Over the next few days, I alternated between building the part for Jack and reorganizing my workshop. I realized just how careless I'd been leaving everything out in the open. Hell, if my landlord did an inspection, he'd see the suit immediately. How could he not? It was the centerpiece of my workshop and now the whole world knew what it looked like.
So I started building a simple metal stud wall, creating what would look from the outside like a supply room and a ready-to-ship storage area. Inside, though, it would be one large space. My suit room, and the device that stored the sun cores. I had to protect those cores. I could rebuild the suit; I couldn't replace those.
This left only the equipment that could reasonably be connected to my tool-and-die cover visible, while hiding the things that would make a hero crash through my wall and cost me my security deposit. I took another look at the newly built partition.
"I might actually lose my security deposit anyway."
It was surprisingly easy to put up. I had it framed in what felt like no time at all. Moving everything would have been a pain if I hadn't had the suit working. It only took a few days to build the section and move everything in. I covered the outside of the wall with shelves and boxes, generally trying to make it look like the rarely needed storage found in any workshop.
I used regular drywall on the outside-facing wall and added a noise-canceling layer for extra security. I found some rock wool that should suit my needs and used more drywall on the inside. Well drywall until I ran out, then I started using plywood to finish it. I'm not made of money.
All in all, I was happy with the work. It wouldn't hold up to much scrutiny, and it certainly wouldn't provide much physical protection. But it would protect the important things. That would have to be enough for now.
I was most of the way through my lunch when someone started banging on my garage door. I looked up at the unwelcome surprise, my heart spiking. Then my eyes settled on the manifold, and I knew who it was.
I rolled the door up, and Jack stood there, her hair almost glowing in the sunlight.
"You don't answer your phone, do—yeah?" she said, walking in uninvited.
My guts twisted as someone entered my workshop—my sanctuary.
"Ah, yeah, sorry," I said. "I tend not to carry it much when I'm working."
Jack had already found the manifold on my work table. I'd forgotten I told her it was done and to come get it.
She put her hands on her hips and gave the part a professional look-over before turning to me with a wide smile.
"This looks great—thank you so much! You saved us at least three weeks, and one very unhappy client."
"No problem. I was able to work around my current project," I said, realizing it was more true than I'd meant.
"Yeah, I'm really grateful. I'll pay you Friday?" she asked, a little more sheepish.
"Whenever is fine," I said, realizing I'd never actually made a work order for this. I made fake ones for myself all the time, but I'd forgotten the one real one I had.
"Thanks. I've got a couple of cars done, and they should be paid up this week." She looked at the manifold again. "Man, you're a lifesaver."
She glanced around the shop.
"I haven't seen inside your unit before."
Her words made my skin crawl.
"Looks cleaner than mine," she laughed. "But that makes sense—we deal with old cars and have been here for decades." She pointed at the new addition, and I suddenly felt the need to be anywhere else.
"That looks like you've added it," she said, looking at me.
"I have."
"How do you have time?" she laughed.
"I live here," I said, suddenly relieved. She laughed.
"I know that feeling, man." She reached down and picked the manifold up.
"Do you need a hand with that?" I asked awkwardly, holding mine out.
"I can handle it—" Her eyes widened. "Whoa. Your hand!"
I was confused for a split second before becoming self-conscious and shoving it into my pocket.
"Aw, damn," she said, clearly noticing my reaction. "I'm sorry. I'm not very subtle."
"It's fine," I said, slowly pulling it back out and rolling my sleeve up a bit to show more of the arm. "I lost my arm… a few years ago."
"I didn't realize tool-and-die was so dangerous," she said, looking it over. "That thing looks really expensive."
"It wasn't work. Car accident," I said, flexing the fingers. "I needed a high-functioning one—dexterity matters for my job." I didn't need to explain that I'd built it myself. "I couldn't make the provided one work."
"Yeah," she said quietly. "I get how hard it would be to work with numb, clumsy fingers." She looked embarrassed.
"Still numb," I said. "Just not clumsy."
We stood there for a moment before she finally said, "Well, now that I've managed to make everything really uncomfortable, I should go."
"Don't worry about it," I said, pulling my sleeve back down.
"And Friday's okay?" she asked again from outside.
