|
|
Post by Delilah A. Black on Jul 2, 2013 0:41:50 GMT -8
September, 2011.
(continued from Here)
--Delilah smiled across at Kiyoshi on his hospital bed. There was no point in keeping him any longer. She got to her feet and bowed again at the waist, polite as ever. ”Thank you for your time, Akechi-sama, and thank you for your trust. I'll ensure a full report is on your desk once my tasks have been completed.” With that and a friendly, if a little weary smile to Dora, Delilah would leave the room.
Closing the door behind her, the mechanic started to jog down the hallway away from the medical wing and to the Mess Hall, plans forming into a checklist in her mind. Her first stop would be the cooks, to see what they had in stock as far as produce went, and how they went about attaining it.
Striding into the mess hall, she waved a hand at the cooks who were prepping for the lunch hour that was bound to come. In roughly a half hour, the troops undergoing basic training would be filed in to scarf down what they could before running back out onto the field. She hoped Tai would be taking Oliver with him during the basic training; the white haired boy would LOVE to see 'Madame Bleep' yelling at everyone. And maybe it would keep that sailors mouth of his a little more clean.
Oh, that would be a laugh.
The cooks looked up as Delilah approached, the one with a blonde mohawk and roughly thirty facial piercings noticed her and sighed in exasperation. ”We're not ready yet! Come back in a half hour and--”
She lifted a hand to stop him there. ”I'm not here to try and grab an early meal; I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”
The man and the woman (a portly, middle-aged thing with the first strands of grey in her dark brown hair) exchanged a look of trepidation before looking back at the recently arrived Sister Crow. Rumour had it she was part of Militia at one time or another, and they were naturally wary of anyone who had attended Public High School #259.
”Shoot. But we don't have all day, now.”
She offered him a friendly smile, though internally she felt irked and chose to ignore the statement. ”First, I wanted to know where you get the produce from, particularly the potatoes. Second, what do you do with the ones that go bad?”
They exchanged another look, longer this time and more confused than worried. It was the woman who spoke up first, after several moments. ”We've been pulling in what we can from grocery stores, but we haven't really been able to find raw stuff except for potatoes and mushrooms. Everything else, we find it in premade, once frozen packages,” she shrugged. ”We're trying to make our own gardens and things, but the growing season is long past.”
Delilah's smile widened a little more, giving her a slightly creepy look. The pair hesitated before answering her second question.
”Uh...if we find something we can't use, it goes in the compost to be saved for the spring time.”
”Where are you keeping the compost?”
”Uh, outside for now. It'll stay moist and warm if we keep feeding it rotting food as the enzymes break down.”
”Do you have any old potatoes now?”
”Yeah, we just finished peeling a few for the stew and found a few bad ones, but what does that have to do with--”
”How does the basement look, right now?”
”It's clean, if that's what you me--”
”Dirt floor or cement?”
”Cement, definitely.”
”Could I ask a favour of you both?”
Another wary look was passed between the two. ”Uhm...sure?”
”In two hours, I'm going to bring an old bookshelf down to the basement to use as a frame. I want you –or whoever else you want to rope into this-- to get about forty gallons of dirt to fill it.”
They gaped at her openly. She smiled calmly at them until they spoke. ”WHY?””Because we're gonna start growing our own potatoes. And we're gonna use 'em.”. . .
Her plan now in motion, Delilah would head down to the accumulated pile of junk that had began to form around the South Eastern edge of the 'Nest as large pieces of scrap metal were brought in for trade for a bed and food for a night. This usually resulted in enlistment, but it was almost more valuable to have people scavenging for things. Especially when they brought in an old appliances, like the water heater she stood before now.
She dragged it back into her garage to begin the work to create a cistern to distill the alcohol from the potato. It was fortunate that someone had brought this—and that there was plenty of copper wiring to do the trick. The only tricky part would be the electricity, but a simple adjustment to add speed to the paddle-wheel behind the 'Nest that turned the turbine might just solve her problem. But she would need the thing operational first or she might blow out all the lights in the 'Nest with an electrical surge.
...Now she also needed to consider procuring a back up generator and other methods of powering the 'Nest, especially during periods of low tide. But that was for later. Right now, she had to build this...thing.
First, Delilah checked if there was any leaks in the hot water tank that she could see on the outer edge. The process itself took roughly forty five minutes of muttering to herself as she welded pieces of metal over the slightest crack. Next, she checked the inner chambers and the internal electrical heating system. She would have to adjust the temperature cap to boiling for the lower part of the still, and then have different levels of 'tubs' to catch the vapour, boil it again, allow the vapour to rise to the next chambers, and so on.
At the top of the former water heater was still, thankfully, the metal pipe that would normally direct the heated water to the rest of the structure it was a part of. The pipe, however, was facing down in stead of up...she would have to bend it up at a slight angle to allow only the purest vapours to reach the collection area.
