ever actually
do
it), I went along.
For a headquarters, we used the shipping and receiving area of an abandoned electroplating factory. The company who had owned the place had relocated to Mexico ten years before and the land around the place was so contaminated with toxic runoff that nobody was legally supposed to come within 200 yards of the place. It was perfect.
We cleared away the junk and Max made a list of what we needed:
Money
Transportation
Weapons
Explosives
Women who were committed to the cause
I studied the list carefully. All of the items seemed equally fanciful, but one stood out a little more than the others. “Why do we need women?”
“We are men of action, Commander Simms,” Max said. We had decided that, since we were going to be co-leading the armed wing of a revolution, it was only appropriate that we grant ourselves some sort of appropriate rank. Not wanting to create tension by positioning one of us higher than the other, we settled on calling each other “commander.” I didn’t know enough about rank to know if “commander” was anything more than a term applied to whoever happened to be in charge of a particular group or if it was an actual rank in one of the various service branches, but it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like I had any illusions about being in charge of anything. If we did recruit another person, I would probably have been in charge of them. Unless they had an actual skill, of course, in which case, I would not. Not that we had much chance of recruiting anyone like that. “But we are also men.”
“And how will we know that they are, uh, committed to the cause, exactly?”
“They will share our ideology. Also, they will be willing to join the crusade alongside us, like liberty leading the people.”
“By which I take it that you mean they will be willing to fight with one boob hanging out?”
“Fight?” Max said, looking puzzled. “No, that would be impractical. If however, after the fighting, they wanted to remove their clothing, then that would be entirely in keeping with our guiding principles.”
I just nodded and went along with it. I thought that my chances of seeing a naked woman were about as good as actually blowing something up during an armed assault.
I was wrong about both of those things.
-5-
S ome of the items on the list were surprisingly easy to get.
The money was easiest. Max knew the combination for his mother’s safe and was able to lift a few hundred dollars’ worth of bearer bonds that he sold to a shifty-looking bald guy at one of the local pawn shops for 50 cents on the dollar. We used the money to get some furniture and a generator for the headquarters. We also got our own 3D printer and once again attempted to try to generate some kickass, military-grade weaponry. Unfortunately, the results were less than ass-kicking. Our first couple of attempts yielded a lumpy-looking HT-562 assault rifle and an SS .75 fully automatic handgun with no hole in the barrel. Since we couldn’t print our own ammunition, they were mostly supposed to function as visual deterrents, but the only reaction they would inspire in anyone was laughter. Both of them looked like props from a made-for-TV sci-fi miniseries.
“I don’t think we should use these,” I said, weighing the unnaturally light TF-15 in my hands. It looked like the printing schematic we had used was seriously buggered up. Although I had never seen a real HT-562 up close before, I was pretty sure that the front half was not supposed to be twice as large as the back. I had also never seen one that was bright green.
“Relax,” Max said. “We’ll paint them so that no one can tell the difference. They look badass.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is dumb-ass.”
“Admit it. If I pointed that at you in a darkened area, you’d shit your pants.”
“Only because I would assume the darkened area in question is a circus tent and I happen to be afraid of clowns. Which
do
it), I went along.
For a headquarters, we used the shipping and receiving area of an abandoned electroplating factory. The company who had owned the place had relocated to Mexico ten years before and the land around the place was so contaminated with toxic runoff that nobody was legally supposed to come within 200 yards of the place. It was perfect.
We cleared away the junk and Max made a list of what we needed:
Money
Transportation
Weapons
Explosives
Women who were committed to the cause
I studied the list carefully. All of the items seemed equally fanciful, but one stood out a little more than the others. “Why do we need women?”
“We are men of action, Commander Simms,” Max said. We had decided that, since we were going to be co-leading the armed wing of a revolution, it was only appropriate that we grant ourselves some sort of appropriate rank. Not wanting to create tension by positioning one of us higher than the other, we settled on calling each other “commander.” I didn’t know enough about rank to know if “commander” was anything more than a term applied to whoever happened to be in charge of a particular group or if it was an actual rank in one of the various service branches, but it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like I had any illusions about being in charge of anything. If we did recruit another person, I would probably have been in charge of them. Unless they had an actual skill, of course, in which case, I would not. Not that we had much chance of recruiting anyone like that. “But we are also men.”
“And how will we know that they are, uh, committed to the cause, exactly?”
“They will share our ideology. Also, they will be willing to join the crusade alongside us, like liberty leading the people.”
“By which I take it that you mean they will be willing to fight with one boob hanging out?”
“Fight?” Max said, looking puzzled. “No, that would be impractical. If however, after the fighting, they wanted to remove their clothing, then that would be entirely in keeping with our guiding principles.”
I just nodded and went along with it. I thought that my chances of seeing a naked woman were about as good as actually blowing something up during an armed assault.
I was wrong about both of those things.
-5-
S ome of the items on the list were surprisingly easy to get.
The money was easiest. Max knew the combination for his mother’s safe and was able to lift a few hundred dollars’ worth of bearer bonds that he sold to a shifty-looking bald guy at one of the local pawn shops for 50 cents on the dollar. We used the money to get some furniture and a generator for the headquarters. We also got our own 3D printer and once again attempted to try to generate some kickass, military-grade weaponry. Unfortunately, the results were less than ass-kicking. Our first couple of attempts yielded a lumpy-looking HT-562 assault rifle and an SS .75 fully automatic handgun with no hole in the barrel. Since we couldn’t print our own ammunition, they were mostly supposed to function as visual deterrents, but the only reaction they would inspire in anyone was laughter. Both of them looked like props from a made-for-TV sci-fi miniseries.
“I don’t think we should use these,” I said, weighing the unnaturally light TF-15 in my hands. It looked like the printing schematic we had used was seriously buggered up. Although I had never seen a real HT-562 up close before, I was pretty sure that the front half was not supposed to be twice as large as the back. I had also never seen one that was bright green.
“Relax,” Max said. “We’ll paint them so that no one can tell the difference. They look badass.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is dumb-ass.”
“Admit it. If I pointed that at you in a darkened area, you’d shit your pants.”
“Only because I would assume the darkened area in question is a circus tent and I happen to be afraid of clowns. Which
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