Wrath and Retribution

Preface-6

The professor's eyes narrowed to slits, as he considered his impertinent pray. "Why in the Creator's vast universe would I ever consider allowing you to cut my classes in the middle of the academic semester? Why in the depths of Hell would I be interested in assisting you with your pathetic little project!?"

Samson's brain locked in terrified shock. There was a reason this was the most feared professor in the history department. He was living history and a highly decorated Guardsman in his own right. Before Samson's brain caught up to the moment and caught his words, his tongue blurted out, "Because it is partly history too, Sir."

"And why would I be interested in excusing you from my class over your silly little 'Applied Sciences' project?"

The eleven year old Samson missed the professor's clairvoyant knowledge of what he was working on, and answered the question without hesitation, "Well Sir, because I need to build something for my project and what I am thinking of will not be easy to build and there is a lot I will learn about practical history by building it."

The professor leaned forward; his eyes flicked to the lower left of Samson's screen, as he calmly placed his forearms on his desk, while leering at the boy. "Well how is it that an impertinent little whelp like you, in only his fifth year at the Academy, thinks that he can dictate terms to me?"

He didn't like being called a 'whelp', whatever that was; by the tone it didn't sound very nice. Samson started getting frustrated and blurted out, "Well Sir, it is an important project!"

"It may be an important project to you maybe. But it is irrelevant to my current block of instruction for your year-group's class. Why would I care about your silly little project? Why should I sacrifice my time and energy accommodating your flight of fancy when it will only end up making more work for me?"

"My project won't consume any of your time! I promise, Professor!"

Exhaling and rolling his eyes at the youngster in abject exasperation, "Only a child like you could possibly believe that something like this would not have repercussions for others." He paused and his razor sharp eyes drilled into Samson, before he maneuvered for what Samson knew would be a killing blow, "Candidate Rockpoint, the difference between an adult and a child is that the adult understands that there are consequences for their actions. You are obviously still a child since you assume your actions have no consequences for yourself or others. I ask the child before me again, 'why should I allow you to waste my valuable time, cut my class, and work on something outside of my scope'?"

Samson realized in that instant that he was a child. And behaving like one. That nugget of wisdom struck him harder than anything else anyone had ever said to him in his entire short life.

While that was all sinking into the boy's head the professor leaned back in his chair and watched the thoughts tumble into place and the change happening in the boy turning to a young man. The young man's mouth hung open while his eyes were unfocused. He asked surprising them both, "What about a trade?"

Samson only heard himself speak and didn't realize he had until his professor sat forward again, and asked with a devilishly amused smile, "A 'trade'?! Well if this isn't an unexpected and mildly pleasant surprise." He thought for a moment before asking, "And just what is it that you have to trade for my time, Candidate Rockpoint?"

He was committed now and pinched his teeth and lips together, before he finally spoke, "Sir, I would very much like to trade your acceptance of my 'Applied Sciences' project for one week of class time. In return if you don't like the final project results you can fail me for the years lessons."

A failing grade for a primary subject, like history, was a death sentence for most students. They would not have the grades to recover and pass the year's fifty percent culling. This was particularly interesting to his professor since it was coming from such a highly placed student, willing to risk everything. The professor very calmly, with none of his usual bluster and bravado, spoke to Samson deliberately and with concealed concern over a prize student making such a desperate offer, "Do you know what you just asked Candidate?" He would have to hold Samson to his word, or the young man would never learn anything from this lesson.

"Yes Sir. If I fail to impress you with my work I will have a failing grade in your class. In addition to your failing grade I will suffer a major setback in my 'Applied Sciences' class. The two combined will make it very difficult if not impossible to pass my year and remain in the Academy for next year."

Samson couldn't see it but a shudder of regret at possibly losing such a fine student gave his professor a pause, while at the same time invigorating him with the prospect of a 'win big - lose all' wager to make life interesting. The professor replied with his terrifying dignity fully in place, "Very good young man. You understand the consequences of your actions. The trade is fair." Switching back to his overwhelming swagger and confidence, the professor continued, "I get the amusement of seeing you squirm trying to produce something of interest to me. And you are in danger of absolute and catastrophic failure if you don't succeed. That should be both sufficient motivation for you and I think that is a fair trade for my valuable time." The professor smiled evilly, "I'll see you in a week at your demonstration."

The screen blanked in front of Samson's face leaving him startled and alarmed as his professor abruptly cut their connection.

