Thirty thousand employees, Sixty billion dollars in yearly revenue, and the lives of one hundred and twenty priests. What do they have in common?
‘A.R.M.S.,
Arna And Reynolds Military Solutions. Or was it Mining Supply? Market Specialists? I suppose you’d know them with different names depending on your needs. That is what they specialize in after all, solving needs.
Now whether that ‘need’ is a weapon dropped into a pickle barrel from 65,000 feet, or a communications system capable of spanning the tallest mountains or widest plains. Well, that is up to you, your wallet, and your relationship with the US government; who hold their reins.
Or held, I suppose.
But we can get to that in a bit.
‘Arna and Reynolds’ are somewhat unique in the ‘defense conglomerate’ space. For one, they were formed by the budding relationship between Ex-Nazi Missile researcher, Joseph Arnatz, and Jewish-American Astrophysicist, Luis Reynolds in the early 1950s
And where do such an unlikely duo meet you might ask? Well don’t, that’s classified. I’ll just say, ‘Operation Paperclip’.
Early on they saw success modifying outdated guidance systems on the early ballistic missiles of the day, but they both saw the short-comings in a business focused on the modification of off-the-shelf weaponry. They wanted a way to get their foot in the door, and they found exactly that in 1957 as they watched the American response to Sputnik 1.
The Vanguard TV-3.
For years afterward, Arnatz would shudder even at the mention of the letters ‘TV’. The former V2 designer watched the American's effort with a stone face.
“Two feet.” Arna had muttered as he watched the grainy crash footage. “We reach two feet, while they are soaring through the heavens.”
A fire was ignited. A fire that wouldn’t extinguish until it soared into the ether. And Luis was just the person to stoke those flames.
They analyzed what was wrong with the Vanguard Launch Vehicle. Not simply what had caused it to fail, but everything wrong. And the list wasn’t short in the opinion of the two experts, it lacked fins crucial for stabilizing at lower speeds, its load capacity to LEO was a measly 25 lbs, and what bothered the two, in particular, was its very nature.
It was a big dumb rocket. A tube filled with explosive gases, hoping on a prayer to make it to space.
“Point and shoot is for the army men.” Arnatz had always muttered in his thick german accent when talking on the strategy. “Calculate, Check, and Teach. This is how the scientist reaches the stars.”
Fortunately for them, the US Government seemed to agree with the two’s thoughts. Not six months after the failed launch of the TV-3, the DOD quietly requested proposals for a more capable launch vehicle.
This was not an opportunity the two could afford to miss. Their side project could finally take front stage. All work on their ballistic missile program was shifted towards this new goal. Instead of guiding to a target, they would guide to the stars.
Plans were drawn up for a three-stage missile with detachable saddle tanks for either increased payload sizes or deeper orbital ranges.
It was exactly what the DOD requested. It would outperform the Vanguard Launch System by an order of magnitude. And more importantly, it would outperform the Russian M-104.
The DOD awarded them the contract and within a year the first vehicle was completed.
And it worked.
A lot.
The Russians may have gotten a ball of tin-foil to space, but with the help of Joseph Arnatz and Luis Reynolds, the Americans were sending men, cameras, and… film? Which they would… catch… with airplanes?
Again the two noticed a problem. So when the CIA and DARPA requested proposals for the first permanent spy satellite. The two felt they had no choice but to again push the stubborn agencies in the right direction.
This trend continued with aerospace as their main priority, but that wasn’t to say they weren’t solving problems or offering solutions to other industries.
When oil platforms began drilling deeper as the world's demand for oil grew, ARMS used their experience designing pressure suits to greatly simplify the deep sea aspects of the job. In doing so though they began to recognize deeper issues with the industry as a whole.
So they began the ‘Mining and Resources’ branch of the company. Starting with a handful of platforms and a single refinery in Louisiana they used their logistics experience to begin systematically pricing out all other refineries in the region. Using that advantage to in-turn purchase said refineries, rapidly increasing their market share.
And fuel was just the beginning. Iron, Aluminum, Manganese, Quartz; if ARMS could reach it, they could buy it. And once they had it, you were a blind fool to purchase from anyone else.
