Wrath and Retribution

Preface-7

Samson pushed the broom and his new helper continued to inspect components. Samson stated plainly, "I'm having trouble getting the rope lengths right."

Without looking up from his inspection, and mental assembly of parts, the older of the two stated simply, "Then don't."

"What do you mean?"

"You are trying to get individual ropes into place and cut to the right lengths. Make it simple. Follow the principle that made you successful in the rest of your design. Use one long rope that you premeasured by wrapping it the number of times around your rebar supports." He tapped the center of the top piece as it lay on the floor, "Secure one end of the rope here with enough to tie." He walked around as he dictated actions with his hands, "Wrap one side's spring, loop under," he walked around the device still pointing, "Wrap the other side's spring. When you are done," he was back at the top, "Tie off the two ends up here on the top so you only have the one long rope tied together into a loop, not ten-thousand shavings and knots. Use a series of half hitch or some other no slip knot to close the rope together. You will have less chance of failure and literally fewer 'loose ends' to worry about." The older student smiled at his own joke as he continued to ignore Samson and pace around the parts.

Understanding dawned on Samson for the first time in a week he was able to conceptualize the solution to that particular problem. He wanted to slap his own forehead.

The older student wondered out loud, "This thing is going to be so cool! I can't believe you built this by yourself."

After Samson finished sweeping his mess, the two spent several hours passing rope back and forth to each other.

The thick heavy framing components offered the advantage that the operating components in the device were open and easily accessible. The thick gauge lumber Samson used gave the whole machine a decidedly intimidating presence and weight.

The relative silence was broken when Samson meekly asked the question he had feared for the last hours, "What are you going to say if we get asked if we were dishonest on this project?"

The older boy smiled as he leaned back on the floor with the rope tightly clenched over his chest, with his feet pressing down on what would become the top cross members when the project was finally assembled. "I'll tell them I helped you clean up." Samson scurried over to pull the end of the rope through the top, than bottom holes before looping it back to the top. The older boy pinned the bend Samson had just made in place with his foot, while waiting for the rope to arrive.

The time consuming process was paying off. The rope torsion spring fully encompassed the arms.

The older boy slipped his grip to the rope and pulled back in a tight body builder's row with his full body extended; hands clenched, holding the rope tight over his chest, and bleeding sweat.

Samson repeated the process and pulled the slack back around. Samson informed the older student, since he had been keeping count of the loops, "Next to last loop." He fussed over the explanation and corrected, "This isn't cleaning up."

The older student smiled through his grit teeth and pouring sweat, "Sure it is," pulling again so his knuckles went white and the rope could twang, "I'm helping you get this mess out of here, which cleans up the work shop. It just depends on how you look at the solutions to the problem."

Samson was a little confused by that, but the logic worked in a strange way. 'Maybe I'm just tired', he thought to himself.

As he pulled the last time the older boy instructed, "Pull the arm up a little and add some tension. I need to slip this past the rebar hook and over the top. I'll secure it on the far side and you release the arm. When you release it, untie the starting end; loop it over the line I'm holding. Then I need you to tie it off like I showed you. Do you understand?"

Samson nodded.

"Good, 'cause I'm getting tired. Here we go."

The tension on the arm was unreal. Samson could hardly move it. It did move just enough for the rope to slip behind the bend in the rebar. When it snapped into place the direction changed, as the loose end was pulled over the top.

With his feet again firmly planted the older boy pulled again. Samson quickly untied the starting end from one of the vertical supports, and made three tight half hitches as quickly and tightly as he could manage, in the tightly held length.

When Samson looked up from his third knot, the senior student fell back to the floor, finally relaxing. He gently fanned his hands through the air to cool their burning palms, "I think I need a shower .... Thanks for the workout Samson."

Samson shook his head smiling while the older candidate left, without starting his own work for the day. The next day was a break-day, he would do his project then so he would be back 'to a clean' workshop tomorrow.

Samson attached the rail system. He braided the string out of a composite similar to the rope springs and finished the wheeled carriage. The two heavy wooden pegs fit snuggly into the carriage, and the base of the rail and front of the head piece.

He pushed the carriage into position under the ceiling pulley system. He hooked up the upper half of the device, as his stomach fluttered, worrying that the top and bottom would not fit.

That worry disappeared as he kicked the carriage into place, while lifting the chunk of wood and steel and rope onto the base. They fit perfectly.

He had measured correctly and the pegs slipped in without a problem.

