NIH Chpt 4

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==Not Invented HereChapter 4 - Upheaval==
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Hauptmann Zorch is here, with his trusty companions, the Laser-Bearers! X-Ray! Gamma! Microwave! Stand and face me, villain!"Hauptmann Zorch", New Avalon Independent Broadcasting Corporation, 2955-2960
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===Part 1===
Outskits of Turnville, Wynn's Roost - Outworlds Wastes
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"First, ye gotta say somethin' to Diego," said Devolo. "Righ' now he don't know what ta think. I explained that we needed ya, but..."
 
"Good. I want him off-balance."
 
"Now why the hell d'ye want to do that?"
 
"People love categories, and teenagers are especially black-and-white in applying them. He'd already decided I was a Lyran bigshot, which is not true on both counts. So I'm not behaving like one. The thing I am is smarter than him, which... hm. I'll do my best not to antagonize him, but we have a serious case of pure, simple jealousy."
 
"Well, if'n ye want ta deal with that, ah can tell ye yer goin' about it the wrong way. Ye aren't respectin' him. Deal wi' that, an' ye deal wi' the other."
 
Ferguson frowned. "Why should I flatter his ego by placing myself underneath him? Further, you've been in the army, you know what happens when you're under the thumb of someone who feels inferior; you practically invite them to turn into a bully. It can be worse when there's a basis in fact."
 
"So you actually said my apprentice's inferior to my face. You're pretty full o' yerself, aren't ye?" Devolo took a deep breath, and his usual slur was diminished as he pronounced: "My first order for you, Mister James Ferguson, is to go out there and earn Diego's respect by treatin' him as an actual human being. Otherwise I kick you out right the fuck away, contract be damned."
 
Ferguson winced, but headed back out. His job depended on mitigating teenage drama. Wonderful.
 
Diego was standing outside, arms crossed, head down: the very picture of sulk and stewing.
 
"Got nothin' to say to you." he muttered.
 
"Well tough, because I have something to say to you. ...I'm sorry."
 
"Oh yeah, ye really meant that."
 
Ferguson gritted his teeth, but continued. "I was treating you without the respect you were due as a human being. Again, I'm sorry."
 
"How about, 'Oh I'm a puto with mai head up my own arse, ooh!'"
 
"Listen here you little shit..."
 
"Ah! Now it comes out!", said the teen gleefully. "Yer just like the rest, don' think ah c'n do anythin', so you gotta talk over me and do what you say!"
 
The older man just barely avoided punching him. He wanted to drag this through the mud? Fine. But professionals had standards. He hadn't gone through so much just to be baited into doing something drastic. Doubly so now he had one source of intel on the other party's predicament.
 
The grandfather had already told him, even.
 
"Diego, how do you learn?"
 
"What?"
 
"Shit, that came out wrong. When you were in school, how did you engage with the material?"
 
Diego's confusion was back, probably because that was the first time he'd sworn in front of him. Luckily, that resulted in the first civil answer he'd given.
 
"...Ah didn' really like my te'chers. Always tol' me it was my fault for not following along in class. Shites."
 
Ferguson cast back to the teachers he'd had. Mostly they'd been preoccupied riding herd over a class of children with wildly different backgrounds and motivations. He'd tried his best to stand out (and focus), so he couldn't quite wrap his mind around hating school.
 
"So you didn't get on with them, but how does your grandfather teach you new things?"
 
"Just watchin'. Tells me where ah'm goin' wrong but leaves me to it."
 
"I can work with that. So! Want to blow stuff up?"
 
"Wha?"
 
"I'm terrible with children, loved school, so this is just about the only thing I know we have in common. Everyone in my class liked blowing things up. Everyone. Even the worst of us learned chemistry because of it. Kind of like those ancient Terran chemists who went to university to make their own illegal drugs and came out with a PhD. In the meantime I'll teach you about explosives."
 
Dammit, he did it again. Being uncorked after so long... Oh well, roll with it. He wondered what had happened to old Mr. Gunther.
 
"So, first up, let's talk about good old-fashioned ANFO, which can be easily created from any common household ammonium nitrate you might have lying about and just about any hydrocarbon, even coal dust. While we look, I'll tell you about how you go about using your own urine to create a high explosive."
 
"What the fu-"
 
"Language, Diego."
 
"...can you actually do that."
 
"We'll walk and talk."
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===Part 2===
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"Boss, could you direct me to something you need blown up? Also, where do you keep the detonators?"
 
Devolo looked over the two who had just come back in the side door. They were not fighting, so that was a start. Diego was also, if not eager, at least interested and... pleading? Ferguson, though, was smiling and carrying a 20kg bag of fertilizer on his shoulders.
 
If he didn't miss his guess, this was the new boy's way of treating his apprentice as an adult. Respect and consideration came second to qualifying on high explosives, it seemed. It was a little early, young Diego was just sixteen. But he hadn't seen him this engaged for a while, and he had always planned... He sighed internally; he'd just got out of the gorilla suit.
 
"What're ye planning on doing?"
 
"Boss, Diego is going to help me with a knowledge exchange - he'll show me how you do things around here, and I'll start him with some safety procedures and explosives handling. I was thinking we could use some cross-training, maybe a third range officer?"
 
This time Devolo really did sigh. "Aye, ah suppose ah can find something."
 
Diego brightened immediately. "Ye mean it, grandpa?"
 
"Ah'm doin' it, aren't I? You WILL listen to what mister Ferguson says; I'm not goin' to see ye kilt for doing anything stupid like back-talking." He glared at both of them for emphasis.
 
