.

“Uncle Fergus.” The phone did what a good phone does – dialed, connected and then got out of the way.

“Uncle, it’s Sterling. There’s been an interesting development…”

*-*-*-*-*

The shelves and boxes emptied, their contents being bolted into and onto the rapidly completing car.

The roof and sides, glistening with the fresh coating applied by Eduardo’s team, was bolted down with new seals to the pristine trim on the back body and the freshly painted windscreen frame. The trim, light guards, bullbar and bumper took their places and were carefully aligned to the body with the installation of the front wings and the wheel wells.

The incredibly complex wiring harness was carefully threaded into place, then connected to all of its myriad actuators, sensors and the black boxes installed in the battery box. With that, power was applied and the systems tested at a low level. Wiring issues were disclosed and repaired, and the assembly moved on with the addition of the trim panels in the roof and roof sides.

This was also the time for the control systems and dashboard, all clad in custom coverings to match the interior trimmings. Again, things were tested as they were installed, and then the systems were covered with the custom-dyed trim and fittings.

The trimmers were then called in with their stitching machines and custom-fitted the carpeting both front and back, fitting it to the vehicle like the fine lining in a bespoke tuxedo. They also installed the Defender seats, retrimmed in matching leather, and the door cards which had been custom-manufactured to match everything else.

The wheels, returned from the powder coater, were sent out again to be shod in Michelin LTX tyres which had had custom lettering applied. Finely balanced, they returned and were bolted to the wheel hubs.

Now, the ancillary systems began to go in. An entertainment system with its related touchscreen controls and its custom console was bolted into its place on the dashboard, supplanting the center of the dash tray and the original MOD switch and fuse panels. An overhead console was bolted to the roof, containing storage nets, tweeters for the audio system and more video gear. This was mated to the carefully-prepared wiring, and everything tested to ensure its function.

Till one day there was nothing left to bolt on.

*-*-*-*-*

Bright and early that morning, Sterling and Wing had arrived at the shop. Late the day before the D-90 had reached what was essentially its complete state.

It stood proudly on its Discovery rims, shod in new tyres, and the exterior shone in its pristine state. All of the electrical, hydraulic and electronic systems had been tested in a static state, and any faults corrected.

In short, it was ready to go. The only thing standing in the way was Al, or more accurately, the Sergeant-Major.

Late yesterday afternoon the tests and checks had been completed, the suspension alignments checked, and everything confirmed ready to go.

Al, on the floor as had been his habit of late, looked at the car and completely out of role said, “Good enough. Everybody, call it a day unless you have something else that desperately needs doing. The run on this can wait till the morning – now is not the time.”

Wing held her peace – she’d been through this with the DeLorean and its body installation, and knew that tone altogether too well. She had no intent to focus the ire of the Sergeant-Major on herself – once was entirely enough for that experience.

Sterling, however, was not going to accept the pronouncement that easily.

“Oi, Warhorse! Come ON – it’s ready to go. Let’s just take it for a run-“

Al interrupted, his voice quiet and calm, but not for an instant could this be mistaken for a conversational tone. “Ms. Damhnait, have you enjoyed your time in my works, and would you like it to continue?”

Sterling, for some reason being slightly slow on the pickup, said “Yes, but it’s ready to-“

Al interrupted again, his voice still tranquil and calm. However, Sterling sensed the power behind it – not that of magic, but that of Command. Realizing what she’d just done, she kept silent as Al continued.

“This decision is not open for debate. However, I will share my reasoning so that you understand why I am saying this.

We are all tired and it is late in the day. Exhaustion is not conducive to the maximum in safety. This is my primary concern, as you know – remembering the discussions we had after the chassis incident.”

Sterling reddened slightly – after her return she and Al had had a very one-sided discussion about safe working practices – one she would not forget any time soon.

“This vehicle will be left as it is, battery disconnected for safety reasons, till tomorrow. At that time we will run it up, and it will be taken out for its test run, and any items requiring repair or correction will be dealt with then.

No one – I repeat NO ONE – will disturb it.

We have five days till this vehicle needs to be delivered, and I will not be chivvied into precipitous action. Am I understood?”

A chorus of “Yes, sir” answers was heard from around the bay, and the Sergeant-Major accepted as his due the use of the term. He turned to Sterling, face impassive, and asked,

“Staff Sergeant Damhnait?”

“Yes, sir. Roger and wilco.”

“Very well.” With that, the power retuned to its well, and Al was back. He clapped his hands, then reached for the remote and turned off the music in the bay.

“Wing, disconnect the battery – should be a 14-millimeter spanner if I’ve done my sums right. After that, everyone out – go grab an early dinner and be here bright and on time tomorrow.” He clapped his hands again. “Now, out with you all!”

Now, Sterling and Ari sat and looked at the Rover, standing in the bay. It seemed to be impatiently waiting for the time to throw itself out the door and onto the road – or preferably a rutted trail leading to some distant spot.

After the afternoon before, though, neither one of them was willing to irritate the old man by doing anything until his arrival.

“Oh, to Hades with this. Let him yell at me. I’m going to walk this thing through the checklist. I am the project manager, after all.“ Wing, oppressed by the quiet of the bay and the shop, stalked to the bench and picked up the checklist and handed it to Sterling.

“Call off the items and I’ll perform the check and call it back to you. It’s the easiest way to do this – and it keeps the whole thing clean.”

Sterling assented, flipped to the first page, and read out. “Underhood – engine oil quantity.”

“To full mark. Note a change will be needed at 500 miles – the break-in oil is no good for sustained use.”

Sterling noted the quantity and the caveat, then moved on to the next item.

“Brake fluid level – pump pedal.”

“To full mark.”

“Transmission fluid level.”

“Can’t check it – need the engine running and walked through the gears.”

“Fine – noted. Next item…”

When Al walked into the bay in his coveralls he found them still hard at it. Wing was on her knees, spanners in hand, checking the oil levels in the swivels and differentials.

“Good morning ladies – how’s it looking?” He pointedly did not chastise them for their implicit violation of his demand that the vehicle not be disturbed, noting the battery was still disconnected.

“ ‘Bout three-quarters of the way through the checklist – got some skipped items that required running and deferred them.” Sterling carefully didn’t criticize as she realized how close she’d come yesterday to a dressing-down. Al was done with allowing her liberties for the moment, it seemed – the incident when discussing Arthur might have been a bit over the top.

“Very well – hook it up when you get done and let’s run it up.” With that, he turned and headed for his coffee, leaving them to finish.

Twenty minutes later, the battery cable clunked onto the terminal, and slightly sweaty hands tightened the clamp bolt and replaced the locker lid and seat base. Wing turned to Sterling, standing behind her and said, “Light it up.”

“No – YOU light it up.”

“No. YOU do it.”

Sterling sighed, stopped and said, “No. I want pictures. Get in and light it up – just let me get my camera.”

With that, Wing covered the immaculate driver’s seat with a slide-on cover, got in, and turned the column key to ON. The panel lit up, gauges indicating voltage, fuel quantity and temperature, and warning lights all showing properly. The fuel pump growled then shut off, pressurizing the fuel rail for the aluminium v8.

She turned the key further, and the engine cranked, and cranked, then roared to life, filling the bay with its thrum. A quick press of the throttle led to a throaty ROAR from the engine bay, the V8 settling back to its silky, throaty big-cat rumble at idle.

