As the Tuning Peg Turns

[rugerpc]

"What's in the boxes?" Candice wondered aloud.

"96 million modulus.." began Doc Ruger.

"Graphite rods?" Candice completed Bill's sentence, her face lighting up.

"You know about graphite?" queried Bill with interest.

"I have a doctorate in applied chemistry and physics," Candice replied.

"Soooo many things to like about this girl," Doc Ruger thought to himself. "What can you tell me about these?"

"Well, if they're 96 million modulus, they are extraordinarily rigid."

"Really strong?"

"No. Not strong, I said rigid. There's a difference. The modulus is a rating of elastic rigidity. It means it would take 96 million pounds per square inch to bend these rods.
"By way of comparison, the modulus of good oak is only about 1.6 million and steel weighs in at about 29 million.
"What are they used for here?"

"Truss rods in guitar necks to make them rigid. Most companies use adjustable steel rods."

"That's a perfect application for this material. Now I really want to meet Mr. Smith."

 

[László]

Ell walked his mechanical body to the car. "Hey, at least my feet don't hurt," was his thought. Of course the car was a black Mercedes, all shined up like the old Fuhrer's, just a new model. He laughed to himself at the fact that these folks were not only crazy enough to think this reincarnation thing actually worked, but that they still thought things would be better in the world if they ran it just like they had in the 1930s.

He realized that the folks who for all practical purposes held him a figurehead captive would not willingly obey a command to dismantle Die Glocke. But somehow he had to accomplish that end regardless of the consequences to what remained of his now-digital persona.

 

[László]

Ell got into the front seat of the Mercedes next to the driver. He knew from looking at old photographs during his readings of the period, that Hitler had done that when he went anywhere. Ell didn't want to blow his cover.

"Where to, my Fuhrer?" asked the driver. Ell could see that the driver was, like him, a replicant. The driver projected the appearance of an athlete in great shape.

"What is your name, comrade?" Ell asked. The driver brightened at the word, "comrade."

"Hans Krebs," replied the driver.

"The grandson of my General Hans Krebs of the Wehrmacht?" asked Ell.

"No, my Fuhrer."

"The son of Maynard or Rosa Krebs?"

"Maynard," the driver replied with a grin. How did you know, Fuhrer?"

"I used to watch television," said Ell. "And where are you from, Hans?"

"I was born in Los Angeles, but I was the illegitimate son of Maynard G. Krebs and Ursula Andress, and when they broke up, my mother moved me to Switzerland, where I was raised by my grandmother."

"I always liked the Swiss," said Ell. "That is why we never invaded Switzerland. Now, have they told you why it was necessary to convert our living bodies to replicant form?"

"Yes, Fuhrer. It is so that we can live long enough to leave Earth and get to other planets to establish our race as the masters of the entire universe."

"And for this to happen, what do we need?" Ell felt he knew what the answer would be,

"We need lightweight but strong materials capable of being transported off the Earth with its enormous gravity. The lighter the materials, the more we can transport with each flight, since too much fuel would be consumed to leave Earth's orbit with heavy payloads. Then the materials can be used to construct a gigantic space travel vehicle on the far side of the moon. We will not need much fuel, as it will travel via the solar winds and achieve near-light speed. And as replicants, we can appear human, but we will not need to breathe, and our bodies can withstand many times the Earth's gravity and serve in environments in which a mortal would live only a few seconds."

"And, my young comrade, what is the primary material we need to accomplish this?"

"96 million modulus carbon fiber," Hans replied. "We need to corner the market on 96 million modulus graphite."

"And if we are unable to corner that market?" asked Ell?

"Then we shall acquire it by force, my Fuhrer."

 

[Duffy]

Don and Zena worked for the Felder Musical Instruments Company (FMIC) and were senior agents of the FMIC Field Research and Development Agency of Technology (FRAT). As such they travelled extensively in their work unearthing secret new guitar and amplifier emerging technologies. Don and Zena were undercover agents, sworn to never reveal their true identities; other than their names and other general personal information.

Don was a distant relative of the founder of FMIC and was extremely wealthy in his own right, despite making an incredible salary.

In his early years as a junior FRAT field agent he posed as a low life "rocker" and hung out at seedy night clubs and managed to work his way back stage at medium and large sized musical events, even working some of the mega shows in his disguised undercover capacity. He had partied heavily with some of the major players in the music industry, drinking and getting mighty high. He was a semi-accomplished guitar rocker and sometimes would jam with the so-called "stars".

Some of his transactions with these people were less than legal and ingratiated him to more than a few well placed people in the music industry that were in actuality just plain old "losers" that knew too much, considering their inability to keep their mouth's shut. Most of them were addicts of one sort or another and could be used to gather corporate secrets that a savvy operator would disavow knowledge of. These professionals were never seen drunk or stoned, but socialized at the same back stage parties and other events.

They were the face of major music companies and their actions reflected directly on company operations and the image that the company wanted to portray to potential and incidental participants at these events. Never the less, there were plenty of "losers" among the crowd that had peaked out above their level of capacity and could be easily exploited for information and secrets that they were sworn to keep secret.