...But the purest vapours meant a higher concentration of ethanol. That was great for use as an antiseptic, but for drinking...
Delilah sighed to herself. She would need at least one more cistern. But the two hours had passed, and she had to head down to the basement with that bookcase.
. . .
“Right...so, what are we doin' with this again?”
Delilah's left eye spasmed uncontrollably for a moment before she forced a calm expression to wash over her. She straightened her back with an audible krik and turned to look at him with THE MOST PATIENT EXPRESSION EVER, leaning against her shovel as she eyed the punk looking cook.
“We. Are making a temporary garden for potatoes. In the basement of the Crows Nest.”
He snorted and rolled his eyes, “Yeah, I got that, I just wanna know WHY.”
The woman from the kitchen lifted her head to look at her fellow cook and raised an eyebrow. “You mean other than the obvious? Like the fact that we need to start growin' our own food and storin' it before winter or WE'LL STARVE?”
The man let out an exasperated groan, “YEAH OKAY, THANKS BITCH, I GOT THAT, BUT WHY ELSE?”
Delilah smiled a rather crafty smile at the man. He clammed up almost immediately.
“You'll all find out soon enough.” she purred. The mechanic turned her back on the cooks and continued filling the bookshelves on the bottom of the basement floor with dirt. The three worked in silence until the task was done.
Once the last of the dirt was in it's proper place, Delilah turned to the cooks with an appreciative smile.
“Thank you both for your trouble. If I might ask one more favour of you--”
“Oh HELL no, Lady!” the man shouted suddenly. He took a step forward, jabbing his finger in her face. “No fuckin' way. I dunno who you think you are, but you SURE AS HELL ain't one of the Zero's and I don't fuckin' take orders from-”
The man and woman both flinched backwards suddenly as a dark, murderous look bloomed on the features of the raven haired woman. Her nostrils flared, her eyes widened and that calm, collected smile was gone without a trace. Black, fathomless rage consumed her mind.
KILLKILL THEM ALLA shiver coursed up and down her spine and Delilah came back to herself. Much of the look of pure murderous intent had faded, but she was still, obviously not impressed.
She stared at them in silence for a moment, somewhere in the back of her mind feeling sorry for the woman (she having been more cooperative than the other cook), but she hadn't been telling him to calm down either. Part of her was angry at his words, of course...but part of her also knew that she, in fact, did not have the rank to tell these people what to and what not to do. That was frustrating, to say the least.
In crisp and clipped tones, Delilah finally began to speak, “No. I suppose neither of you owe me any favours. I...apologize.
“However, I have Zero Akechi's permission to complete this task. Did you not swear your loyalty to him during the rally?”
She didn't wait for a response.
“What I am doing here is not for myself, but for Crows. Every little bit of my work here, as the Head Engineer, a soldier, and whatever else I volunteered myself for, like this. Like any soldier, I know I cannot do this alone. And neither can you.”
The last of Delilah's words echoed throughout the room as she continued to stare vehemently at the pair. Neither wanted to meet her eyes. The woman, casting a sideways glare at the man, nodded at Delilah with a decisive set to her jaw.
“What do you need?”
. . .
Having put the cooks in charge of growing the potatoes, Delilah's side task of creating the stills for use once she had the mash from the old potatoes was pretty much secured. The first still didn't take long. The second still was harder to come by, and for what the mechanic had in mind, needed to have a lot more carrying capacity. Eventually, she located the very broken down piece of equipment, and set it up beside it's brother in a shed loosely constructed of metal siding. Once the thing was fixed and converted into a still, Delilah just had to figure out a feasible means of hooking up the devices to the power grid in the base....
...perhaps it would be better to try solar power? Have it be self sustaining?
“Hmm.”
Time to see to that.
. . .
October 2011
...It was harder than she had thought.
The solar power cells themselves were hard to locate undamaged, and they were near impossible to make. Glass was ample. Wiring was plentiful. DC to AC converters were scarce, however, and then there was the task of hooking these panels up to a power grid so the whole district would have access.
Fortunately, one of the buildings downtown had a large panel collapsed at the foot of a sky scraper that had blown in half. Once she salvaged the solar panels from these, all it was from there was Delilah's own ingenuity.
It took weeks, months, really to get the right voltage going. But with the help of one or two electricians who knew their stuff, some procured generators for storage, and a co-op with the water wheel to generate enough power for the entire district. One of these electricians had an idea that, perhaps, they could create heated water with the solar energy as well, by means of a solar water heater.
The man would forever be lauded as a hero for the few Crows lucky enough in the early morning to earn a hot shower.
. . .
Late October
Boats.
Scavenged food was becoming more and more scarce. Delilah had been picking her way up and down the beach every morning for the past three weeks in search of washed up boats that could be used for fishing. Fishing gear was even more rare, but most who just fished off the docks made do.
