Jumpin J Hose Is Fast

Chapter 1 - Secret, Secret

Roll down route 31 for five miles out of Chattanooga and you will see an impressive stone wall with an equally impressive big Iron Gate. That is all you will see. If you decide to stop and look over the gate, some unpleasant fellows, in bib-overalls will greet you. Should you decide to climb the gate or wall you will be nabbed, blindfolded and awaken in the park at Chattanooga. You will think that you fell asleep and dreamed of the wall and gate. If you decide to travel down route 31 again you will be filled with feelings of impending doom. The most impending doom your mind can imagine. You will find an alternative route!

What you will not know is that you had stepped onto the secret Defense Department’s highly classified and most secret Materials Development Facilities. I said, the secret Defense Department because it is a part of the Defense Department that is kept secret from the Defense Department. It is kept secret from the Defense Department because they do not want the Defense Department to know of what might be possible until it is possible. It is the place where there are only security people and scientists of dubious morals. The government scientists there are encouraged to break matter into the smallest pieces and then put it back together, in ways nature never intended. They smash materials, dissolve materials, vaporize materials, ground materials, liquefy materials, form gaseous materials, and shape or form materials in every way conceivable. They will combine, precipitate, melt, smash and make new alloys at will. Or they will build up new atoms of materials quark by quark. They are even collecting anti-matter. It will take them centuries to collect enough to make a bomb with, but the government figures that it will always be around so they can wait.

What they did to you when you stumbled in on them is blindfold you, inject you with a large dose of sodium pentathol, and will have many questions for you. When they found out that you were just a stupid person, they inject you with a drug that would allow anyone to hypnotize you. Anyone at all, but they used an expert. They will repeat this process three times or as was required by their security regulations. They just want to make sure the post-hypnotic suggestion stayed with you and stayed with you and stayed with you. Such quaint people they are.

Chapter 2 - Meet the Man

Stopping at the gate, the short dark haired man with the big handlebar mustache and wearing a matching shirt and tie got, out of the car he was driving. He opened all of the doors. A dragonfly buzzed his head. He then stood in front of the car and raised his arms and spun around like a ballerina. Something was said to him over a little speaker in the corner of the stone wall. He returned to the car and shut all of the doors. The big Iron Gate swung open slowly and he drove through the entrance. As he drove threw the beautiful woods he cursed to himself.

I have to go through all of this security bull just because I am a little late. They are so God damned stupid. I have been here five years and they still make me go through all that dancing. When I get this new material made I am going to insist that bonehead security captain do a God damned jig right in front of everyone. He pressed down on the accelerator until he was exceeding the speed limit by 80 kilometers an hour. He did not slow down for turns or hills or anything.

This mad man drove at the same speed right down a ramp and into an underground parking garage. After coming to a screeching halt, he got out of his car and left the door open as he did. He was still saying something to himself. He marched over to a thick steel door, pulled a badge from his suit jacket and flipped a badge through the slot. A buzzer went off and the door did not open. Fucking doors he bellowed.

Doctor Presscott, you know you have to slide the badge in slowly and then wait to put your hand on the pad and your eye in the eye socket, a thin, well-groomed dapper dressed middle aged man said, as he walked over to the door.

Slowly my ass. Presscott yelled back. I don’t have the time and I should not have to wait for some fuckin’ stupid door. My work is much too important to wait, he said, as he put the badge in the slot again, slammed his hand on the pad and swore as he looked into the eyepiece. The door opened this time. He rushed in and shut the door quickly on the man who was walking up to it.

Ass? Have they finally classified you? So now it is even in the official record as to the ass you are, said the man as he slowly slipped his badge into the door.

Presscott, or as he preferred to be called ‘Doctor Edward R. Presscott the Third’, was head of the solid materials section of the facilities. In his mind he was the only important man there or anywhere. In the real world he was manager of a small portion of the work done at the facilities. He did however, manage to get the brightest minds in materials science to work for him. How he got these bright minds to work at this place with all of its security no one knew. You all but had to disappear from the face of the earth and swear your life and all of your relatives’ lives to secrecy to get in the door.

Doctor Presscott shot down the hallway, took a right hand turn and went into an office. As he did, he shoved the doors so hard they almost broke off their hinges.