"Right, Grandpa, I get it."
 
"Do ye, though?"
 
"Yes!"
 
"Ferguson, if me apprentice messes up and hurts himself in any way, it'll be your fault. Understand?"
 
"Crystal."
 
The frostiness thawed a bit as their boss smiled. "Okay Diego, let's see how you blow shite up!"
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===Part 3===
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Of course, they couldn't just drain the tank of a tractor into a mixing bowl of ammonium nitrate and go.
 
They used a clean plastic bucket.
 
As Diego carefully measured out the fertilizer and the kerosene in the correct ratios, Ferguson repeatedly stressed that though this was relatively safe, this was literal child's pla- baby ste- very easy when compared with handling anything more energetic. Their boss supplied a chilling tale of being able to see the bone when his thumb had been sheared clean off by shrapnel, but the teen only rolled his eyes.
 
"Grandpa, enough already. You tried to scare me with that when I was nine."
 
There was no rolling of eyes when they went to where Devolo kept the blasting caps. His apprentice did seem to be listening as Ferguson described the differences between a normal blasting cap and more advanced models of detonator.
 
"Don't hold one casually, they have primary explosives that'll blow your hand off if you handle them incautiously."
 
"Then how do you handle them?", asked Diego.
 
"Being gentle as a baby, only handling the edges and very thick gloves. Fortunately, you don't need to. Electrical ones have much less sensitive material; the new thing you need to be careful of is accidental static discharge from the gloves. Immediately take them off once you've placed the cap and earth yourself someplace safe." He glanced over at Devolo where he was watching (and judging) over his shoulder as he worked the padlock on the munitions shed. "Isn't that correct, boss?"
 
"Aye, right enough. Though ah still wouldn't hold one in my mouth, like ah saw one o' the reloaders do once. I s'pose if ye survive a posting to the ammo trucks, ye have no fear o' anythin'."
 
"Ugh, don't tell me you use J-27s?"
 
"Eh, a home-grown version called the Barrow. Cheap as fu- flip. Actually more armoured if ye can believe it, trailer and carrier both, but smart fella like you's probably figured out why it don't f- friggin' matter." He popped the padlock and began fishing for the key to the deadbolt.
 
"Grandpa, ah hear worse when you bang yer thumb," muttered Diego.
 
Ferguson thought back to the colour of the exposed armour underneath the scratches on the tank in the workshop. "No..." he breathed. "Industrial armour?"
 
"Straight off a fuckin' digger. Mackenzie called it "EndoDura XI" in the service manuals, but we knew what it fuckin' was - steel. Simple, hot-rolled, obsolete fer fuckin' centuries plate steel. Wanna know the worst part? Ah can't blame them." The door yielded to his administrations and swung open, revealing a dimly-lit storage area and an armoured box stood in the corner. "They did - are doin' - the best they can wi' what they have. Just aren't doin' it well enough or quick enough. Fro' what ah hear, the R&D has seriously slowed down. It's why ah hope to give 'em a kick up th' arse."
 
"Grandpa wants to begin selling refit kits, get paid in C-bills an' put the' place back on the map. Then we can start importin' properly." Diego scrunched up his face in pain, like the next admission had to be carved out of him. "Ah s'pose... s'pose... we need you fer that."
 
Ferguson suppressed the impulse to ruffle his hair. Instead he kept to his promise and addressed the local expert.
 
"What happens now, Diego?"
 
"Um..." The expert looked to his grandfather.
 
"You take the electrical match from th' shelf, ensure the ends don't touch because of static, and put on the gloves, apron and face shield and pick up th' actual cap."
 
"All... all right." The blacksmith's apron that passed for moderate anti-ballistic armour, the battered and scratched safety visor and the extra-thick work gloves were adjusted and fitted to the teen.
 
Ferguson thought the tongs were a bit much, but either this was a bit of light hazing or whatever formulation was in these really was that sensitive. The air of amusement about Devolo made him think the former. He sighed inwardly, since he really didn't approve of such things.
 
At the same age, he had searched the entire school for stabiliser foam and come back in tears, fearful he might be kicked out onto the streets again. The whole class had laughed.
 
Hm. Look at him, being all sentimental.
 
Third possibility: His biases were showing. The grandfather could just be over-cautious.
 
"Now, if I remember, a match-type blasting cap needs pliers to crimp them together. Isn't that correct, Diego?"
 
"Uuuh... yeah? O-oh!" Diego grabbed a set and stuck them into the pocket of the apron.
 
The rest of the paraphernalia was already out at the bunker. The kilo of ANFO had been buried in a shallow hole slightly in front of the old test article. All that remained was to place the detonator & wire it up to the trigger (a car battery with a breaker).
 
Diego, unable to keep the smile off his face, counted off. "Three, two, one, FIRING!"
 
The explosion battered their ears even through the defenders, the shockwave like a giant's drumbeat. Clods of dirt took a gloriously long time to come down before spattering down around the blast in a rain of debris.
 
Ferguson could see the moment a certain switch flipped inside the teen, much like it had been with him - the awe at the power he now held, and the glee at exercising it.
 
"Can we do that again, Mr. Ferguson?"
 
He glanced at Devolo, who frowned minutely. "Your boss is my boss, and he has final say. Ask him. In the meantime, you show me how to safe the range."
 
As Diego began to pester his grandfather, he reflected upon his first day on the job. He hoped every day wasn't going to be this eventful.
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