Turning over a loose piece of sheet metal, Delilah discovered...the destroyed stern of a motorboat. Greaaaaaaat. On she walked, still looking for something, anything that might be of use. She would take anything at this point, a kayak, a canoe, a FUCKING DINGHY, ANYTHING--
What's that?
Lifting a hand to cover her brow so she could look into the sun, Delilah spotted the faintest outline of what appeared to be...a fishing vessel, lying beached on the sand. Not a large one by any means, but bigger than the four and a half motorboats she had found so far.
Grinning like a mad woman, Delilah tore off down the sand towards the boat, forgetting, for a moment, that she would have to find some way to take it home.
. . .
Early November 2011
Delilah looked up from her spot on the meeting room floor, chewing on the end of her pencil. There were papers splayed out around her in a big circle, all of the pages covered with math equations.
“Can I help you?””
“Uh...yeah. You're Delilah right?”
“Yep.” she went back to chewing on the pencil.
“I was sent by the gals in the kitchen. They wanted me to tell you that we're running low on bottled water.”
Delilah dropped the pencil, eyes widening.
“The rain barrels are constantly being depleted too. They'd, uh, really appreciate it if you could help us out with that.”
The mechanic regained her composure and nodded to the younger man, popping him a salute. “You can tell them I'm on the case.”
As the younger man left, Delilah began gnawing on the pencil furiously. Shit. Shitshitshitshit.
She knew sweet fuck all about water filtration.
Her mind raced. What did she know? Christ, she should have paid more attention in school...
...Osmosis? Where the fuck was she going to find enough water to fit through a semi-permeable membrane? WHAT EVEN WAS A SEMI PERMEABLE MEMBRANE?
Delilah fell back into the pile of paper, causing it to lift up and flutter back to the ground around her. ”Aaaargh.”
...She needed to go find some books.
. . .
Four days later, Delilah finally thought she was onto something. The pipes in the area were currently connected to the main cisterns in this part of the city...but those wells had run dry, what with the lack of up-keep from there not being city workers and whatnot. Just as well, the Nest itself was virtually an island, with the rest of the Crow territory backing against the water. The sea was by far their biggest and best resource.
She experimented with various forms of water distillation. Most of these involved boiling the water to remove impurities...and that was just plain not doable for the scale of an army, as well as the citizens they protected. Iodine was also out of the question; while simple, it was hard to come by and was actually harmful to the body in large, consistent quantities. People would be dropping dead of liver failure.
But now, she had an idea of what reverse osmosis looked like, thanks to the encyclopedia she now flipped through. And she had discovered one method that would quite possibly be the smartest...and easiest way to supply water.
A Beach-Sand filtration system. As simple as filling a high pressure container with a layer of loose gravel, medium gravel, coarse sand, and then roughly three feet of fine sand. The pressure of the water pumping from the sea with the water turbine would keep up the pressure. The sand itself would filter the water through reverse osmosis slowly, catching particles of salt, bacteria, organic and inorganic matter.
The only downside was that the “medium” for the filtration would need to be cleaned out every week or so and replaced. That, and the desalination wasn't perfect, as the salt was already dissolved in the water. It could be used for drinking if need be, but Delilah rathered that they all rely on rainwater for drinking. For everything else...it was just about perfect.
With this in mind, Delilah wiped her brow and smiled to herself. She was standing outside of the newly (shoddily) constructed shed from the rusted sheet metal on the beach, sodering pieces of a plane to conform to the shape she needed. Oliver was building sandcastles nearby from the beach sand she had collected.
It was just nice to have a solution for a few problems.
. . .
December 2011
“They're done,”
The words snapped Delilah out of her bubble of concentration of soldering the cooling pipes along the outer edge of the container meant for catching the vapours in the secondary still. Both were spray painted, one with the words “medical” and the other “swill”.
The mechanic stood up and walked to the door, suppressing a shiver from the slowly chilling winter air. The two cooks – Melinda and Jaqueline (after Delilah had reported the incident, the man had mysteriously vanished from Crow territory)-- were lugging a large, smelly rubbermaid bin between them. Delilah rushed over to assist them, grabbing one end to help them carry it... and wound up just hauling it herself. The ladies exchanged surprised glances, but said nothing and followed the woman inside the shed.
“Sorry it took us so long. We had to let the rot sit for a good long time to let the enzymes naturally break down the clumps.”