Update me, Alice! he shouted, flying across the room toward his office. What are the scheduled meetings for today? Has anyone made any progress? Where is my fuckin’ coffee? I’m late, God damn it!

You meet the head staff at eleven in conference room B, and your Doctors at two in your lab. The doctors have no progress but they want to talk to you about it, shouted back a well-dressed, attractively older gray-haired woman with thick glasses.

Updated the damn progress reports for the eleven with steady progress, he shouted back.

He then said, almost to himself God damned stupid bastards! You give them the best and they don’t perform. I ought to shoot some of them in that super sonic cannon, then see the results pour in. Stupid, no good, fuckin’ egg-headed shit-heads! That’s what I get for hiring MIT and Cal Tech doctors, he continued as he entered his office and closed his door. It was a normal morning. The last normal one he would see.

Sitting in his office patiently waiting for him was his ever-present lap dog Doctor Basil Buchanan Bucckett. Doctor Bucckett was the poster boy for geekdom. He even had tape around his glasses to hold them together. He could do the most intricate calculus in his head but had a hard time tying his shoes.

Good morning, Doctor, Bucckett said, as Presscott flew by him and sat in the long- backed, overstuffed leather chair. He turned the chair around to face the enormous wooded desk, put his briefcase on the desk and opened it up. He then shuffled some papers from it to the desk, shut the briefcase and put it on the floor. Looking over the paper, he said, Well what the hell have you to say? He did not look up as he said it.

Well, sir, we were going to go over Bill Smithe’s yearly review. Bucckett said, sheepishly as he wrung his hands together.

Smithe... Smithe... Presscott mused as he pulled on his mustache. He’s that crappy technician who does all of the damn fix-up work, isn’t he?

Yes, sir. His review is due.

Well how the fuck has he been doing? Presscott asked.

Very well but he still insists on leaving when his eight hours are up even if he doesn’t have all of his work done.

No damned self-motivation then. We only pay for motivated people who take fuckin’ initiative. Did you sit him down and give him that motivation speech I gave you? If you did and he wants to come and just do his job... well, then, then there is no fuckin’ way we can say that he fuckin’ deserve a raise if he has no fuckin’ son-of-a-bitchin’ motivation. I tell you, initiative and motivation... that is what made America! If he had motivation, we would still have to fuckin’ motivate him. You should find another fuckin way to motivate him... although... fuckin’ money is always the best motivator and you can’t teach initiative.

Yes it is. got in Bucckett. I will sit him down again and have a long talk about his lack of motivation.

Good. Now let’s get this God damned budget thing out of the God damned way so we can get some God damned business done." Presscott was off on another subject.

Well, another self-motivation speech and another year without a raise, said a voice from behind a computer screen. Too stupid to notice the high tech electrical gear you signed for... too stupid to see the bug on your ceiling that flew in...

Smithe had been motivated... motivated to make his favorite toys, little flying bugs as small as a mosquito. They don’t have much video resolution but enough to know what’s going on.

When Bucckett left the office, he started to ponder if Presscott wanted to not give Smithe the raise or to have a long talk with Smithe and if he got motivated then give him a raise. He didn’t dare back up the conversation or he would be getting an earful, so off he went, on and about his daily business.

Chapter 3 – There is no I in Team

In another part of the facilities an average looking man in jeans and a plaid shirt was busy with a bunch of wires.

What are you playing with? another young man asked. This man was dressed in a white lab coat with a new pocket protector and four new pens and one new number two pencil.

Just the PA system, replied the man with the wires.

Well I wanta you over to, by the met lab to get the Simpson computer unlocked. It-a lock up again and I do notta wanta to re-boot. I have important data in it. Ah, Doctor Jamey says-a you know a way to do it without-a losing data. said Leo Torre, Italian born professor of physical properties.

OK, OK, just give me a second to untangle this mess. I’ll be right over, Doctor Torre, said unmotivated Bill Smithe, the junior engineer in charge of making sure that all of the equipment ran and did what it was supposed to do, when it was supposed to do it, in a motivated way. He carefully untangled himself from the wires and very gently put them aside. In an unmotivated manner he walked with Doctor Torre to the Met Lab in another part of the building, that is, if you could separate this complex into buildings. Since everything was underground, it was hard to tell if it was not just one giant cellar. In the lab were four men, all in white lab coats, standing around talking. Bill walked beyond the men and sat down at a computer terminal and screen.