"Yeah, Friday's fine. It's not like I'm hurting for it," I said, even as my financial situation flashed through my head.
I waved goodbye and immediately started doing the math.
I checked both my taxable bank account and my not-so-taxable one. I could pay rent this month, but probably not next. That didn't include repairs or new equipment.
"Damn it. Maybe I'll actually need to start taking orders," I muttered, running my hands through my hair. "I'll figure it out. I'll have to."
A while later, I was in my suit, standing in front of a table with a few watermelons on it. I held a small, rounded device, currently connected to the hand by a few exposed wires for power. Eventually, it would be embedded in the palm of both hands; for now, I could just hold it.
I needed a way to make sure I wasn't rushed by groups. My blaster was limited by its shots. I needed something that could knock down and hopefully disable softer targets, something more useful than a knife.
Thus, the pulse emitter.
It would release a blast of kinetic force designed to knock down and stun anyone caught in its admittedly short cone. It wasn't necessarily lethal, but having non-lethal options; especially against someone using a hostage as a shield, would be invaluable.
So there I stood, looking at three watermelons I was hoping to explode. Until the device was fully integrated into the suit's systems, I had to use the control panel on my arm to power it and fire.
The device hummed to life.
I pointed it at the unfortunate melons and pressed the firing button with my left thumb.
Three things happened almost simultaneously.
The device fired a pulse of force. Thus ending the good news.
It vibrated violently, sending force backward up my arm. I thought my bones were going to shake out of my skin.
Then the device exploded.
Nothing nuclear. One second it was my newest toy; the next, it was a spray of charred fragments scattered across the room.
I let loose a long string of words I hadn't used in a long time, clutching my misleadingly undamaged-looking arm. Under the armor, it felt like it was on fire. Waves of pain I'd never felt before radiated up my arm.
It took real effort not to black out.
"Fuck you, Newton!" I shouted in pained frustration. I clutched the arm like that might somehow help. "Holy fuck, that hurts," I gasped as spots swam across my vision.
I hit the release and dropped the suit's arm from the torso to get a look.
Wow. That's a lot of blood.
It looked… wrong.
The skin along my palm and fingers had split in jagged lines, as if it had been stretched too fast and simply given up. Blood ran freely, dripping from my fingertips and pooling on the concrete. My fingers were already swelling, the knuckles puffing up like they were being inflated beneath the skin. When I tried to move them, they obeyed, but each movement sent sharp, stabbing waves of pain racing up my arm.
The damage lessened as it moved up my arm. The jagged, lightning-bolt pattern of torn skin reached my elbow, though the pain shot all the way to my shoulder. My wrist felt like I'd overextended it in every direction, but after careful poking and prodding, I was fairly confident nothing was broken.
"Non-lethal," I muttered through gritted teeth. "Fantastic."
I wrapped my arm in a clean-ish towel and struggled to get out of the suit without drenching the interior in blood.
I failed.
I abandoned the suit where it stood and dragged myself to the small bathroom, running cold water over my arm. I filled the sink and let the cold dull the pain, staring down at the pinkish water as I fought to control my breathing.
I needed my first aid kit.
An hour or so later, I sat in a chair in my workshop, my arm wrapped in no-longer-white bandages. I'd taken what medication I had for pain and swelling.
It wasn't enough.
I had been monitoring the pulse emitter as it had been a test. That was the only reason I knew what had happened.
The pulse emitter hadn't failed. At least, not technically. I'd underestimated the feedback. I thought that, directed as it was supposed to be, the return force wouldn't be so bad.
At that thought, I lifted a glass of whiskey to my lips with my black metal hand and set it down beside the real problem:
The sun core.
Trying to trickle power out of it was like trying to fill a glass by cracking open a dam; just a little. There was simply too much power.
I knew this. That was why my blaster was separated from the core, and why the suit itself ran on batteries slowly fed by expensive capacitors.
What I'd done with the pulse emitter was tap directly into the core.
Stupid mistake.
Maybe I needed more sleep. There was just so much to do.
I looked at what remained of the pulse emitter on the table. That sudden surge of power had caused the explosion, and turned the wave radial instead of directed.
That's why my hand had taken so much damage.
I'd need to make some changes next time.
But this… experience gave me an idea.