With a grunt, Delilah set the bin down beside one of the stills before looking over her shoulder at the women with a proud grin. “Quality over haste in my books any day. Besides, we did have to start over twice.”[/coLor] That they had; once, a late-autumn storm knocked over the bin when it had been sitting outside and the muck had spilled into the street. The second time, during the hauling process out to the shed, the bottom of the thin plastic container had busted open, partially eroded away by the enzymes within. Two poor soaked cooks used up all the hot water that night. Jackie and 'Linda looked around at all the equipment in the shed with awestruck faces. “You built all this?!”[/font] Jackie, a slender, comely woman in her late twenties exclaimed. Delilah nodded and beamed. She patted the taller re-purposed water heater, looking at it lovingly out of the corners of her eyes. “Not my prettiest work, but it'll do. These are reflux distillers. This one here is 'Nurse Betsy'. She's going to be supplying our medical alcohol. Behind me is 'Lola', and she's going to be making our vodka.”Jackie flailed in excitement at the idea, but Melinda looked skeptical. “Do you really think it's a good idea to waste clean water on making alcohol? I understand the medical necessity, but for just boozing it up...”[/font] Delilah nodded vehemently. “Of course I do! Clean running water is a luxury we can afford now. But just surviving isn't enough for our men and women. We want to live as well. Plus...many of these people have lost everything. Their homes, their possessions, their loved ones. They deserve a little escape.
“The alcohol will be rationed out fairly and equally. We're not making it a super priority...but it'll be a nice thing to have, no?”
Melinda opened her mouth as if to argue...and then closed it, nodding reluctantly. “I guess so.”
“Good. And the potatoes are growing like we planned?”
Jackie nodded, “Yeah, we finally managed to find a proper way of maintaining the humidity in the basement without making it mouldsville and the shoots are starting to bud. We should be good to harvest in a week or two.”
“That's great!...Then I have one more task for you ladies.”
“Oh, yeah? What's that?”
“The potatoes you don't want to use for cooking...I want you to freeze them. I'm going to make a potato canon and that will be the ammunition. All you have to do is find a deep freeze and load 'er up.”
Jackie and Melinda looked at each other, both ladies minds working in tandem. ”...Couldn't hurt to check the recent salvage.” Melinda admitted begrudgingly.
Delilah beamed. ”That's the spirit! Okay, I'm going to try and make my first batch of alcohol. Thanks for everything girls, I really appreciate your help.”
Seeing the women off, Delilah huffed out a breath of air and returned to the next part of her task. Her work was never done.
At least, she hoped so.
PART ONE COMPLETE |
|
|
|
Post by Delilah A. Black on Nov 3, 2013 14:56:03 GMT -8
December 2011
Delilah lifted the glass to her lips...and promptly spat out it's contents with a noise of disgust. She scrubbed her lips with her sleeve and glowered at 'Lola'.
“GodDAMMIT that is rancid.”
The alcohol still was, of course, unresponsive.
There were still impurities in the alcohol, which meant it needed to be distilled for longer...maybe twice? That might produce a better product. Thankfully, 'Nurse Betsy' seemed to be hitting her stride rather nicely.
Delilah made a mental note as she went to clean out the leftover mash from the inside of the still. As she dropped to a knee, she heard footsteps resonating on the cold ground outside the shed. With a sigh, she looked up, just as the man poked his head in the door.
“Sister Black?”
Delilah blinked, recognizing the man immediately from the still ongoing basic training, one of the officers. She jumped to her feet, clicking her heels together as she brought her right hand to her forehead in salute. “Sir!”
The Officer smiled and saluted her in return. He gave her a swift nod and chuckled.“At ease, miss. You don't need to salute me; from what I'm told, you're Militia.”
She blinked her surprise and lowered her hand. She didn't think anyone outside of the group of Militia themselves knew that. “Yes, I am.”
“I see...that explains why you're able to miss so much of basic training.”
Delilah's brow lifted imperceptibly, though her blue eyes became decidedly more flinty. Not because of what she thought it implied for her, but what it might imply for her superior officers. “...if that's a question of favouritism, sir, I can assure you there is none.”
Again, the officer chuckled, “Forgive me, I didn't mean it that way. It's obvious you're a specialist; it would make sense that you were needed elsewhere.”
“Oh,” the mechanic relaxed a bit, “Yes, that's exactly it.” She'd also been with Militia a very long time; Delilah was already very well trained physically, martially. If it weren't for her abilities as an engineer, she could very well have run the basic training on her own...if she had the sheer vocal projection that Tai had, she might have been asked anyway.
“Which is exactly why I've come to you. You're dedicated.”
Delilah studied the man with a skeptical look before she spoke up, “What do you need?”
“Recently, it has come to our attention that we are receiving more and more refugees. Housing in the 'Nest is becoming a problem. It would also be better for us to free up a lot of the space used by civilians for future recruits, or for beds when rookies are through with basic training and don't want to be hosed every morning. We have limited buildings in the area we could use for housing, and that doesn't help us decide what to do with all of these people. Many think we should ask them to leave for their own safety.”
“WHAT?!” Delilah exploded suddenly. The Officer flinched back. “If we do THAT, it'd just be kinder to shoot them in the streets! THEY'LL DIE FOR SURE IF THEY LEAVE! We CANNOT allow that!”
The man blinked at her vehemence, then laughed quietly to himself. He lifted a hand to stop her from going further with her tirade. “I can tell you right now that the Zero's agree with you.”
They'd better. They'd never hear the end from me.