And so began the glory days of ARMS. The company went from less than 1000 employees in 1956 to nearly 20,000 by the mid-1970s.
And that wasn’t even including the subsidiaries.
Suffice it to say the two men had earned quite a living in those short twenty years. But they didn’t allow that to stop them. They had grown to love the challenges they found. And even if not in their area of expertise, the two could spend hours discussing solutions.
That’s why in 1981 when my grandfather Luis Reynolds died suddenly of a pulmonary embolism it didn’t come as a shock that Joseph Arnatz took that signal as his time to go as well.
No one is quite sure what happened to him, but on the Monday following my grandfather’s funereal, a short letter was found in Joseph’s office. It’s contents were simple and most understood the situation without even needing to read it.
The duo who’d formed the fastest-growing multinational conglomerate in the world were gone.
And their absence had left an irreplaceably large gap.
In the years following, the pace of growth naturally slowed. My father was by no means a genius in the way that his predecessors had been. But he did understand business. So as the gap left by the loss began to catch up with the company, my father created his own form of solutions.
“We lost an important fighter jet contract to Hughes? Then let’s just buy them.”
“What do you mean we don’t have the technology to create integrated circuits? Who makes the best ones?”
You might be forgiven for assuming this was the beginning of the end for ARMS, a spend-hungry businessman constantly depleting the war-chest at a pace far faster than could be replenished. Anyone could see that this wasn’t sustainable.
But it was. From January 1982 up until April 2012, ARMS spent nearly 100 billion dollars on mergers, buyouts, and hostile takeovers. And for this their profits nearly quadrupled, easily accounting for the costs in the long run.
If anything, ARMS was now much more successful than even my grandfather could have imagined. From Cruise Missiles to Cruise Liners. Arna And Reynolds were your source for everything and anything.
A soldier could serve two tours and not touch anything made by a competitor, that is just how prevalent ‘ARMS’ had become in the US military.’
“So, That is what I mean when I say, ‘If it were my father, maybe he could help, and if it were my grandfather, surely he could. But not me.’ I am the son of a line of great men, but now I hold no claim to their name. I’m just number three.”
A long silence sat in the room interrupted by only the crackle of coal in the stove. Luis, or ‘Third’ as he had self-deprecatingly dubbed himself, appreciated the occasional sound to distract him from the awkwardness that was this conversation. The stove reminded him of the woodstove they had at a cabin his parents used to take him to. Of course, the styling was a far cry different but that could be explained by the fact that he was now on an entirely different world from the one that contained his memories cabin.
Or, if you believe what they had told him at least. He still wasn’t entirely convinced but beyond this being an OD-induced hallucination or an extremely elaborate and expensive prank. It was the more realistic option somehow.
“I don’t understand a lot of that.” The figure who had been sitting opposite Third on a plush chair eventually responded, meeting his eyes with her own knit expression. “But I do understand what’s important.”
Her expression seemed to light up by a fraction as she settled those words in her throat. The change might not have even been noticeable if not for the fact that in the short time Third had interacted with her, he hadn’t once seen even a glimpse of emotion cross her face. The shift in her expression did move something in Third but realizing he would reject her words no matter what she said, he worked to smother the feeling.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“You and I are the same.” She said after chewing her lip to suppress the giggle she’d formed alongside the realization. “The third of a line of great kings. We are supposed to be the proof. That it wasn’t luck, that it wasn’t preordained.”
“I don’t have anything to prove! I’m not royalty!” Third cut in without waiting for the pre-drawn conclusion that she was leading into. “Not, that anything is bad with being royalty, just… Look, you are missing the point completely.”
“Don’t you?” The princess wrinkled her forehead, allowing a lock of brown hair to spill from behind her ear. Pausing to tuck it back she averted her gaze finally as if she didn’t want to continue after the simple question. “Right now, you are thinking I don’t want to be here. I want to go back home. I want to go back to when everything was normal. Well, I am thinking the exact same thing. But right now things are beyond both of our control. And wasn’t that the same for them.”
“Them?”
“My father and your father. They both pretty much had the weight of power thrust upon them. Whether it be inheriting a Kingdom, or becoming see-e’oo. And they had to deal with it, even if they didn’t want to. Even if they wanted to run away they couldn’t. And then there is us.”