All this time Sterling was circling the car, clicking away with her Nikon. None of these were pictures to be used, but were mnemonics for when she started to sketch. As many of them were shots of the young woman behind the wheel - sporting a huge grin - as they were of the car and its placement in the bay.

This was a supremely human moment, the granting of life to a previously inanimate object.

Up in his office Al turned, startled, then the beat of the Rover V8 reached his ears. The pulse of pleasure and accomplishment from Wing, and the satisfaction from Sterling were as evident to him as if he’d been in the room with them. Smiling, he closed his eyes and sat back in the leather obscenity of his office chair, basking in the pleasure from the two young women and enjoying their wonderful accomplishment. He’d wander down there in a few minutes and issue their marching orders, but for now...coffee.

Locking on the parking brake. Wing pressed the brake pedal, and walked the transmission through its gears once, then twice, finishing in the neutral position. She hopped out, engine still rumbling throatily, and extracted the dipstick for the automatic transmission.

“It’s low – we’ll need to top it up before we take it out. Let it run for the moment, and let’s walk the electronics and make sure all of that’s working.”
At that, it was back to work – the checklist was calling out its demands, item after item previously deferred and now completed. As they worked, Wing, again behind the controls, keyed up the audio system and handed it a memory stick prepared for just this moment.

Again as before, Paul McCartney in his various incarnations filled the air, starting with Wings and “Helen Wheels”. Sterling snickered – she knew well her friend’s tastes in music and had expected no less. Laughing and singing along, they finished the tests, letting the Rover V8 warm to operating temperature.

Nearly a half-hour later they shut it down. Barring one or two minor issues the car was ready to go.

With the resuming of quiet Al wandered down to the bay – he was ready to issue his marching orders.

“Well, well, well. Ready to roll, is it? Good, here.”

With that, Al handed Sterling a handful of bills, and pointed toward the car.

“Stop at the keybox on the way out and hang a temporary plate on it. That is for coffee and pastries for the crew – into and out of rush-hour Minneapolis will get the car well run-in – if she’s going to overheat that will do it.

Large Kona with cream and Demara sugar, got it?” Al grinned, and Wing began to protest.

“Al, I ran in the DeLorean with Smokey. Don’t you want to do this?”

“Your project, your car. I am not going to be a test pilot for your work – you two get to deal with the results.“ Al grinned again, completely removing any potential sting from the words. “Don’t rush, no time limit – take it for a good run and check it out.

Do the world a favor, though, and take a laptop with a data recorder – let’s keep an eye on things. Unlike the DeLorean, this girl’s innards are not all brand new – and I want to see the data recorder logging in case there’s a driveability issue.

Now, load up your gal-pal here and go grab us some coffees!”

“Gal-pal? Warhorse, what old movie did you get THAT out of?“ Sterling huffed in a patently false manner, stomped to the passenger door, popped it open and climbed in, buckling her seat belt. Wing shifted the ZF transmission into drive and the wheels began to turn for the first time.

Slowly, carefully with brake tests as they went the D-90 worked its way to the access door, with a stop for a license plate. With his remote fob Al keyed open the door, and the car rolled into the sunshine.

Out of the gate, onto Chesnut, then out to Alexander Parkway and onto the Exit to 12 and 394 East the car traveled. The engine, subdued under a bonnet covered with sound insulation, betrayed its presence only with the growl of its exhaust.

Rolling smoothly, it gave Wing time to evaluate its condition. Subtle, but more forceful moves with the steering and pokes at the brakes convinced her that the alignments and setups done at the shop were indeed correct, and no remedial work would be needed. Confident now, she pushed the newly-minted Defender to the speed limit and a bit beyond, and it responded as though built for the challenge – which in a sense, it was.

“How’s it feel?” Sterling asked, after a particularly long silence.

“Compared to Clara it’s the Aston! It’s nimble, maneuverable, holds the road well, and that V8 gives it more than enough power to do whatever it wants to. How are the internal systems?”

“Been playing with it – the audio and video look great, the GPS is tracking nicely, the satellite radio works – even the heated seats seem to work fine.”

I need to get Warhorse to dig up some of those heating elements for Red and Skitty – this is just LUXURY – or will be in the winter!
Sterling smiled to herself wryly – she didn’t think that Al would mind that quest at all, even though now he realized there was no obligation.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“Waiting for what?”

“Crank it UP!” Wing grinned manically, and Sterling responded in kind. With a few finger flips and sweeps she had the satellite radio on-line, and the sounds of ‘80s on 8’ filled the car.

With the end of the previous song, the car was suddenly filled with the barrelhouse entrance to the live Wings version of “Lady Madonna”, and the atmosphere in the car was electric.

Lady Madonna, children at your feet,
Wonders how you manage to make ends meet.
Who finds the money, when you pay the rent?
Did you think that money was Heaven-sent?


Neither of the occupants of the car could resist the high energy of Paul McCartney pounding the piano over that tune, and within seconds were singing along even as the traffic slowed on the highway, forcing them into stop and go.

The music kept coming – for some reason the perfect song mix kept emanating from the car’s audio system. “Lady Madonna was followed by “Jet”, which was followed by “Live and Let Die”. Even the songs that weren’t by Sir Paul elevated the mood and kept the energy in the car sky-high.

Bob Seger’s “Katmandu”, the Grateful Dead’s “Touch Of Grey”, Journey and more kept the energy flowing even as the Rover was forced to crawl in traffic.

Despite the energy, both women stuck firmly to their tasks – Ari driving and monitoring the instruments, Sterling watching the ODB-2 data flow from the car’s computer. Utterly indifferent to Al’s concerns, the Rover V8 was performing flawlessly, all of the readings right in line, no problems even as the heat built up in the car due to the slowly moving traffic.

In short, it was a perfect ride. Or it would have been, if it weren’t for the tourists.

As they’d driven down the highway and even more so now in the stop and go on 394 the flashes of cellphone cameras were almost continuous, as were the faces pressed to windows or rolled down for a better view.

Over and over again Ari was forced to dodge to one side or the other as some overenthusiastic picture taker tried to focus his phone camera, and drifted in toward the Defender.

“What is WITH these people? You swear they’d never seen a Defender before!” Ari said as she dodged a Honda with homicidal intentions.

“I have no idea – I just hope we survive to get off the highway. Oh, good – our exit’s coming up. Let’s hop off here at Dunwoody.” A sign loomed before them – ‘8A – DUNWOODY BLVD.’ They signaled, and turned off the highway. Dunwoody to Lyndale, Lyndale to Franklin, and within a few minutes they pulled up in front of Mucho Mocha.

Even on the city streets, the attention drawn by the Defender was inordinate. City dwellers, normally immune to anything not involving gunfire, stopped, turned and stared as the car and its occupants went by.

The commuters, hurrying to their jobs, stopped, slapped each other on the arms to gain attention and all watched the Rover drive by.

Finally parked, Wing and Sterling were barely out of the car before a crowd formed – and the flashes from the phone cameras were as thick and fast as summer lightning.

“Let’s get the coffee and get out of here – all this attention is weirding me out. Even the DeLorean didn’t generate that kind of a crowd – I just don’t get it!” Wing was thoroughly confused, as was Sterling.

“It’s a nice car and all, but it’s not THAT nice…”

With that, they locked up the Defender and left it to its admirers and walked into Mucho Mocha.

Tina, as always, was at the counter with her pastry chef Becky handling orders as well. To complete the picture her dark, handsome rake of a boyfriend was at the counter, confusing things with his presence but thoroughly enjoying being with his beloved even as she worked.