“--But that means we need to find a solution and fast. That's why I've come to you...you seem to be rather adept at solving problems,” He looked around pointedly at their surroundings. Delilah had the decency to blush, and she stood a little taller.
“Can you help us, Miss Black? All I need is a workable idea. I'll focus on implementing it.”
“Of course. It's just that...” she looked over her shoulder at the stills and then back to him. “...I don't want to sound like I'm complaining, but I have a lot on my plate right now. I need help. If I'm going to devote my energy to this, I will need people to take my place to work on this and my other projects while I'm busy.”
The man nodded solemnly. “I'll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The officer turned to go...then paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at the raven haired woman.
“If I might ask, Miss Black...what was your rank within Militia?”
It took Delilah a moment to remember...it didn't help that the question somewhat threw her off. She'd never actually been asked that before.
“Sniper, Lieutenant-Colonel.” she said after a moment's hesitation. “Why do you ask?”
The officer didn't answer, only raised his eyebrows in surprise. “The snipers were the elite class, if I'm not mistaken?”
“So it was said.”
He turned his body halfway now, keeping his gaze on her. “And out of everyone, even the people ranked higher than you...it was only you who survived?”
Delilah blinked at the notion, at first proud...and then sorrowful, guilt leaking into her mind and pooling there.
“...Zero Winters and the bulk of his personal guard survived as well,” she pointed out. “And...it shames me to say I did not fight with my comrades in that last battle.”
Friends. Comrades.
Dead. All because of the whims of a madman. Because she wasn't there, fighting alongside her 'family' and friends. Many had died because she couldn't fight with them.
And then there was Emily...
The officer nodded, his smile shaking Delilah from her brooding. “That he did. I look forward to seeing your findings, Miss Black. Take care, now.”
Remembering herself, Delilah saluted again as the man left...and sat down on the floor of the shed, pondering to herself.
Shit.
Delilah wasn't sure that raw ingenuity would actually work this time, particularly since this task required to to design architecture. This was one problem she couldn't solve by just slapping hunks of metal together. Muttering to herself, she turned back to her initial task of cleaning the still, trying to come up with a plan.
. . .
After an hour or so of brooding (and one very clean still later), Delilah was no closer to her plan of action. The fumes and furious thoughts coursing through her mind had given her something of a headache. She decided she needed a little fresh air.
Her walk had taken her away from the base and West, out of the little island that was the Crows' Nest and towards the only-just-starting-to-develop civilian areas.
It was still a mess. Teams of volunteers worked 'round the clock, salvaging what they could, clearing away tonnes of debris and rubble from the area, as they had been since that fateful day in September.
Delilah observed as she briskly jogged past the workers and the like. Looking at the wreckage and what buildings were still left standing. Eventually, she came to the docks and the shipping yard, where she slowed back to a walk.
There was even more debris here than she had initially thought; parts of ships, a large crane, and acres and acres of shipping containers lay strewn about chaotically, as if a mean-spirited child had come by a neatly stacked pile of wooden bricks and knocked them over. A giant child.
Delilah tip-toed her way through the twisted metal, stone and wood as best as she could, trying to find the end of the docks...wherever that was. Before she could reach her destination, however, her constant observations about how many shipping-containers there were had started to turn the gears in her mind.
...There sure were a lot of them.
Closing her eyes, a slow smile began to spread over the mechanic's face as her mind set to work. She stood there for ten minutes with her eyes closed and the chilly wind of the sea in her face, thoughts churning, making shapes, ideas, a plan.
Finally, her eyes opened, a new found determination glinting in her blue irises. The mechanic turned on her heel and sprinted back towards the 'Nest, hoping to God she still had a sharp pencil to use.
. . .
Once again, a shadow blocked the slender rays of pale light seeping through the doorway the next day.
“Lieutenant-Colonel Black? You said you had something for m--”
Delilah looked up and the officer balked. The female mechanic looked nothing short of dishevelled, haggard even. The woman looked as though she hadn't slept at all in the last twenty four hours. Her left eye twitched a bit.
“Shipping containers.”
He blinked down at the young woman, somewhat concerned.
“...Pardon?”
The mechanic leapt from the wobbly stool she had seated herself on and picked up the large piece of paper on the desk. Except he noticed that the paper was in fact, not a single sheet of paper, but rather several that had been taped together. Some appeared torn and rent while other were clearly paper napkins. The lower bottom corner seemed to be...half of a paper plate.
All over it were various sketches of rectangular objects, both interior and exterior. A larger sketch in the middle showed that the shipping containers were arranged stacked, like a pyramid.
Slowly, the officer lifted up his hand to take the paper from the mechanic to examine it better.
“It's not perfect, but it's the easiest way to get everyone to congregate, and to leave room for things like farmland and even a marketplace for the civilians...if we ever get to that point. Plumbing might take some work to set up, but the type of metal will make it easy to solder.”
