We Arms

The artist took a step back from his work. It was meant to be a rough, conceptual design, but he had a habit of adding unnecessary detail too early. This eliminated the risk of premature abandonment of an idea. He didn’t care much for the design of weaponry, but there were interesting challenges and stability in the field. Some of his ideas had been fanciful or otherwise impractical, but this was not. This would satisfy the duke. He spotted an area which he was not satisfied with, and began repairing. Whatever the task, the artist was always an artist. When he was done perfecting his masterwork, he added a vital flaw in the mechanism. It may baffle his superiors, the engineers and countless historians, but this artist was also a humanist.

                             *****

“How we have reached this point” proclaimed Dr Pecoli over a large hall filled with the din of a hundred opinions “is an irrelevant if interesting argument.” He knew fully well that this was untrue, but a decision had to be made, and his self-appointed purpose was to see that it was made today. “We must act in some way to stop the destructive tide of gun violence that threatens the world and this country.” His mind, which was always contradicting his mouth, told him that tides couldn’t be stopped, short of blowing up the moon.

“We know which way we’re moving” came the uncharacteristically low murmur of Anders, a long-time advocate of the freedom to bear arms. That was, until his daughter was shot dead six months previously. He had seen red that night, and spent hours walking around with his ‘old friend’ in his hand, clenching it in an uneasy grip. He interrogated everybody he could find with a fixed grimace and a barely intelligible growl. When his best friend attempted to reason with him, the gun went off by accident, and Anders shot his friend in the foot. He dropped the weapon immediately. He was still angry, but as the weeks went by, anger slowly turned to remorse. Then came action. There was a large mounting movement, and his joining was a huge lift.

On the afternoon of October 27th the vote was taken to ban the possession of all arms in the United States and the colonies thereof. It passed with a considerable majority (although it was no landslide) and most parties left with the sure feeling that they had made the right decision. Winter was getting started.

                             *****

From the inception of the first hand cannon, its had been clear that man had an innate destructive tendency. Of course this was not the first significant weaponry development, the arguments about which would rage on for eons (if, indeed, man lasted for eons). Guns, however, had a much more specific purpose, and it all started with the cannon. Pecoli hadn’t much of a problem with these, but they had overdeveloped. Automatic firing was one thing, but the most recent electronic additions were deeply concerning. These were the first to be recalled. The progression of collection thereafter followed the devices’ history in reverse.

With no significant decline in violence levels, there was a move to ban further weapons. With the movement gathering momentum, those supporting it boiled down to three groups. Firstly, those like Pecoli had deep concerns for society. Anders and his ilk were driven by more personal moral objections. It could be generally said that The Pecolis of the world led and the Anders followed, but nobody would speak this aloud. There was a third group who were seldom even thought about. These were opportunists. They knew that there would be a demand for new means of committing violent acts. They also knew that the fewer weapons were in circulation, the more valuable individual pieces would be.

Former drill Sergeant Arnold Peppercoat had made a fairly hefty investment in numerous devices shortly before they were to be banned. These were stored in a large depot in rural western Australia, in an area as remote as he could find. Along with select few trusted friends a plan was devised for training human beings to use their bodies as weapons. The technique was a combination of various martial arts, military strategy and movements specifically designed to destroy. There was little that could be called defense involved. Weaponry stored in the depot was not to be used just yet.

                             *****

With a ban on most devices that could be used to harm others in place, and no significant decline in the levels of violence, Pecoli was worried. He had never wanted anything like this amount of control in place, but as is often true, give a good idea to a politician and he’ll ruin it. Reports had it that miniature wars were breaking out consisting of the most brutal unarmed combat in centuries. Pressure was on to repeal the Arms laws (or at least some of these) and Pecoli had to remind those around him that he was merely a mediator, and didn’t have the power. His mind would then remind him that he in fact had far more power than those who voted on the legislation.

It was no surprise when news of the unarmed-armament groups’ formation came in. The scale of these was a tough pill to swallow, but the idea was inevitable. When Pecoli learned, however, of what Peppercoat was reputed to be doing, he was most shocked, particularly as Peppercoat had been a vocal supporter of the new laws. Whether the motive was strictly monetary greed or more, something had to be done.

                             *****

Peppercoat had made a few sales from his stock. While, as predicted, once cheap equipment now sold for a considerable amount, this still didn’t amount to an awful lot. He had bigger plans for the remainder of the gear, and these involved his training clients.

Andre Viscoro was an Italian engineer (amongst other things) coming via America. He was widely considered a virtuoso in the field of adaptations. More importantly, it was known that he could be bought. When he reached Peppercoat’s facility and had completed the tour, the two sat in a quiet spot to talk. Until this time, Viscoro had been given no indication of what was being asked of him.

“I want you to begin devising ways of fitting weaponry to the human form. The end goal is total integration.” Peppercoat thought it best to get this out into the open quickly. Curiously enough, the other did not seem taken aback at all. This was difficult to judge though, because he wore dark glasses constantly, and the loose coat covering his wiry frame gave little movement away.

“It can be done, but it’ll cost you. Perhaps more than you have.”  There was no talk of ethical considerations whatsoever. Viscoro must have known that such talk would have proven dangerous.

“If that is your only concern, I can assure you we can come to terms.” This seemed to do it. As it later transpired, Viscoro’s price was reasonable, and he soon got to work.

                             *****

The artist took a step back from his work. The subject would soon be revived and the implants tested. The poor fool to put his body through this. The sections would each fire, but would take a long time to learn to control. Too long. One of the braces was misaligned. He stepped forward and carefully perfected the necessary joins. The artist was always an artist. There, done. The tiny valve at the base of the forearm looked correct, and this was the most important part. Peppercoat, the lunatic, would never know what it was for. When revived, tiny measures of a drug quelling the violent impulse would be fed into the subject’s blood stream. The measures were so small he would have no way of knowing. Nor would any of the others. The concept of biomechanical convergence was fascinating to Viscoro, but this artist was also a friend of the good doctor Pecoli.

Spring was coming, albeit a late one. It was a messy, forced shift, but the outlook was up. The idea of drugging those who would opt for Peppercoat’s treatment was not an ideal solution, but something terrible had been created, and needed destroying. Mankind had a need to destroy. There was something about the human condition that required it. This could not be extinguished by force. It would rise up, and the results would seemingly be even more terrifying. Pecoli knew this, as he felt the impulse within him. The pressure of his position gave him these extremes of thought, and he sometimes blew his cap. He was, after all, only human.

Word Count: 1445