“Miss Sterling and Miss Majordomo! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Tina was amused - having seen them roll in she noted that both their auras were off the charts with excitement and happiness - likely due to what they'd driven up in.

“In for some of your wonderful tea, luv, and Ari will have her usual, I suspect. Need to bring back a go-box for the lads and kiddies, some pastries, and a cup of the usual for the Master Of The House. Can you set us up?”

“I don’t see why not. Your pu-erh is going to take a few minutes to steep, but Becky and I will build the rest of it in the meantime. Have a seat – I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“Oh, make sure you get two of those chocolate croissants – Al’s sweet tooth could use a little variety.” Wing added, thinking of it at the last second. Tina snickered, and said "Too much good living on that one - he's getting a little chubby. However, I will happily take care of him again."

She turned to issue orders to Becky on the pastries, and started to prepare Sterling's tea and Ari's coffee as the young women went to a table.

Stanley, sensing the disruption he was causing, wandered over to talk to the ladies while their order was being prepared.

"So, what the heck is THAT thing?" he said, pointing toward the Defender and its admirers.

"That, Stanley, is the latest custom build out of the shops at RE. We literally finished it up last night, and it's going to its new owner in a week or so." Ari, who'd met Stanley on the Tiger's periodic maintenance visits to RE, stated proudly.

"As a matter of fact, you are sitting with the team who built it. Stan, meet Sterling Damhnait. She's been working with me on the project and gathering material for her latest book - one on the art in restoration."

Suitably impressed at Sterling's presence, Stan introduced himself, and the three chatted for a bit on cars in general and the custom products RE seemed to be cranking out on a regular basis.

"Got to say - I love the truck, but Al is going to kill you two for the design." Stan remarked.

With that, Ari and Sterling burst out laughing. Sterling snarked, "Then Warhorse best shoot himself first, because HE designed it. That thing is his design, start to finish."

She continued, in a more serious vein. "It may look like a regular old Defender, but the mechanics and electronics in that thing are stunning. Aluminum V8, German ZF automatic transmission, sway bars, Koni and Bilstein underpinnings and a light aluminium body means that thing might well give your Tiger a run off the line before air resistance gets it.

Grab yer girlfriend, ducks, and let's go have a look."

Stan demurred, knowing how busy Tina was, but was finally persuaded to go have a peek. Grabbing Tina from behind the counter, the four walked out to the street, parting the crowd ogling the D-90.

“I don’t for the life of me understand why people are so TAKEN with this thing – it’s just a Land-Rover!” Ari said, as they opened the doors and ushered Stan and Tina inside.

“It’s comfortable, I’ll give you that – and the electronics in this thing are better than Buck’s Bentley, I’ll lay odds!” Stanley was fascinated by the dash layout, which rivaled and surpassed many top-of-the-line cars.

“I see the touchscreen – what’s it got for features?”

Ari spoke proudly. “That’s all state of the art. The thing is a combination audio system, video system, GPS, Bluetooth cell and iPod connect and back-up camera connection. You name it, it’s there. It’s also got full USB connectivity to work off an external drive or a memory stick – we were using it on the way down here.

It’s got speakers fore, aft, in the overhead and a subwoofer in the base behind the seats.”

“It’s all…very tidy. It’s a really professional job – you two should be very proud of yourselves.” Tina said, distractedly. Inside, a battle was raging – the demons were arguing about the truck.

That thing is weirder than Tentacle’s mother!
One of Them said, only to be immediately verbally assaulted by Tentacle. With that, the rest divided into three camps – one agreeing, one disagreeing, and one sitting back and watching the show. These were the ones still paying attention, and providing Tina with at least a minimum of guidance.

“All down to Ari here – she ran the project, start to finish.” Ari blushed, nodded modestly, and added “I couldn’t have done it without Miss Artist here – and Al’s design. This all came out of his head.”

“What was he smoking at the time?” Stan snarked, and was promptly thumped for it by Tina. “No, behave, you. I’m sure there’s a reason for how it’s…designed.”

Sterling, hearing the byplay, laughed and said “If you ONLY knew…you know who this is a gift for, right?”

Ari elbowed her partner. “That’s a secret – you know better!”

Sterling was undeterred. “Ari, who are they going to tell? It’s only four days, anyway – and I’m sure they can keep a secret.”

Ari was also undeterred. “Sterling, NO. First off, it’s a secret. Second, you’ve annoyed the Sergeant-Major once already this week – you really want to go for twice?”

Those words struck home. “You…do have a point. Sorry, folks, she’s right. I can’t tell you. However, I’ll drop by next week and fill you in on all the skullduggery.”

Still distracted, Tina said “OK, makes sense.” Stanley, taking his cure from his inamorata, kept silent and didn’t press.

After another minute or two the four headed back into the shop, with Tina hurrying behind the counter to deal with the customers, and Sterling and Ari paying for and picking up their now-complete order. Hurrying back out, they loaded their booty into the Rover’s cargo area and headed back toward RE.

Radio back on, nav system engaged, Sterling headed back down Franklin, taking her turn at the wheel. Ari spoke “You in a hurry to get back?”

“Not a bit – the container for the coffee is insulated, and yours and mine are fine here up front. Warhorse’s might get a bit cool, but he’s a big boy and knows how to use a microwave. What do you have in mind?”

“Let’s take the long way home.” That said, Ari brought up a map of the area and laid out a circuitous route – down Franklin to Lake Of The Isles Boulevard, taking that the long way around the lake. This ran to Lake Street, then Route 25, and Route 7, which led to 494 North and home to RE.

The ride home was as anticlimactic as the ride in had been – and as high energy.

The music kept them energized, as the tasks they had to carry out kept them focused. As on the way in, the driver concentrated on the vehicle and its operation, while the passenger monitored the health of the drivetrain via the laptop and the connection to the car’s systems.

This did not mean, however, that they were immune to the scenery. Lake Of The Isles was a wonderful drive, city to the outside, the beautiful waters of the lake and the isles that gave it its name to the inside. Soon they reached Route 7, which took them from the city out into the suburbs to Route 494.

Once on 494, Sterling opened the Rover up. Cruising at a steady 70-75, the miles flew away until they reached the interchange for Alexander Parkway, ands made it back to RE.

As the door came up on the vehicle entrance, Al turned, smiling. The emotional high emanating from that vehicle could have been detected by a mole in the park, never mind anyone with any sensitivity at all. With it, Al smiled, putting his pen and headset down, and stepping to the door and down the stairs.

The Rover shut down, neatly parked as it had been before its inaugural journey. Its occupants piled out and Al smiled again - he didn't need the Gifts to see that things had gone well.

"So?"

Sterling reached into the back and handed him his cup, a broad smile on her face. Ari reached in and retrieved the box with their empty cups, and the treats for the shop.

"Al, she's beautiful. Handles well, goes VERY well with that Rover V8, and maneuvers like a snake on ice." The words tumbled from Ari as she headed for the refectory with the treats from Tina's, picking up a retinue of hungry, questioning people on the way.

Sterling continued. "No systems problems, and we were monitoring everything on both laps of the trip. No problems detectable by the computer, and the driveability of the vehicle is outstanding. It's not Red or Skitty, but for what it is its handling and maneuverability are very good.

Why doesn't the body roll? I will admit to taking the exit to 494 a bit fast to see what the body would do but the roll wasn't at all bad."