The Officer stared at the plans for a while longer, studying before a wide grin spread over his face. He looked up at Delilah, positively beaming. “It's perfect.”
He looked over his shoulder at the door and jerked his head inwards. “Why don't you come see?”
Delilah looked up as a large, heavy set man proceeded to walk through the door. Immediately, she marked him as a brawler; his face looked as though it had been caved inwards a few times, his nose certainly broken more than once. When he smiled, he did so with a set of crooked teeth. Surrounding his features was a mess of shortish mahogany curls, trailing down from the top of his head and founding a new homestead on the man's jawline. He was tall, exceedingly so, easily surpassing six foot five by an inch or three. In proportion, there was no way this man could be considered skinny...though Delilah could tell by the barrel state of his chest and his large arms, even under the sweater, that his layer of fat disguised a foot of pure muscle. It wasn't hard to just dismiss him as fat and worthless, though Delilah couldn't help but notice as she looked at him, he looked right back at her, unflinchingly.
The officer smiled, “Miss Black, this is Talon McCagherty. I've assigned him to assist you when you require him.”
Delilah stared hard at the man the officer had brought with him as he studied her diagrams with pale green eyes. She lifted an eyebrow skeptically.
“...can you fight?”
As Talon lifted his eyes to peer at her with curiosity, Delilah looked inward with the same expression: Why the hell did he ask that? The officer was now staring between them with a look of confusion.
“...Is that a trick question?”
Her upper-lip curled slightly, “Of course not.”
He stared hard at her, a frown creasing his brow at the expression on her face.
“I made it this far. That should speak for itself.”
“That's not what I asked you.”
The two glowered at each other over the plans for civilian housing with the officer looking more and more uncertain.
“Yeah,” he growled after a moment of terse silence, “I can fight.”
Delilah continued to look skeptical, but finally turned her gaze away from him. “I'll be the judge of that.”
...and then she turned to the officer with a bright smile and a salute, as if he had just reappeared. “Thank you, sir. I'll made good use of him when he's not doing basic training.”
The officer nodded and beckoned to Talon to follow him, taking the diagram with him. As the two men exited, Talon glanced over his shoulder at Delilah...
...only to find her smiling broadly back at him, wiggling her fingers at him in farewell.
Late December 2011
Christmas was nearing, though it only shallowly touched the mechanic's mind. Her head was on her work, on Oliver, on Crows. As Talon worked the stills (he had altered the interior construction of the stills to produce a better grade alcohol, an admission the mechanic had begrudgingly awarded him) and with civilian housing in the making, Delilah settled her work on making guns.
Though not your traditional form of weaponry, by any means, it was designed to be no less lethal. Delilah had experimented with combustion (too...combusty. It could kill the user with a misfire), hydraulic (water was scarce enough as it was, though sea water was plentiful. Probably best for wall mounted cannons), and, finally, spring loaded.
The spring mechanic was the difficult part, but the basic design closely resembled that of an air-soft gun...just larger in scale. An airsoft pellet has a diameter of about 1/4" which gives it a volume of approximately .0082 cubic inches. The average volume of a potato slug is about 9 cubic inches, therefore, the volume of a potato is approximately 1100 times that of an airsoft pellet. A potato is much more dense than those plastic pellets, so the mass would be roughly TWO THOUSAND times the mass of the pellet.
Airsoft springs are decently hard to compress on their own, in and outside of the gun. That now would need to be multiplied by two thousand times...if she wanted to go the full blown cannon route.
Instead, what she aimed for was a gun with a barrel roughly 2-3 inches in diameter. The strength that would be required to compress the spring (taken from small mountain bike shocks) would be roughly two-hundred times that of an airsoft gun...which was too much to handle for a normal person. A lever or a reeling device similar to the mechanic that cocks ballasts would be required to make it easier and faster to reload.
These would be best used for short range, as the guns would likely only fire, optimistically, the speed of a paint-ball gun, which is roughly 300ft/sec. She also had the ability to scale down the sizes of the barrels too, for increased portability and for a faster rate of fire (though potatoes would be moot at this point, other objects [rocks, quarters] could be used).
At her work station, Delilah brooded over the math with a large collection of various lengths and widths of PVC piping, springs, and rubber caps surrounding her. To her left and behind her were mounds and mounds of tempered steel cylinders, mostly salvaged from now defunct construction sites...ideas, for now. But they had the potential to become excellent weapons.
Once she was sure of herself, she nodded curtly and began the assembly process. The creation and testing of prototypes would take a week, to her estimation, before she finally settled on a line of models that she could build. Normally, that part would take her a minimum of three months...but with Talon's help, and whomever else he decided Delilah wouldn't tear a strip out of, they could get the bulk of the work done inside of a month before handing off the tasks to candidates who would, perhaps, be somewhat more qualified than the mechanic. Christmas and New Years came and went without a single mention from the people around her. They worked in silence, huddled around their work with soldering torches in hand.