“Us.”
“You and I are our parent's only heir. and we want absolutely nothing to do with it.” And for the first time, in full, she lit up in a smile. “But now you and I don’t have a choice. Fate’s knocked. You were brought here by a power even your mind can’t understand.”
She had him there he admitted silently.
“And when my father…”
“And when your father dies you will become queen.” Third finished, ”Yeah, I get it, I see the parallels. But again, this doesn’t change a thing. I actually can’t do anything to help you. I don’t have the abilities you need. I mean, honestly, do you want me to learn how to fight with a sword? I’m a lanky twenty-four-year-old who smokes pot all day, it’s probably a bit late for that. Want me to learn magic? Again, too late to be of any worth in your fight. So, while I would love to help. I can’t so just… send me back.”
The air filled with that silent sound again.
The silent cracking of coal burning restlessly long into the night. Hammering away at the inside of the orb-like steel stove. Every inch of this place was foreign, even the silence was different.
“Please. I just wanna go home.” Third finally cried averting his own eyes as it all finally came out.
But that’s not how these stories go. And he knew that.
“…” Nothing came to the princess. And nothing came from Camilla.
The four wooden legs beneath Third groaned as he rose to his own. He didn’t know where they were taking him, but they were. And that was enough, he thought.
“Where are you going?” The princess shouted from through the doorway as she realized he was not just going to stretch.
The bitter expression once again stained her features. But only for a moment, after a sharp breath, her eyes filled with determination. She had faith, even if Third didn’t.
He was brought for a reason.
It was winter here. He hadn’t noticed when he was walking in the castle garden. But outside the walls, the snow still sat heavy in the wooded patches that dotted the lands beyond the castle. He hadn’t had an answer to her question back then. None of them, actually.
He did feel like he has something to prove, he always has. That is what made him so much more afraid of failure.
He didn’t know where he was going, but perhaps he would find out on the way. Or perhaps he always knew the destination and was simply afraid of taking the path. But here walking into a snowy night. Well, there is no one to hurt by that.
He wasn’t sure, and he knew he wasn’t thinking right, so he kept walking.
A gust of wind came, sending a glittering dance of snow to cut across the sparse woods. It was beautiful, but Third didn’t see it, he could only look.
But even that became not enough, a branch, or log, or cat, or rock came to beneath his foot and sent him face-first into the cold ground’s embrace.
He sputtered out the unfamiliar-tasting snow. ‘Even that?’ he wondered as he felt the final tinges of exasperation. Turning to face what had stumbled him, nothing but a dark mass appears under the moonlight.
“Technology.” He muttered under his breath pulling out his cracked Samsung. Holding the button for longer than should be necessary to turn it on –honestly though– the phone eventually illuminateed a comforting dull light across his muddy wet face. Flipping on the flashlight he returned his sight to the thing that tripped him.
A long thick stone, not quite cylindrical.
“1,2,3, … 10” Third finally mutters reaching his hand completely around the long fallen stone. “Ten-sided, deci…no, decagon.”
The more Third looked at the jet-black stone, the more intricate he realized it was. Far more than just a perfectly shaped stone, it also had a vast array of runes or inscriptions etched on every side.
And the more he unburied the more he found. Eventually, he concluded the stone was nearly 8 feet long, a foot in diameter, and both ends seemed to be cleanly sliced. The craftsmanship was astounding to him considering what he’d seen of this world up till now.
Another strong gust nearly undid his work but with a bat of his fist, he rejected the snow. The gust inevitably reminded him of his lack of real winter clothes. ‘What am I doing?’ he wondered as he looked at his muddied sweatshirt and jeans.
Shaking his head with a snort of a laugh he fell into the enlarged snowbank he had fashioned with the excess snow. He was tired. He stretched his arms and wriggled his body more comfortably into the deep packed snow.
As he moved his body, however, he realized the stone beside him had begun to emit heat. Not a ton, but enough to cause drips to form at its surface. Third noticed it immediately and pressed his bare hand to the stone once again.
It was true. There was heat.
Not sweltering heat, but warmth.