"Simple enough and part of the axle package you installed from the D1 on special mounts - you remember the mods we did for that. Couple that with the Bilstein shocks and that little gem will be dead stable at any sane speed - and will warn you before it does anything stupid."

Al continued, ticking off points on his fingers. "Suspension modifications - Discovery springs - better spring rate. Sway bars - they'll reduce the axle articulation some, but this thing's a mall crawler as opposed to a trail truck - it's entirely acceptable as is. The Bilsteins will damp vibrations nicely, and the rubber is smooth-riding and not at all noisy. Add all that together and you have a very nice package."
By this time, Wing had returned from the kitchen, having deposited the goodies then gotten outside the circle of total destruction.

"Al, she's just sweet. It wouldn't make me trade out WNG WMN, but then again I see enough of these things here every day. " Al theatrically held his hand over his heart, stating stentoriously, "Oh, the slings and arrows! Ungrateful wretch..." He then smiled, and bade her continue.

"Handling is good, power is everything you could want in a vehicle like that. She moves right along, and the transmission's shift points are if anything a bit low - the engine's got more to give then she's using. I think a lot of that is the free breathing exhaust and the cam you specified - it's definitely got more range not that it needs it. The balancing and porting Arthur did on it just helped it along - that is one serious mover of an RV8. With the potential that block's got, you think it might be worth re-chipping the EFI to take advantage of it?"

Al shook his head. "No, for the reason that I like my darling daughter in one piece. I know her and that lead hoof, and she will use all of the capacity that truck has." He grinned again. "On a more serious note, the suspension modifications and the roll control we added make it a good handler for what it is, but these cars are not and never will be race cars.

You two are too young to remember it, but the advent of small 4 x 4 trucks into world markets in the 1980s coincided with an alarming increase in rollovers. To put not too fine a point on it, the public had no idea how to drive something tall and boxy - and ended up on their sides frequently because of it. This was a combination of tall, narrow vehicles and more power than was previously available.

While I have no doubt whatsoever that my daughter has common sense, overpowering something like this simply makes no sense. There are a lot of things between the ground and the back of that engine - and adding power will simply break something else somewhere long the line. The ZF is a good transmission, but more horsepower means more clutch pack wear - and that's just a bad idea. The propshafts and axles could handle it, but what's the point of it? Better to maintain a good balance - and stock trim with the tweaks we added will result in an efficient, good-running engine with impeccable manners, better than stock fuel mileage and no potential issues with spares later."

Sterling laughed. "Damn, Warhorse - that's the most words I've ever heard from you at one time. You might almost swear you have a passion for this."

Al grinned sheepishly. "I do apologize. However, I am a firm believer in spreading the gospel of WHY. If you know why something is being done the way it is, it lets you make things right - or see ways to make it better. In any case, I feel a need for a pastry." He rubbed his hands together and headed for the refectory.

Sterling turned to Wing, and simply asked, "Now what, Boss Lady?"

"Simple enough. We check her over, clean her spotlessly, and then it's time for the handover - and that's in Al's court.

We have a winner."
"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

AN: This was one of the first scenes written - and just goes to show you how the creative process works. This scene is down to her - the framing, the timing and all.

CHAPTER 14 – Graduation, Pride and Gifts


The ceremony was over.

Al and Daisy, Buck, Katherine and Rowdy had been at the graduation ceremony that morning. Sitting in their places, they had the pleasure of seeing a purple-robed, cowled Cindy walk across the stage and receive her degree from the Chancellor of the university.

The pomp and circumstance was undeniable, and the emotion of the scene unmistakable. Daisy wept, holding proudly to Al's hand. Buck and Katherine stood together, while Rowdy cheered and whistled as his sister took the stage.

“Rock would have been so proud of her." Al said, squeezing Daisy's hand as he stood with her.

"Rock was all about proud. He loved the kids fiercely, and anything that came by was a reason to show it, and to celebrate accomplishments. Even merit badges in Cub Scouts or Brownies, or soccer games won, or just about anything. There were a lot of spoiled dinners and ice cream in our house then for 'celebrations' - it's one of the things that drove me mad but I couldn't stop him. This, however, would have put him 'over the moon', as you say.

I wish he could see this."

Al hugged her one-armed. "I agree. He deserved to see his children grow up and be the people they are. I'm lucky to have that even at one remove. We can be proud for him." He hugged her again, and they turned back to the ceremony.

Soon enough after, it was done. The orators, each with his burden of wisdom to share with the graduates, had said their pieces. Bands had played, and the ranks of undergraduates with the small number of doctorates had each had their moment in the spotlight, hand shaken by the Chancellor as they received the folder with the symbol of their distinction.

As the ceremony ended, then the picture-taking began. Armed with a massive digital camera, Katherine posed the blushing, happy, newly minted jurist against a backdrop and photographed her with the family she so loved.

FLASH. A picture of Cindy, with Al to one side and Daisy to the other.

FLASH. Cindy, with Buck and Rowdy - the two men towering over the young woman.

FLASH. The whole family, Buck and Rowdy kneeling in the forefront, and the three women at the back, with Al behind the camera as he insisted.

FLASH. Cindy with her friends from class, all flustered and supremely happy.

FLASH
. Cindy alone, holding the folder containing her degree and trying to look serious (and failing dismally).

With each photo the reality sank in – the long grind was over, and other than the bar exam her future was wide open. Some time to relax, time to figure out what she wanted to do, and time to just be Cindy for a while and decompress.

And there were PRESENTS.

Pictures over, the family started walking toward their cars. Daisy and Al had come in the Aston, Buck , Katherine, Cindy and Rowdy had come out in the Bentley.

“Now, everyone meet back at the house. We’re on for a late lunch, then it’s time for presents!” Daisy seemed strangely gleeful over that last – what was Momma up to with that crazy old man?

The ride back to the estate from Minneapolis was strangely silent in the Bentley. Cindy, normally loquacious, was coming down off the emotional tension of the day and settled back in her seat, cased diploma in her lap and nearly asleep.

Rowdy, looking over at his quiet sister, asked “So, sis, what’re you going to do with yourself now that you have your degree?”

She roused from her somnolence, thought a moment, and answered “Sleep. Sleep for the next WEEK. Then I think I might take a short vacation. Then it’s back to the grind and the bar exam.”

OOOooo…vacation. Flight to Aruba – or get Monica to POIT her to the sandbar for a few days…hmmmmm… She sat back in her seat and thought about white sands, turquoise water, and hunky pool boys bearing trays of drinks with umbrellas.

Soon enough, they pulled into the loop in front of New Alexander and debarked. Filing into the house, she was greeted by Rosalita and Edward, who both expressed their happiness at her graduation. Filing into the dining room, Cindy was greeted by her mother, Al and the children standing and applauding fiercely, added to by Katherine, Buck and Rowdy as they followed her in.

Blushing furiously, she held up her diploma, and with a little SQUEE set it on the sideboard in front of her place at the table, partially open so she could enjoy seeing her name – CINDY ALEXANDER in script on the inside.

Al bellowed “SPEECH! SPEECH!” The kids took it up and between them produced a surprising volume.

Cindy waved her hands, palms downward, and Al and the kids quieted.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, there’s a first!” her brother retorted, then gave her a one-armed hug from his place at the table.

“Seriously, I don’t know what to say. I’m proud, and happy, and nervous, and all sorts of things. Looking at this – and all the work it took to get it – it hasn’t really come through to me that I’m now a Master of Laws – international law and I are old friends.