It’s going to be all right. Simmy. It is just a little indigestion, too much data too fast. Well time for an antacid, Bill said to the computer.

He continued to fix the computer but kept his ears on the conversation in back of him.

"Hey, Doctor Torre! If Stan can save your data, will it prove that we can make a titanium sample that is twice as light and just as strong as standard titanium? A Hugh? A Hugh, It will, will it? Asked Vincent Goahe, the Californian beach bum of a Doctor with red hair and tons of freckles.

If Beell, that’s Beell not Stan. If he hadda loaded the computer correctly, the computer would notta have to locked up and I woulda be able to tell you. We still do notta know how radioactive that sample would be if we subjected it to the proposed process. said Torre.

Why are you bringing this radioactivity subject up? I have told you a million time that there will not be anything but titanium if we do this correctly. I am 100% certain of dis. said a dark, dark haired man of east Indian extraction. His name was Doctor Bangi Bonsai.

How can y’all be 100% certain about something we haven’t even done yet Bons eye! screamed back a tall man with a definite southern accent.

The same way I know one and one make two without taking one of each of your mother’s children and making one complete person with brains. My name is B o n s a I. It is pronounced Bon say, Bon say. said the Indian looking doctor. Do you want that I should go back to calling you deaf in back?

No Fenback, Fenback, I’ll get the hang of it Bonslay. Don’t y’all get flushed about it, replied the blonde haired, blue-eyed Doctor Wolfgang Fenback.

Stop the bickering, you two, said Doctor Willy Nigel in his usual proper English accent with a hint of lisp and his usual body gestures that went with everything he said. Doctor Presscott will be in quite a tizzy if we do not have anything to show for two weeks of work.

I say we tell him everything is a go, go go and then come back at night and catch up on the preliminary work, piped in Doctor Goahe.

I say y’all can come back at night and work on the preliminaries. I’m gonna work on the real experiment. We need results now! said Fenback.

We need good scientific results... not haphazard good accidents, replied Bansai.

Division of labor... why don’t we use the division of labor principles? shot back Doctor Nigel, professor from Cambridge England and Harvard Massachusetts.

What you talkin’ ‘bout Willy? said Doctor Goahe with a smile.

Doctor Fenback and Doctor Torre will work on the actual experiment and Doctor Goahe and I will work on the preliminaries at night, said Willy.

Y’all got a deal. How about it Torre? chimed Fenback.

OK, I suppose a. Torre said reluctantly. Torre had to miss his evening satellite TV of sitcoms. It was his one and only link to the outside world. He would not be happy for weeks now.

I’ll need Bill to help also. Y’all don’t need him for calculations and paper work. said Fenback.

No. I guess we will not if the computer stays on line. said Goahe. But you have to persuade him to work the overtime.

They talked about working the extra time for so long they might have got the work done. Bill interrupted them before it went on all night. The computer’s unlocked and the data is still in tack. I am going home. Good night.

Say William! called Willy Nigel Could you see it in your heart to work a little longer tonight? Just until we have the hardware set up for the actual experiment.

Well my life is worth a lot to me and I can not see me working myself to death. All work and no play make a big bill that can not be paid off. I was looking forward to Monday Night Football and a few beers, said Bill.

Work with us tonight and all of us will buy you a beer. Is that right fellows? called Willy to the other Doctors.

Ya! Right! Hugh! OK! came the replies.

Well all right the game is not going to be that interesting. All of you owe me a beer, OK? he said, as he extended his hand to seal the bargain.

Good chap, said Willy as he shook Bill’s hand.

Little did Bill know that he would be working through the night until one in the morning. Bill was not a night person, so working into the night really tasked him. He always said that after 2100 hours his brain shuts down. So the work got done but not in a quality manner. Some very important mistakes had been made.

Chapter 4 – And the beat goes on and on and on.

Well what the hell is it you have to show me? Bellowed Presscott. "This better be god dam good or you bastards will be counting shit head freshman students at a god dam distant junior