The comm to his only female instructor, his arts teacher, was easy. After the panic induced heart attack he had suffered from his history professor, the willowy smiling woman asking for illustrations and to see the demonstrating of this mystery project was as easy as a spring breeze to Samson.

The arts teacher was an auxiliary to the Academy. She was not one of the standard retired Guardsmen and permanent faculty, or active and rotating Guardsmen who passed through. She could afford to be nice because her class didn't mean anything to graduation and opening young minds to the arts was her passion. Since she was good at what she did, she also made a decent living and the Academy kept her around year after year.

After the amiable conversation with his arts teacher he turned back to the bench and started sketching the principles he could use in his arts sketch pad so he wouldn't have to duplicate his work later. The ballistics, levers, torque, potential and kinetic energy were easy. Since there was no metal working or the specific components he would need he decided to use a pulley system to replace most of the steel components. Applying wheels would be a problem because when the thing fired it would roll all over the place, so he devised a system of stakes and blocks to stabilize the recoil.

The most difficult and dangerous part of the whole project was the creation of the rope tension springs. They had to be exactly metered and perfectly balanced or the thing would rip itself apart. He knew that from the start and decided to build the frame first.

By the time he finished the frame, the arms, the carriage and the elevation mechanism, he realized the rope springs only needed to be tight, the torque would develop from the length of the arms and the distance of the 'pull' along the frame.

There were only the three of them allowed in that room. The only visitor he had during the whole process was the eleventh year student with whom he shared the room. Samson hadn't seen the seventh year student that he and the senior eleventh year student shared the workshop with for the whole week.

Samson was struggling with weaving the rope spring around the arms. The thick lumber of the main housing made the section extremely heavy. The wooden 'arms' were both as thick as his legs and only a head shorter than he was. Both arms were held and pinned into place by a steel pin that ran the entire height of the device, and pinned in place at the top and bottom by a wooden platform. Samson had taken the expedient approach of bending the ends of the steel rebar, top and bottom, in opposite directions. The openings in the top and bottom plate were large enough that many loops of rope could pass through both top and bottom but the bent steel was too long, by the full length of his forearm, to slip into the rope's working loops.

The spider web tangle of cut and abused rope stopped the older candidate in his tracks when he entered to work on his own project. For several long moments he just stood frozen in the interior doorway holding his identification card, with his mouth hanging dumbly. He was so shocked by the mess that he had to ask, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm having trouble weaving my rope spring."

The older of the two looked at the device and after a moment's pause recognized the disparate parts he had seen over the last few days for what it was, now that the top was finally assembled and the carriage was ready. He ignored Samson's complaint and marveled out loud, "You have got to be kidding me! I have been looking at these pieces for the last few days and thought I was going crazy because I kept coming to this conclusion. I can't believe you built this by yourself." He looked at the parts as they were assembled, "You are using rebar, top and bottom, to hold the rope and the arms." The statement was accompanied by his nosing around the device. He stuck his nose in the hole, "The rope, if it is tight enough, will hold the parallel rebars in place, front to back, and tension will hold them in place side to side, so they won't slip out. I like this design; it's simple and pretty elegant, in a crudely functional sort of way."

Samson allowed the inspection to continue, uninterrupted. They could both be expelled for academic dishonesty if anyone found out another student was looking over his project, and making corrections. That was a gray line that made him very nervous.

The senior student tapped the central beam that was now framed by the blocky arm housing, "It is the nose to the front, yes?" He hadn't really asked the last as a question, it was more of a statement of fact that Samson could correct if the older student was incorrect, so Samson remained silent. The older boy pulled back the right arm as it hung wide from the blocky body of the weapon, and let it fall back into relaxed position.

Samson didn't need to reply as the other student continued his inspection nodding his head in the affirmative.

"I'll tell you what, sweep up this mess and I'll help you weave it. This thing is too cool to pass up helping. If you don't ace this Applied Sciences project I will eat my shoe."

Samson demanded, "How do you know what my project is?!"

Samson's indignant question was met by a smile and a laugh, before the friendly hand landed on Samson's shoulder pushing and pointed him to the broom. "I was in fifth year Applied Sciences myself, once upon a time. Clean up your mess, Candidate. If I remember right, you have the rest of today and tomorrow to work, and present Monday. The sooner you finish the sooner I can work on my project. You are taking up the whole shop, you know."