I’m happy – and I’m glad all of you are here to share it with me. I wish Daddy had been here too, but he’s in my thoughts and I know he knows, too.

Thank you all for your support…and let’s eat…I’m hungry!”

The applause was again loud and long – and seemed to be many more people than those gathered around the table.

The meal was festive – though Cindy later couldn’t quite swear to what she ate other than dessert. Settling back with chocolate torte and coffee she was well content – and from the settled expressions around the table she wasn’t the only one.

As dessert ended Edward came out of the kitchen bearing a covered server. Walking up to Cindy, he stood next to her chair holding the server and removed the cover with a flourish. On the tray sat a box – bright pink, wrapped with a matching pink ribbon.

With a SQUEE, she claimed the box, eyes shining.

“Now, now now…none of that. Don’t open it. We’re going to take a ride here shortly, and you can open it when we get where we’re going, not before.” Al said in mock sternness. Cindy, Daisy and Al filed out the front door, only to come face to face with Clara. The other cars had been moved, and she sat there in her olive-green majesty.

“Whaaa – where are we going?” Cindy was knocked off-balance. She’d ridden in the back of Clara before – and it was not a pleasant experience for one sensitive to motion sickness.

“Oh, not far” Al said, airily. “Now you two get on in the back, and we’ll take off.” The two ladies loaded into the back and sat on the bunk.

Daisy reached into her purse and extracted a pink bandana, which she proceeded to place over Cinnamon’s eyes and tie firmly in place.

Right about then, Cinnamon started to panic. The close quarters of the back of the truck and the blindfold combined for a most uncomfortable feeling.

“Momma, I’m not sure I like this…” ”Oh, hush. You’ll be fine. We put a lot of work into this – let us have our fun. Trust me, you are going to get exactly what you deserve. Al and I have been planning this for MONTHS.”

For some reason Cinnamon was not at all reassured. Examples of Al’s odd sense of humor – one he had infected her mother with – ran through her mind on the short ride.

Al climbed into the front and after an argument with a protesting Diesel moved out. A few minutes later the truck stopped, back and stopped again. Al opened the rear door, proclaiming “Last Station! ALL OUT!

Daisy and Cinnamon emerged – with the blindfolded Cinnamon being led by her mother - in front of the vehicle garage on the estate – but one strangely transformed with pink bunting which clashed terribly with the muted walls and roof. The main door was open, and figures moved around inside, indistinct in the relative darkness of the building in contrast with the bright light outside.

Ari and Sterling, along with John and Smokey, were inside waiting for the belle of the ball to arrive.

Hearing the chunter of the Land-Rover’s Diesel and the discreet toot of its horn, the players scrambled into place.

Daisy, leading a blindfolded Cinnamon, stepped in line behind Al. Seeing the troops assembled, she barely checked a startled whinny of laughter when she saw them all assembled in lurid pink overalls, Sterling's obvious pink wig gleaming in the interior light of the vehicle bay.

"At ease!" Al barked, and they bravely tried.

Al nodded, and Daisy removed the blindfold. A large bubblegum pink tarp covered the surprise, which had a familiar shape.

Cinnamon brayed in laughter when she saw everyone in pink coveralls, Sterling with her pink hair, and then opened the box to see a pair of obviously fake leather (nobody could get real leather in that ridiculous shade of pink) racing gloves.

Sterling snapped her fingers and an obnoxious beat slithered out of thin air – Ru Paul singing of his experiences as a Super Model. With this hanging in the air like a hideous cloud, people started to appear from the shadows.

First, Annie and Sarge appeared, with Annie, in a black dress with pink sash and sandals and Sarge in an obnoxiously pink Hawaiian shirt. Rowdy, Buck, and Katherine, similarly attired came into view next, lining up as her own private cheering section. Glytch vorped in wearing his usual red, which Sterling glamoured to shift into pink when he wasn't paying attention.

"You guys are here too?"

"Wouldn't miss it. We didn’t feel like waiting for the party this weekend to see what Al and Daisy cooked up for you." All of them were grinning, and all eager to share her moment with her.

Right about then Cinnamon had a feeling of foreboding. SOMETHING was up otherwise there wouldn’t have been bleachers seats for the family and all of Al’s cronies. Something like dread began to claw at the back of her mind – then Al began to speak.

“Before we reveal it, I need to say a few things.” Al started, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief and nearly overcome. Voice husky, he began to speak.

“Ever since I joined this family, I have always had a special place in my heart for you. I am mad about your mother, and your brothers are stalwart friends and companions…but you have always been special to me.

When you came close to graduation, I decided that I needed to build you the car you TRULY deserved – and one you’d always enjoy and remember. My folks here – and Sterling – have worked very hard to produce a car to show your mother’s and my love for you – and our pride in your accomplishment.”

Al dabbed at his eyes again, obviously being overcome by the moment.

"Ready? 3, 2, 1 PULL!!"

Even as the echoes of the bellowed command faded the cover rose. As the cover was lifted, the most luridly pink automobile ever built was revealed. The body was Pepto Pink from top to bottom with a pink and white striped roof, the window tint was pink, the mag wheels were the same hideous pink, the headlight and taillight glass was pink, even the mudflaps were pink with Hello Kitty in a pink princess outfit. Pushing the obnoxiously pink key fob, the vehicle started playing Henry Mancini’s iconic theme from the “Pink Panther”.

As the doors popped open, Al's infectiously happy grin made Cinnamon feel bad. Then she looked inside – and tried hard to overcome her shock and revulsion at the almost-organically-pink interior. The driving position of the Rover looked like the anteroom of a particularly obnoxious brothel – not that she’d ever been in one!

Al stood by the door with her mother and the rest a few paces further back, grinning and obviously tremendously proud of his team’s work on the interior fittings.

The very plush hot pink seat covers looked like velvet, steering cover was the sort of pink you see on fuzzy pink slippers. The dashboard was the same eye burning pink, with Hello Kitty all over in various pink outfits – obviously a custom made dash panel. The interior dome light was a pink translucent disco ball.

No, she thought, I take it back. The floor mats are retina-searing. Revulsion is the only answer here.

They were an electrifying ultra hot pink with "Hot stuff" stamped in.

The entire interior was nauseatingly, passionately over-the top kawaii…not even the most rabid 12-year-old female could have looked upon this without losing her lunch – and it was all hers.

"So luv, wotcha think? I think we managed to capture the limo in miniature rather well."

All eyes were on Cinnamon...

"Go on, sit down, get the feel of it all."

The seat was comfortable, and she sank down. Memory foam met her body – the seat, while horrid in appearance, sculpted itself to her in a loving embrace with no pressure points. She could drive this a very long time and be comfortable – other than the blindness from the colour.

The steering wheel was surprisingly not stuffed animal plush, but the ridiculous feathers...

Looking out, the world was tinged pink, like a giant pair of rose coloured glasses. Surprisingly this, she didn't mind, as it masked the lurid pink of the hood.

Cinnamon was beside herself.

Oh God. How do I tell them...WHAT do I tell them? The only thing he didn't get from the limo was the mini bar and entertainment setup.


"Now that you see it's comfy, just wait until you see how they modified the back." Al was so sweet, what was she going to do?

Walking around to the back, she noticed the cotton candy glassy coating on the chrome rear bumperettes and the light surrounds.

"That's actually pretty," she thought.

"Hey Al, is that glass coating on the chrome, or a scratch cover, and is it expensive to replace? It's pretty."

Lame, but she was trying to appreciate it.