The project was easily as tall as he was when it was assembled. Samson walked in front and marveled at what he had created. It looked nothing like the images but it was close enough to recognize it for its lethal purpose. And the thing just looked 'mean'.

Samson tested the elevation block and lever system. It passed nicely. All an operator had to do was drop blocks out of the lever at the back of the slide, on the bottom underneath the body, and the elevation increased from zero to almost twenty degrees.

Samson installed the pulley and crank behind the sliding cup he had woven into the string. He didn't like the 'H' shaped crank he had built but a circle like the pictures he researched was more time consuming than he wished to spend on that minor part. The vaguely rectangular crank still allowed him to roll the rope from the pulley system behind the string. Most critically, it allowed him to lock it in place by 'pulling' the crank to himself to catch the bent end of the rebar so it rested firmly on the far side of the carriage. This maintained the tension on the pulley and kept the string drawn until he was ready to fire.

Samson tested the string and pulley system by winding the crank. He drew the rope laboriously slowly through the pulleys. He finally stopped when the ropes began to creak and he was encountering resistance. He pulled and the bent end of the crank's rebar rested serenely on the far side of the carriage.

He was grossly unsatisfied by the firing mechanism, it seemed almost anticlimactic, but matched the simple expedience he used in the rest of his design. He used the strong but thin gauge rope between the operating end of the pulley and string. He simply tied a forearm length loop, between the pulley and the string.

He happily walked around his creation and picked up his scissors. Careful to keep his hands and body as far back as possible he leaned in to cut the top run of the trigger loop.

Several things happened at once. The tension released catastrophically, releasing a thunder clap in the small room. The block and tackle kicked back at an alarming rate against the back wall of the work shop. Samson dropped the scissors. He pissed himself and ran from the room as fast as he could with his ears ringing, and didn't stop until he was safely locked in his room.

The next day he was too scared to visit his creation. All he did was worry about the monster he had created.

He dreaded class. Failure was not something he had ever dealt with. His history professor only glared at him the whole History class before his Applied Sciences, but said nothing out of the ordinary, as Samson showed up for the first time in a week.

The walk from History to his Applied Sciences class was like the walk of the damned from a holding cell to the execution chamber. Not only was he facing failure in Applied Sciences because he was too scared of his own project, but his History professor followed him every step of the way, like an evil shadow.

The Applied Sciences Professor was a rotating Guardsman. He was much younger and junior to the history professor, who strolled in behind Samson. He asked simply, "Sir? Can I help you?"

Samson fell miserably into his desk, only to hear, "Oh no, not really. I only have a little wager with one of your students and I would like to see which of us will win." Samson couldn't see it, but the History professor pointed at Samson with his chin from the back of the room where the other students couldn't see.

For the first time Samson looked around the room and saw everything from bows and arrows, to crudely hammer made rebar swords and shields, to axes and pikes fashioned out of various hammered metals. One classmate had even created an interlocking ringed suit of armor from the smallest gauge rebar available, soldered into rings, pressed and hammered smooth.

Samson knew he was in trouble when his Applied Sciences Professor skipped calling him 'candidate' and instead said, "Samson Rockpoint! Where is your assigned project?!"

Crestfallen and utterly miserable Samson admitted his failure. He was completely unable to look his professor in the eyes, which was an enormous breach of etiquette. "Sir, I tested it on Saturday. It works ... I ... I ...” By Academy rules of etiquette he had to be completely honest, "Well, Sir, I pissed myself and ran away ..."

He didn't even get to finish the part of his story about locking himself in his room or leaving it in the workshop. His classmates were all laughing too hard.

The active duty Guardsmen at the front of the room had enough of the malarkey and bellowed to the class, "Shut your noise holes!" When the room was silent an instant later, he asked, leaning forward, like the predator he was, "Candidate Samson Rockpoint. You will answer my question immediately, 'Where is your assigned project'?"

He was even more miserable now. This part was almost as embarrassing as telling the class he had pissed himself. "Sir ... It's stuck in the shop ... I can't get it out of the door of the shop ... . It's too big."

The professor leaned back. His eyes were on fire as he contemplated the presumed lie. "Fine," he announced to the class, "We are going on a field trip to see this mystery invention. Lead the way, Mister Rockpoint, if you please," he grinned evilly as he gestured calmly to the door.

Samson's renewed death march was continued down the corridor, down two flights of stairs, up and back along the workshop corridors until the class and two professors reached his door behind Samson.