There was no complaining. There were no scowls or side long looks of resentment. Everyone just kept their heads down and worked in amicable silence, thankful, at least, they were alive to see the New Year.
Early January 2012
Delilah frowned. “And that's a problem for me how.”
Talon rolled his eyes in exasperation. He and Delilah were familiar enough with each other now that he could get away with a bit of warranted exasperation without getting punched in the face.
“Look, the kitchen is making do with the stores we still have but frozen food and potatoes will only last us for so long. We need something more sustainable, something we can work on.”
Delilah rolled her eyes back at him and flipped her hand at him dismissively, “No, stupid, I understand the need, but I don't understand why this concerns me. I don't know anything about growing food. Hell, I can barely boil WATER.”
Talon gritted his teeth in aggravation, “NO, no, that's not what I mean. When I say 'we' I mean CROWS. And we're the only ones who are sitting on the side-lines right now, BYWHICHIMEAN we aren't doing the heaviest lifting.”
“Again; How is this my problem?”
“You've done it before with the housing and the water issues. You need food to eat, don't you?”
The two stared at each other for a few minutes before Delilah threw her head back with a sigh of aggravation. Her head lolled to the side as she looked with weary, grainy eyes at all of her projects scattered about the shed.
When was she ever going to get time for Oliver?
“You make a good point,” she said begrudgingly, turning her blue gaze back to him. “But, as you can see, I'm busy.
“If you want to find a solution, figure one out for yourself. I'll be here if you need me.”
And with that, the mechanic turned her heel and went back to setting up the umpteenth potato gun for their storage.
Talon glowered most fiercely at the raven haired woman's back for a good long time after the conversation had ended. He honestly couldn't tell half the time if she was being a deliberate pain in the ass or if it was her weird ninja-jedi way of teaching him something. After several minutes of her not even looking back at him (though he was damn sure she knew he was still there), he muttered a few choice curses under his breath and made his way out of the shed.
. . .
As Delilah had a few weeks earlier, Talon found himself wandering the new civilian areas in search of a clear head and some answers. It was still too early in the year for people to even think about planting, at least in his opinion. From watching his mother slave and toil over her garden for nearly twenty years, though, he knew that there were some things that could be done in the meantime, to prepare...
He stood at the centre of a crater, a scar left behind in old, crumbling asphalt from the bombardment just months earlier. It seemed like years had gone by. The world as he knew it was unrecognizable, though here and there were ghosts of the old times. Remnants of what was rapidly becoming a distant past in his mind.
He knew that here, he was trying to revive a ghost that had nearly vanished long before the bombs; harkening back to the times where people actually grew their own food, instead of buying from the grocery store. People milled around him, going about their day if they were already assigned a task, seeking refuge if they weren't. All the while, Talon stared into the deep pit, fixated on one little thing.
At the very bottom of the crater was a root. An old, gnarled, dead one. A ghost of ghosts.
A broad smile slowly spread across his face, one that he carried back to the mechanic. She turned as he entered, annoyance turning into begrudging curiosity.
“What's with the face?”
“Community gardens.”
Delilah stared vacantly at him for a long few moments, before shrugging apathetically. “Aaand, you lost me.”
Talon threw his head back with an exasperated groan; dear LORD, but this woman was infuriating. “No, look, the best way to make ourselves sustainable is to have fields to till and plow and crops to harvest. Seeds are easy enough to find, you know. We could even have a whole plot dedicated to potatoes; might give the basement a break.
“Best part is, it'll give the citizens something to do, the ones that can't fish or whatever anyway. We keep an eye on it, and it all gets doled out evenly to everyone.”
“It's the middle of fucking winter, why does this matter now?”
“Farming isn't just for the warmer months; the winter is when you till the soil to get it ready for spring. Now's our chance to get a start on prepping crops for the spring.”
Delilah was silent for a time, again, rather begrudgingly. Talon watched her intently; she looked like she didn't want to admit he was right, but there was a certain glimmering light that caught in her blue eyes that made her seem like...she was laughing.
“Worth a shot. Bring it to whoever is in charge of civilian organization, I'm sure they'll listen at least.”
Talon beamed, turning to go-- and pausing in the doorway.
“Why'd you make me go through all that just to get you to finally agree with me?” he asked, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder.
Delilah blinked in genuine surprise at his perceptiveness before cracking a genuine, mischievous smile. “Not everyone is as damn reasonable as I am. If you can argue me into silence while I'm being difficult, you can make anyone agree with you.”
Talon grunted noncommittally at this, turning back to the fore and striding out of the raven haired woman's garage. Delilah stared after him, interest piqued. He was sharper than she had given him credit for; being able to see through her facade so easily.
She would need to keep an eye on him.