“Cindy, you’ll never have to worry about any of the coatings on this vehicle. All of the coatings, paints and tints are fully industrial items – we had to have them specially made, but they’re as tough as the items used on the machinery AHI sells. This car will be this beautiful, with a little maintenance, for decades – and should it ever need to be repainted I’ve got the data files for everything on file here – and we can fix it up to be as beautiful as it is right now.”

He gave her a side hug, and voice husky again, said “There is nothing too good for my stepdaughter – your mother and I are both in agreement on this – you deserve nothing but the best we can do for you.”

Opening the back, Al waved his arms in a 'Ta-daa!' motion.

"I figured if you want to get away from it all like I did, we could make it practical to do so."

Rather than the stepped floor of any other Defender, the rear floor in this one was flat – and covered in the same lurid pink carpet as the front was under the mats. Locker lids were built in in the front floor and the side boxes down to the pink chrome hardware like the outside.

At the back, drawer fronts with pink chrome hardware and carpet-covered fronts were accessible from the rear with the door open. Al slid one of these out – it was partitioned for storage, and currently empty.

“These are the equivalent of the lockers in Clara – plenty of space, so if you ever want to get away from it all, the D-90 is a self-contained world for you to do it in.”

If it didn’t sear her eyeballs out first, she thought glumly.

Inside, he clambered in and pointed out hinges and latches.

Releasing them, out popped a mattress, fully decked out in pink silk bedding, with what looked like wooden screen rolls for privacy. Hooks in the walls above the windows and rings on the screens confirmed her suspicions before Al said so.

"Memory foam bed like the seats."

Releasing the floor latches after restowing the bunk, he tugged, and opened storage incorporating a sink, and holder for the propane hibachi.

Several collapsible containers for food and water were already stowed, as were delicate pink flatware and some pink enameled dishes in their own shockproof packaging.

Another latch popped, and more storage like the roll out drawers, this empty and awaiting her goods.

Exiting the back of the vehicle, Al directed her attention to a trolley Ari and Sterling brought over, holding a huge box adorned with a giant pink bow.

Inside were a set of collapsible cases, which she was told could hold her entire wardrobe and toiletries, and that they'd stow in the spaces in the back – designed in, Al proudly told her, by Ari and the crew in consultation with expedition designers.

“They really outdid themselves with this – they understood the exciting life you’ll be leading, and that you’d have a need to get away. I was wholeheartedly for it – they built you a wonderful machine here. Load those up, stow them and nothing is visible from the outside – and you‘re as well-equipped as you’d be at home.”

Or in a brothel in Berlin,
the stray thought escaped. How am I going to tell them how horrible this is?

On another trolley was a pale pink enameled mini fridge adorned with a giant pink bow, as well as the crate with pink case and pink hibachi stove, pink LaCrosse enameled cast iron cookware and oh Gods, even a pink holster to hold the propane canisters. But at least these weren't lurid...

"We grabbed these fairly last minute as an afterthought, but they can easily be repainted to match, okay?"

Al looked concerned she would not like it not matching...

"Okay, but they are cute like that." she said, floundering for some positive remark to make to this pink nekomimi horror in an English disguise.

"Oh, check this out."

Pushing a button in the overhead, a panel opened, and a DVD system came out, with a very slim remote and Pretty in Pink cued up.

Al said, “I’m particularly proud of that. It’s sited so that the screen can swivel – if you’re reclining in the bunk you can play music or enjoy a movie – and we’ve stocked a small selection of your favorites – all with a Pink theme, of course. Nothing is too good for my new lawyer stepdaughter – I’m SO proud of you!” Al hugged her again, and eyes shining, looked at her for her reaction.

"Not as fancy as the limo, but it's cozy."

Al continued to talk, but by this time Cinnamon had an expression on her face that could be best described as ‘deer in the headlights’. His voice faded to a drone as her mind ran at a million miles an hour.

Oh, GOD this thing is horrible! Al obviously thought I actually LIKED the Pepto Limo and he and Momma built me my own version of it.


Look at him – he’s so proud he built me what I ‘wanted’ – and look at Momma standing there, all proud and happy – what a big, beautiful smile. And the family – and Al’s people – and his cronies come to see the lady get her wonderful present.

It’s all just tooo..toooo…toooo…


Al stopped talking, came over, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, smiling beatifically at her.

“We wanted to give you something you’d always remember – and I think we did it. How do you like it?”

All eyes turned to her.

“Al, Momma…it’s just….just… AWWWWWWWFUUUUULLLLLLLL!!!”

With that statement she began to bawl – great whooping sobs as she buried her head on her mother’s shoulder. Daisy patted her shoulders, directing a rather pointed glare at her husband, who raised his hands and shrugged with a How in Hades did I know that was going to happen? gesture.

After a minute or two the sobs diminished, and stopped.

Al approached. “Cinnamon, honey – do you really not like it?”

She hiccupped, and brushed a hand across her nose. “Al, it’s a wonderful Defender, but the pink…all the pink…all the BRIGHT pink…it’s all wrong.

It’s just…too much. All that crushed velvet and pink on the inside…it looks like a whorehouse.”

Daisy was scandalized “Cindy! Such LANGUAGE! And in front of the children!”

Cinnamon was undeterred. “Momma, Al, I love you both, and I love the intent…but I can’t drive this. It’s just….AWFUL!

Al came over, gave her a hug, and then held her at arm’s length.

“Cinnamon, do you really not like it?”

“Al, I love you but no, I hate it. It’s just too…PINK.”

He nodded sagely.

“Very well, then.”

From his pocket he produced an old, worn signaling whistle.

He blew it, a piercing, loud sound.
“FIRST ECHELON! ATTACK!”

With that, pandemonium took place. Like a well-oiled machine, the crowd broke and swarmed onto the Rover. Each to his spot, the Rover was attacked, not to destroy, but to transform.

Grasping cleverly concealed tabs, the lurid pink paint on the panels was peeled away from the outside by the men. Under the pink was a deep pearl white panel base coat with delicate lacework tracery in a light champagne pink. This in itself was coated with a miles-deep optical illusion of a clear coat – flawlessly protecting and enhancing the lacework.

The roof, using concealed wires, was stripped of its pink and white stripes, showing a solid panel of the pearl white with the crystalline clear coat over it.

While the exterior body was being transformed, so too was the interior. Ari, Katherine and Sterling swarmed inside, and the interior was rapidly transformed as well. The disco-ball dome light was unceremoniously unsnapped and heaved out the window, and the lurid coatings for the dashboard removed to reveal a dash tinted the same delicate champagne pink as the lace overlay. The crushed-velvet carpeting was torn off its temporary mounts, revealing a fine wool carpet in the champagne pink, which also matched the fitted leather of the door cards and the seats as they were revealed.

The back, too, received its share of attention with the lurid carpeting and headliner leaving rapidly, and a chemical-soaked rag applied to the brightwork to shrivel and remove the temporary plastic coating.

Stripping done, Al blew his whistle and bellowed “SECOND ECHELON – ATTACK!”

A motor started, and Smokey and John came forward with an industrial pressure washer. Car closed up tightly, they began to hose it down with hot 2300-PSI water.

With the touch of the water, the remainder of the lurid pink on the outside was removed. The wheels and trim reverted to the champagne pink of the lace coat, and the chrome to shiny silver as befit such a magnificent vehicle.

The windows and lights lost their pink coats with the touch of the water, reverting to clear.