It was during these early years with FRAT that Don met Zena at an especially seedy joint in an especially seedy metropolitan area. Despite her punk rock appearance and striking resemblance to the gorgeous Zena from the TV series, Don recognized special traits in Zena and it wasn't long before he had gained her trust and was well into her pants; having gone over her in great detail, front, back, and upside down.

His association with Zena deepened and he eventually reached the point where he decided it would be very wise to recruit her as a FRAT initiate; a field agent trainee of sorts. His trust in her was unquestionable and she was not pre-inclined to an addictive personality, despite her ability to discretely party with the best and most powerful of them.

Don had been following the posts on the PRS guitar forum that were being made by a PRS employee named Shawn. He had managed to get this Shawn dude's personal email address and had been monitoring it for quite some time. Shawn didn't seem to reveal much in his posts on the PRS forum, but his private email account would make Hillary Clinton blush with envy.

Don and Zena were presently investigating rumors of "The Bell"; an integral piece of an emerging technology that could supposedly transform the industry and drive competitors of PRS to the periphery, if successfully developed and implemented into widespread industrial operations at select guitar factories and at R&D facilities.

Their most recent instructions indicated that a mysterious "Ell" was believed to be a moving force in the "Bell" laboratory testing. It was their job to find out as much about this seemingly elusive operator that was suspected of being some sort of Mensa freak or unlikely genius. Time would tell if any of this was true when they located the slippery "Ell" and had a chance to study him from a distance at first, and possibly closer at some future time.

In the meantime Don and Zena were sitting on the beach watching the moon set over a mostly placid ocean, its beam of light reflecting like a bright white stripe across the distance from the beach out to the horizon. As Don's hand slipped gently up the inside of Zena's thigh he could hear her expel a lusty soft moan into his tingling ear. These were the times Don enjoyed the most.

 

[rugerpc]

Before Doc and Candice could get three steps into the cavernous room, Paul appeared and handed Doc two round trip tickets to Warsaw, Poland.

"Huh?," queried Doc intelligently.

"Look at the mark on that near box," Paul said as he pointed.

"That stands for Polski Walczącej, Poland at War. Find the connection," Paul said and he hurried off before Doc or Candice could say anything else.

 

[László]

Oooo...the Eastern Front...now we're getting to the fun stuff!

 

[sergiodeblanc]

The rain had dissipated faster than it had began. Sergio and Kendall pulled themselves out of the watery mud pool and regained their composure a few yards away.

"Haha! That was the worst puddle of mud I've ever seen!" Kendall shouted to the clouds gleefully.

"Wish I could say the same.." Sergio muttered while pulling prickly weeds and jungle refuse out of his shoes adorned with metal spikes. "I played with Puddle Of Mudd at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame back in '03... This was way more deep."

" I don't even know what that means. And I don't care." Kendall replied. She looked at Sergio defoliating his gaudy hightop sneakers and said: "You have any other shoes?"

"No. I mean, they're all like these." Sergio was shaken and could barely muster the words.

"Give 'em here!" As she snatched his shoes from him she produced an erect selfie-stick and proceeded to remove the jungle refuse along with the studded metal spikes.

"What are you doing? Those were Christian Louboutin's" Sergio shrieked.

"Now they're practical... And c'mon! These are three years old. What, did you buy these used off of eBay or something?" Kendall smiled and threw the shoes back at Sergio.

"You bitc..." Sergio was interrupted by a fired bullet ricocheting over his head. He laced the shoes up, pulled Kendall to cover, and gazed up the range to see who had shot at them. "Oh sh*t." Above them was the man with the bolo tie who had tried to rob Kendall by the bus earlier. Only this time he was dressed in antique military fatigues emblazoned with colonel insignia and wearing aviator sunglasses.... while still wearing that f@cking bolo tie. Don't ask me how that works.

"This is so Unbangin'! Kendall, who the hell are you and why does this guy want you dead?" Sergio reloaded his shotgun while expecting an answer.

"I told you. I'm here to save my sister!" Kendall caught her breath while ducking the gunfire.

"Oh, don't give me that. I thought you meant that you were giving her some of that collagen you're storing in your lips so she could inject into her ass and break the internet again."

As shots zinged overhead, and while Sergio returned fire mouthing: "Peew pew" each time he pulled the trigger, Kendall made her way to a decrepit bridge that spanned a cliff with a deep river separating the two banks.

"Look! A bridge!" Kendall yelled back.

"Lady! That ain't no bridge! That's godd@mned mid-century-modern Columbian art!" The gunfire from up the hill was becoming more intense as Segio continued, speaking to no one but himself; " I knew I should have listened to my mother.... Become a plastic surgeon, One million a year up to my nose in t!t's and @ss... But Nooooo... You wanna play guitar and be an "artist"... Great plan until you wind up a middle age man-boy who's friends have 401k"s and health insurance..."