Late January 2012
When Delilah wasn't fixing bikes or cars, or putting together potato guns, she was training her ever-loving ass off. She took up basic training while she could, in order to get a good idea of where the recruits were heading. It was now nearing the end of the first round of 'Basic. As much as she wanted to run Tai's ridiculous obstacle courses and push herself to her limit, her duties as a mother and as a member of Militia wouldn't fully allow for that. So this time around, she settled for watching the training exercises take place.
To say the least, it was a wonder to behold.
She was seeing the training in it's final month, before people would be sorted into their respective groups. Since the beginning, there were a few men...and one woman that she was keeping an eye on.
Watching amongst the group of Militia designated drill sergeants or by flitting about the base unseen as she tailed her unassuming quarries, Delilah scribbled down what she saw over the course of a week. Most were people she witnessed fighting amongst each other, with officers, or just being a plain old nuisance. Eventually, she narrowed down the list to who appeared to be the most problematic.
It was her intent to meet with all seven of them individually, at her leisure. Delilah's Journal Entry Regarding Acquisition of Tengu Members.
EARLY FEBRUARY 2012
A group of civilian scavengers had located a large quantity of blu-tooth devices from a shipping warehouse nearby, and it was up to Delilah to see if she could make it into a viable means of communication. It was easier than she had originally thought; all she had to do for the devices themselves, which thankfully weren't affected by the EMP's, was to change them to send and receive radio transmissions rather than a satellite transmission.
The hard part was climbing the radio towers all over Long Beach to fix them and to have them bounce signals over the area.
It was a task she had to under take by herself; no one else had the skill to climb up a radio tower, fix it, and get down without cracking their skulls open, and even the loss of one skilled technician would be a detriment.
It didn't make it any less dangerous, however.
The mechanic clung to the cold metal as the upper part of the tower swayed and dipped under a strong breeze. Her hair had come annoyingly loose from it's customary clip and blew about her face in a manner that reflected her inner panic. It was not right for her to be so far off the ground, and normally, she had no problem with heights...but the thought of falling was enough to make her seriously rethink her decision.
“Okay...okay, you gotta move, keep climbing. The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you can get down.”
This was the mantra she recited to herself as she went up and down tower after tower, climbing, repairing and replacing the damaged electrical parts at the top of the transceivers. Another problem was the fact that she had to access unfriendly territory on frequent occasions, to ensure that when they went behind enemy lines, soldiers and officers would be able to receive and relay orders as needed.
By the time she was finally done with her work two weeks later, climbing two to four towers per day, fifty six towers in the Long Beach and surrounding areas had been converted for Crow purposes.
Unassuming, but invaluable.
LATE FEBRUARY 2012
Delilah leaned against a wall, watching as the first set of graduates from the first round of basic training danced, drank, talked, made out, and generally made merry with one another. Everyone in the room had earned every last drop of their rationed, carefully crafted 'Black Raven' Vodka during the last three months of hell that Tai and the other Militia had invented for the new soldiers. Delilah had gone through it as much as she could, but she had largely been busy with other tasks (fixing up the dirt-bikes and that THRICE DAMNED VAN, setting up the stills, the power and water supply, finding boats, etc). As such, she didn't really feel like part of the first batch of soldiers; she already belonged with Militia, and even before that, she was already well trained physically thanks to her sensei (may he rest in peace). Her capabilities put her above almost everyone there, and with the fact that she was from the school ontop of that...well, to say that she was alienated was an understatement. It didn't help that she, as she was naturally wary of most people she wasn't familiar with, had been one to hold off giving her complete loyalty to Kiyoshi.
She heaved a small sigh, wishing she could just go back to her quarters and hold Oliver, read him a story, sleep. But she was here for a reason, other than appearances.
The seven that she had selected were all over the place, none speaking with the other. Sergei was leaned up against a wall with a large glass of Vodka in hand, perpetual scowl in place, along with a blotchy redness on his nose. Talon was at a table with some of the other graduates he had gotten along with. Nigel and Birch respectively were leaning at opposite ends of a bar, chatting up one of the female Crows. Birch seemed to be having more success at this than Nigel, however. Nick was standing behind the bar, trying not to look forlorn and dismal about his recent demotion to not a soldier. The kid's racism was getting him into trouble. Cain wasn't present, but she assumed he was nearby; happy crowds didn't really seem like his sort of thing. Heather was chatting it up with a gaggle of other girls, who broke from their high pitched clucking intermittently to shriek with the sort of laughter that drew stares and attention from all sides.
Smiling to herself, the mechanic watched as men and women came and went, sometimes together, often alone. There was an ache in her heart that she couldn't push aside, and found herself staring at the door more often than she would like to admit. Just a glance, the briefest appearance of him could make her feel better instantly. She continued to wait and watch her possible recruits for another hour and a half. When all but three remained, the mechanic decided she had enough of waiting for the night and decided to leave that evening as well.
She had enough information anyway. Tomorrow, she would go to Kiyoshi and ask his permission to train the seven misbehaving soldiers into something they could use.
Her greatest task.PART TWO COMPLETE |
|