“If you want tint on any of the clear we can easily get that done – I figured you’ll want the windows tinted, but it interfered with the pink so we left it out.”

The whistle sounded again. “THIRD ECHELON – ATTACK!”

Towels were applied, and within a minute or two the Rover was clean, dry and spotless in its delicate tracery.

Finally, the transformation was complete. The Rover, starting out as a near-wreck and sailing as a very pink Q-ship, was finally ready to go to its new owner.

“Shall we do this again, my dear lady?” Al held out his hand to his daughter on one side and his wife on the other. Hand in hand, the three approached the car.

"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: Aluminium Angel

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 15 – Notice, Notoriety and Acclaim


PINK!
By: James MacInnes, LRQ US Correspondent
Photos: Flashburn Studios – Chicago, Illinois, USA

Editor’s preface:

Recently, we received a phone call from our US correspondent above. In between gasps for air and laughing, he suggested that we ‘check our email’ and open the two he’d sent us in order while he waited on the phone.

So, we did, opening the first one and displaying the photographs in it. It was a 90 – but a 90 like we’d never seen before.

It was HORRIFYING.

As the laughter died away, he suggested we open the second email – and we did. In it was another 90 – one which could only be described as the diametric opposite of the first.

This is the story of a build, a gift, and more than a bit of skullduggery – presented for your pleasure below.

Recently, I received a telephone call from Richer Engineering – an engineering works here in the Minneapolis area. I was invited out to see their latest custom build – a 1990 Land-Rover 90 that had been the product of a resto-mod build.

Normally, I would have ignored the call, as most custom builds of LRs in the US tend to be overpowered, over-testosteroned monstrosities with US running gear, or effete purse dogs, completely emasculated of their abilities in the name of fashion.

However, RE and its owner have a reputation for solid restoration work in the British market, so I decided to see it myself.

When I arrived, I was greeted by RE’s project manager (she calls herself the ‘majordomo’) Arania Wardoff. I knew her name well, from having been dazzled by a DeLorean DMC-12 build she had led the team on the year before.

“Before we see the car, I’d like to show you a few pictures.”

Bracing myself, I expected a step-by-step documenting of the build in detail – not unusual but tedious. Instead, Ms, Wardoff laid out a dozen pictures on the conference room table.

The first four were exterior views of a Discovery 1, and interior and exterior views of a 90 that had seen better days.

“These were the two donors. The 90 is ex-MOD, and was acquired in the UK by my boss and shipped over. The Discovery I was a powertrain donor – the engine and auto trans from this were sent out, rebuilt to new, and fitted to a new galvanized chassis with the D-90 axles and new suspension.

The body was sent out for paint, and all of the disassembly, assembly and refurbishment was done here in house by a two person team.”

The rest of the pictures told another story.

PINK. The car was PINK.

The restoration was outstanding - the trim and finish were impeccable – but the colour…was pink.

Not a light pink, or a tone off white, but revoltingly hot pink. Every possible shade of anti-nausea medicine pink was represented, from the pink-tinted chrome trim to the shag carpet and floor mats, the crushed velour seat trim, and the custom dash and all of its fittings.

The exterior was the same – bright pink, with wheels powder coated to match and a pink and white striped hardtop.

I continued to flip through the pictures, a sick fascination like watching a train wreck building in me.

The back – while magnificently appointed as a camping and expedition vehicle, continued the same motif. The headliner was bright pink, the carpeting the same, and the locker handles and all the hardware pinkish tinted. Even the windows and the dome light bore the unmistakable stamp of nauseating pink.

I looked up to Ms. Wardoff after digesting the contents of the photos. My journalistic standards forbade me expressing my opinion of this horror, but I had to know.

“Why?”

She rocked back in her chair and laughed, delighted at my reaction.

“Mr. MacInnes, there is a story to this – one of low humour, tit-for-tat, and a set of loving parents who wanted to give their daughter a memorable gift.

A year or so ago my boss’ wife and stepdaughter, Mrs. Alexander-Richer and her daughter Cindy Alexander were returning from a day out – and they and their friends decided to return via limousine. Well, Miss Cindy decided to have some fun with her stepfather and chose a Range Rover stretch limousine – in eye-searing pink down to the pinkwall tyres. This was done because Miss Cindy is as Land-Rover mad as her stepfather, but decided to have some fun with him knowing well what his reaction would be.

As you can imagine, Mr. Richer was none too pleased at the choice and expressed his opinion. Cindy went on and on about how wonderful the car was, and how beautiful the colour and the appointments were.

Fast forward to a few months ago. Miss Cindy was graduating from law school, and her parents decided that they were going to give her the 90 of her dreams – both knowing QUITE well what the actual story was on the pink horror.

The reaction when Miss Cindy was gifted with the car was memorable. I was there when she received it, on the day she graduated.”

“And what was her reaction?”

“Utter horror. Al played the whole thing up about how they were so happy to give her a car just like the limo, and that all of the appointments were just the same and so on and so forth. The walk around was memorable – it was obvious what Miss Cindy was thinking as Al showed her all of the things you see here in the photos.

The lady’s face dropped lower and lower at every reveal of another very pink facet to the car – all the way down to the added expedition gear painted in the same colour down to the propane tank mounts.”

“So what happened?”

“The young lady finally broke down in her mother’s arms and started to bawl. She tearfully admitted she hated it. Her father asked if that were really true – and she admitted it was.

Then a miracle happened. Would you like to see that miracle now?”

“Certainly.”

We left the office and went to a bay in the engineering works – and there was the 90 – utterly transformed.

Instead of the offensively bright pink, the exterior of the car was done in a fine lacework in champagne pink over pearl white, with a roof panel in the pearl white and all gloss coated to a deep mirror finish (see photo 4). The understated chrome trim was in silver, and the Discovery rims done in the same champagne pink, sitting on Michelin tyres.

The interior was the same. Instead of the searing colour the seats, trim panels and dashboard were done in panels of white and champagne pink, with matching deep pile carpeting on the floor (Photo 5).

Overhead, a center console on the roof contained the DVD system for the back, added speakers for the audio system and storage – all in pearl white to match the headliner.

Even the back was flawlessly appointed even though fully equipped as an expedition and travel vehicle (Photo 6).

I was amazed.

“How did this happen?”

“My boss is a sneaky, devious man. Havana Customs did the paint and all of the interior work in concert with custom trimmers and leatherworkers. Then, over that, they overlaid the horror you saw in the pictures – all designed to look like it was permanent.

When my boss signaled us – the spectators all swarmed over the vehicle. The top layer of the paint was peelable, and came right off. The window tint, wheel colour and trim tint all came off with the application of hot water from a pressure washer, and all the interior horror was either peel-away or came off temporary stitching to hold it in place.

Everyone got a present that day – my boss got his revenge and his daughter got a car that will never let her down.

Would you care to go for a drive?”

To be honest, after seeing the vehicle in its impeccable finish I expected it to be a mushy, poor handling street vehicle with no semblance left of the Defender. I could not have been more wrong.

With Ms. Wardoff behind the wheel we went for a drive, and the 90 was as solid as it is possible for one to be. City street, highway, back road – it took all in stride.

While out, we stopped at a gated area, and Ms. Wardoff opened the gate and we went in. The area was a test track for off-road vehicles – and I had my preconceptions of the car removed by its performance. Up, down, side slopes, dips, ruts – the car handled them as well as any stock D-90 would have and with as little fuss.