At this point Kendall had made it half-way across the bridge when the slats beneath her had broken and fell into the raging river under her. In a fit of panic she grabbed a rather convenient vine and traversed the gorge, landing safely upon the other side.

"What the?" Sergio yelled out "Suppressing Fire", fired off a few rounds, grabbed a similar vine, and swung across to safety where he found Kendall mixing an alcoholic beverage in one of those collapsable travel cups dorky campers have.

"Drinking!?" He yelled. "You got time for drinking?!?!?"

"It's not drinking... it's an Appletini!" She sat wide-eyed while Sergio grabbed the dink and sloshed it down his throat.

The shots ceased, as the sound of orders being barked in... they didn't know, Spanish, maybe Portuguese... neither one was too smart, echoed to the other side.

"We better go." Sergio said, and they disappeared deeper into the rainforest.

 

[sergiodeblanc]

Thunder crashed violently over the heads of Kendall and Sergio as he slashed his way through the rainforest with his machete. He stopped to wipe his brow while Kendall continued forward into the brush, distracted by trying to attain wifi on her iPhone.

"What's the holdup? You got rocks in your cargo-pants? How am I gonna save my sisters life if I can't even log in to TMZ?" Kendall stood there waiting for Sergio.. And she was being kind of a b*tch about it too...

Sergio turned his head and flung the machete tip first into a fallen log before explaining: "Hold up? By all means sister, have at it." While motioning to the machete.

Kendall picked up the machete, and while she struggled at first, soon she was leading the two through the deep jungle like a skilled trailblazer. Her daily Tai bo-reak-won workouts had instinctively taught her how to effortlessly cut herself across the dense terrain.

Time had passed until Sergio was shaken by a piercing scream coming from Kendall's mouth!

"Eeeeaaaagghhh!" She screamed. The two calmed down when they gazed upon the discovery of a crashed propellor plane ... I mean, it was a pretty gruesome sight after all. The plane must have been there a few years... Rusted, torn in half, and covered in Phish and Pearl Jam stickers. A sight that filled their hearts with trepidation.

"Well I guess we better get out of the rain." Sergio grabbed the machete and led Kendall around to the broken off tail section. "It's not exactly The Ritz, but it'll have to do for now."


Kendall remained reserved at the entrance of the plane and let Sergio explore ahead of her. The jungle had started to absorb the plane, lining the interior with prehistoric moss and vines that had somehow rusted themselves through the fuselage and taken root in the diamond-plate floor.

When Sergio arrived at the slumped over cadaver of the pilot rockin' a jean jacket sportin' a large Soundgarden patch the two shrieked when he unthinkingly disturbed the corpse to reveal; "F@ckin' gross!!!!!" Sergio covered his mouth like he was about to vomit.

"What are those?!?!?" Kendall started to tear up.

(Garbled vomitus sounds) "Bleerg... uhh.. Those were called Oakley Blades. They we're the most hideous sunglass design next to mid 90's Briko cycling glasses... They were almost responsible for the extinction of the human race." He wiped the sweat off his brow; "Women stopped procreating with the men who wore them."

"Ghastly!" That may have been the first time Kendall had ever said the word, but she surmised there was no other description for the horror she felt. "We can't stay here! Please tell me we won't have to stay here with them in here!" Sergio felt Kendall's fear and did the most manly thing he could think of by whipping the Oakley's out of the half-broken cockpit window... "It's Okay now" he said, "You just move back and relax."

Kendall moved back towards the center of the fuselage that was a pile of disturbed packages. Sergio explored the cockpit until he found a bottle of Malibu Pineapple Coconut in the co-pilots belongings. "G@ddamn I love those flyboy's" He wiped the mouth of the bottle before taking a swig and feeling the relief of surviving the past four hours without a drop of alcohol.

"What is this plane even doing here?" Sergio mused.

"It must've been a shipment plane that crashed...we're sitting in the middle of a serious lawsuit. Maybe 10 to 15 years... Illegal contraband." Kendall's eyes started darting from container to container.

"What? Like a weed plane? That's quaint... I've seen Denver co-ops with a thousand times more." Sergio stuck a knife into the packaging of a container, stuck his finger in, and produced some black sand-like substance that he proceeded to rub it on his gums while Kendall stood there, looking on in horror. He then flung a few packages onto the floor, sprinkled them with a modest amount of Malibu, and started a campfire for the night.

"Uhh... Have you ever heard of Graphite?" She asked.

"Pffft.. Yeah.. Duh.. I played a few college's before." Sergio dipped a finger back into the leaking package and shoved it uncomfortably deep up his nostrils.

"Yeah, well.... This is 100 million modulus graphite." Kendall scratched her temples as she explained. "The most pure molded graphite known to man is only in the upper 90 percentile. This has to be the origin of the most rigid graphite in the whole world!" Kendall started hyperventilating as she spoke between gasps of air. "Do... You.... know...what... this... could... (breathe)... mean... to the... underwire bra business?... I.. mean... REALLY?!"

That was the last thing either of them remembered before passing out from the noxious fumes that rapidly engulfed the aircraft.