The Armorer

Once upon a time, I used to be a materials scientist. I have a Masters degree, actually.

It was a dark and stormy night. The night the accident happened, actually. Today is hot and humid.

I swipe at the tiny insects that irritate me and I see the details of the creatures. I dismiss the knowledge and turn to my current project, which is casting a part in aluminum for one of my neighbors.

I use the term "neighbor" loosely, since the nearest village is about five miles away, toward the edge of the Amazon. I don't really see people much these days unless I'm picking up something at the post office about twenty miles away or doing some shopping for necessities. I mostly see my neighbors when the men come to me and ask if I can fix something for them. Sometimes it's just to ask if I can make a part for them.

I can, of course. My first job down here was to melt down a couple of pop cans and cast a simple part for an application where aluminum would do just fine. The guy needed it and traded me an old ax, and that's how it began. I still have the cutoff left over from that first casting as a souvenir. Now I trade small jobs for food, larger jobs for scrap metal. The trade has to be approved by me before I work, though, ever since that one jerk left me a basket of rotten fruit covered by a layer of good fruit.

Right now I'm repairing and making small improvements to a truck engine. I could do a lot more than small improvements if I wanted, but if I did that, then word would spread about me. I came down here for the peace and quiet and to get used to my new abilities. They can be overwhelming. I take a tiny file and perfect the shape of the new part. The engine would run without all the finishing touches, but I don't like not giving my best. I made an honest trade, and my customer deserves my craftsmanship. And as long as the parts and work are maintained halfway decently, I'll fix it again free of charge if there's a problem. Not if the parts are abused or not maintained, though. Most of the people I do work for respect that, but there are always a few men who don't feel like a woman has any right to make conditions. They hate asking me to do work for them, when it comes right down to it. The guy who gave me the rotten fruit got his wife to come and make the deals after that because I won't trade with cheaters.

I'm not really trusted around here, as a white woman living alone in as-yet undeveloped Amazon forest. 'Civilization' seems to creep closer every day, though. I'm tolerated because I can fix things and I keep to myself, and since that's exactly the way I like it, everybody benefits. I can't say that I worry about my personal safety in general; as I say, my neighbors leave me alone unless I've got a job, but sometimes people who aren't local show up. I'm strong and I haven't had to defend myself yet, but just in case, I've trapped my area with protections.

By late afternoon, I've got the engine back in the truck. I told the owner it would be ready tomorrow morning, and I do like to beat my own deadlines. I putter around, picking up a few things and making sure everything is just where I want them to be, but there's no big cleanup; I do that as I go along. I look around with pride. I found this clearing as I was hiking through the jungle and built what I need singlehanded. I did pay for it, but I'm not entirely certain that the man I bought it from actually owned it. My workshop includes a forge of my own design, very efficient and clean. For living quarters, I built a treehouse. I go to town once a month for foods that I don't get in trade or that I want, any specialty or personal items I've ordered, and to make myself have normal human interactions. I uploaded books to my Kindle while I was there and read the books I'd had brought in for me at the library. One of the best side effects of the accident was that I read a lot faster and retain knowledge much better now. A photographic memory, actually, which is great because I don't want to have a lot of textbooks cluttering up my area.

Right now I'm in the midst of a prolonged metallurgy kick. In my mail were metals for alloys and materials for coatings. Tonight after dinner I'm going to start testing my latest results. I'm trying to keep the best qualities of aluminum while making it tougher. I'm looking to make it as tough as titanium without compromising the ease of work and its melting point. And with my coatings, increasing its durability and overall strength. This is something that will be valuable out here and the first step to creating new alloys that could rival vibranium. Or surpass it, which is my real goal. Why? Honestly, it's just ego.

After dinner, I lay out my four samples, four squares of slightly different alloys and with a smile, pick up my hammer and settle into a happy period of attempted destruction. I'm grinning at how well my samples are performing when I'm interrupted by a nice male voice speaking in English, which I haven't heard for months now.

"Hello? Anybody here?" There's something familiar about it and I automatically trigger one layer of my defenses, the first layer designed to capture an intruder.

Then I remember why it's familiar and look up into the tree canopy to see Captain America dangling by the ankles.