“I am surprised – given the exterior finish of the car I expected the suspension would have been tuned for city driving.”

Ms. Wardoff laughed. “My boss would never allow such a thing. First and foremost this is a tough vehicle for one of the people he holds dearest – he would never have limited its capabilities.

It was designed to be as comfortable as any modern Land-Rover, but still have all of the capabilities of the superior 4 x 4 vehicle it was built to be.”

Back at the office, I quizzed Ms. Wardoff on the construction of this marvelous vehicle.

“Ms. Wardoff, this is a marvelous job. Do tell what it was like to manage the construction of a custom vehicle like that.”

Not just manage, Mr. MacInnes. My boss designed it, and I got to build it.”


I was surprised. I realized she was the project manager, but I hadn’t realized she’d been more hands-on on the project.

“You built it?”

“I ran the project, handled the build and also worked on it as the lead mechanic. I had the assistance of RE staff when required, but I also had a dedicated engineer working on the project with me – Ms. Sterling Damhnait.”

“Sterling Damhnait – the artist?”

“Yes. She is a friend and a customer – and when she found out the build was being done, volunteered as a sous-mechanic to document the process for a book she’s planning on the aesthetics of engineering.

We were the team that did the build, start to finish. My boss set this up as a learning experience for me – this way I could learn the ins and outs of running a project and delivering it. I don’t have a lot of formal education in this business – my boss has brought me along pretty-well from scratch with learning opportunities like this and the DeLorean last year.”

“It’s obviously a fantastic job. Please describe the details of the build, if you could.”

“The basic vehicle is a 1990 90 my boss found in the UK. Honestly, very little of the original vehicle other than the body and axles was used – it was pretty tired when we got it.

The drivetrain was from the Discovery 1 – a 3.9 liter V8 with the ZF automatic transmission and LR transfer case. All of these items were sent out and made as-new by Bellweather Engineering in St. Paul – they also ported, polished and balanced all the assemblies to ensure a glass-smooth engine.

None of this was untried or unsuited to the 90 - the NADA 90s had the same drivetrain and were great all-round performers – so we duplicated what we knew would work well.

With the engine and transmission combination came the air conditioning, power steering, vented disc brakes and such all of which transplanted nicely to a new galvanized frame.

The electrical systems are all custom – much of the D1’s creature comforts like alarm, central locking and such came over. The in-dash electronics are all built specifically for this car along with the DVD player, remote screen and such – my boss Al did all of the electronics in the car himself in his role as product specialist. The mounts and such were all custom fabricated to look original to the LR.”

“What we did was to take the best attributes of both of the donor vehicles and combine them in an uncompromising manner – no corners were cut on handling, performance, off-road ability or anything else. Then that was dressed in what my boss calls ‘a bespoke tuxedo’ – a custom interior of the highest quality and comfort.”


“What a fantastic piece of work. What was the most exciting part of it?”

“Honestly, driving it for the first time was a fantastic experience. Ms. Damhnait and I ran it in with instrumentation hooked to it, but none of it was needed as the car was flawless from the beginning.”


With that, I left, the photos you see here in a folder in my hands. RE and Ms. Wardoff have set a very high bar for custom builds – this one rivals anything I have ever seen either here or in the United Kingdom.

- James MacInnes LRQ Americas
"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: Aluminium Angel

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Chapter 16 - Time to go


It was late evening, and Al was ensconced in his office at Alexander House. Scrubs on (new ones – Daisy had finally burned all his MOD-surplus ones), slippers on feet, he sat at his desk and enjoyed a cup of tea before bed.

The past few weeks had been an emotional high note, between the finish and giving of the 90 to Cinnamon (who was out in it with her girlfriends, at present), the completion of Fergus’ restoration and the serenade that accompanied it, and the incredible emotional high of watching Cindy move the tassel on her mortarboard from one side to the other.

Now, it was time to rest, to recoup, and to get back down to a normal routine.

Still, he was going to miss having that mage in his facility. He owed her for a lot – supporting Ari as she found her voice as a project manager, his issues with Emergence, finding the truth in Arthur’s change…so much. Admittedly she was a loudmouth pain in the arse who constantly pushed boundaries, but…he’d miss her.

He took a sip from his cup, sitting on a tray with his teapot and a plate of biscuits. With that, his mind wandered – he was tired. Work kept intruding – parts he’d have to make for the scanner for MIB, other parts for the refit of that Lanthian mechanism they were trying to put back in operation, and then there was the drive gear that customer had ordered for the Diesel pump on that Aveling road roller…

Mind drifting, he conjured up the part in his mind, starting to work out the manufacturing process for it. 34 tooth, straight-cut, bronze, with a broached square shaft hole…that was going to be annoying.

Still visualizing, he could see the completed gear, then his hand spasmed and a light flashed on his desk. His hand felt light, and he turned toward it, miffed. Dropped my damn teacup. Turning into a doddering old fool, I am he thought to himself.

He turned to the tray – and was shocked. His teacup was simply – gone – and lying in the saucer was a gear. Specifically, the gear that did not exist yet, and had not existed as a new part for over sixty years.

He picked it up. It was exactly as he’d imagined it – the machine marks from the process left on the metal, the sharp, crisp edges, the marks of the broach on the square hole in the centre. However, it felt somehow insubstantial, as though it was not really metal but some gossamer substitute.

He began to shake, dropping the gear. When it hit his desk, rather than the PING of metal there was a sound like a sandbag hitting a surface, and the gear disintegrated, flowing like powder into a small heap on his desk. He blinked, and the teacup was back, lying on its side where the pile of sand had been.

Oh, bugger.


Al sat quietly and took several deep breaths. Then, placing his cup on the saucer he refilled it, half-expecting the gear to reappear and spill his tea onto the desk. Taking a sip, then another, he steadied his nerves and then set the cup down.

It was time to make a call.

Picking up his cell phone, he looked up a number in his contacts and placed the call.

“Fergus. Al, d’ye realize how late it is here?”


“Yes, Fergus, and I apologize for disturbing you so late – but there’s been a development.” In a few sentences he described the creation of the gear, its dissolution, and the subsequent reassembly of his teacup from the sand.

“Oh, bugger. Aye, it’s good ye called. ‘Tis time ye come and pay us a visit.”

“It’s late tonight, but could you come and get me at nine my time – that’ll be 2 your time. I think I’ve neglected my lessons too long.”

“Aye, ye have. ‘Tis time tae take yer place with us, Al. Have a good night, and I’ll be in for ye tomorrow.”


“Good night, Fergus. I’ll be ready to go.”

With that, Al terminated the conversation and set his phone down. Ari and the lads would be fine for a few weeks, and while he’d miss his family there was no reason he couldn’t pop home for an evening or three along the way.

He turned off the light, leaving the tea things on the desk, and went to his room. Daisy sat in bed, reading, her glasses perched on the end of her nose. She looked at his face and put her book down on the nightstand, setting her glasses on top.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

“It’s time for me to go visit Fergus for a few weeks.” He described the scene that had taken place.

“Yes, I think so. We’ll be fine here while you’re gone – and Ari can reach you any time she needs you of course. Are you all right with this?”

“Yes, I think so. Afraid, of course, but as I’ve been told nowt but good can come from this. I won’t say ‘what could go wrong’, because both of us know well what could happen, but I have to trust in Fergus – and in myself. I can do this.”

“Come to bed, dear.”

Robe off, lights off, warm in the embrace of his dam and she in his, they drifted to sleep.
"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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