He pressed his burning cheek and ear to the stone and sighed in satisfaction. Soon he was wrapping his body around the stone entirely. It never got uncomfortable, simply emitting enough heat to burn off the chill.
If anyone walked up they would probably think he looked like an idiot but he didn’t care. This felt lifesaving, like when you get in your car and the heated seats finally start becoming noticeable.
‘A few more minutes, then I'll get up and keep going.’ he thought to himself a few times.
The gusts of wind however became stronger and deterred him each time. Soon as he glanced out he couldn’t even see the path he had trudged here.
‘Why not just keep hugging the rock a few more minutes’ he decided to think instead.
Exhaustion followed the thoughts and soon he drifted off to dream about normality, for when your life becomes your dreams, you’ll find your dreams are now grasping at your former life.
The fun days before the accident, playing tag with his dad on the testing grounds runway, going for drives as his parents bickered from the front seat casually, drinking tang in the breakrooms at the Newport office.
They had an N64 on the big projector screen and he and his father had snuck in there and played after the meetings were finished. His father wasn’t nearly as good at games as ten-year-old him, but he knew it was something Third enjoyed, so he played along anyways.
That was the kind of person he was, not a business genius. He was just a guy who got frustrated when he watched his character jump off the map.
And then, a car crash?
Really? On a 45-mph rural road? It’s a 10-minute drive, how? That doesn’t make sense.
Even ten years later it didn’t make sense.
And now people were looking at him while talking about what a genius his father was. News articles painted his story like something from a story book.
‘Are we talking about the same person?’ He had thought to himself while watching some of them.
The guy wasn’t Tony Stark, he was a dude who caught his bathrobe on fire while cooking sausages.
The sound of helicopters roused him momentarily from his dreamlike trance. But after some consideration, he realized it could only be the wind and tried his best to get comfortable once again in the snowbank.
But oddly he didn’t find it behind him, only finding more firm ground. On further inspection, the stone had cleared a ring of snow from around itself.
‘Impressive’ he thought. ‘I can’t imagine how much energy…’
He gave up on the thought after remembering his experience in physics class during his senior year of high school.
Retrieving his phone from his pocket to get a better look at the puddle, he grimaced at the notification of 'low battery' that met his eyes.
That wasn’t the only notification, however.
“What?” Third couldn’t help but utter as he noticed the text message.
He peeked to the corner of the screen almost by instinct, but it still reported 'no service' as it had earlier.
Another strong gust threw a handful of razors of snow into Third’s eyes forcing him to wince and turn opposite the newly oncoming wind.
“HEY, KID!” A voice reached from out the chilly night in the direction Third found himself now facing.
Third reacted slowly to the words and tone. Putting his phone down and returning his gaze to the scenery his eyes were met with the impossible.
“Finally. Come on, let’s get back. You must be freezing.” The owner of the voice continued to trudge through the snow towards him.
“Gary?” Third uttered still not fully comprehending the situation as reality and needing confirmation.
“Didn’t expect to see me, huh?” Gary laughed with a hand on his belly. “I may stay in the office most days, but I can do some field work when I need to. I can’t be caught slacking by our largest shareholder, can I?”
Finally reaching the empty puddle Third had awoken in, Gary removed his coat and wrapped it around his damp shivering figure.
“We can talk when we get back. For now, just get warm.”
Third didn’t argue and in a daze followed Gary’s lead. Around three hundred feet later Third’s eyes widened at the sight that met him.
Two tandem rotor helicopters stood quietly humming in the heavy wind. And they weren’t alone, a dozen or so people were talking on walkie-talkies around the perimeter of the improvised landing field.
Gazing up, a pair of smaller helicopters circled the area with large spotlights illuminating the pair as they exited the canopy cover of the forest.
The men in the field split into two groups half returning towards the helicopter further into the field while the other half came in Third’s direction to meet them.
“Good to see you're still in one piece.” Another familiar man said as he reached earshot. “We got the heaters on full blast, let’s get out of here.”
‘Why am I being escorted ‘home’ by my father’s second in command and his former driver?’ These two were often creatively termed the Arms, of A.R.M.S., The CEO Gary Podavani, and CSO Jeff Guntley. And if they were here, then what exactly did that mean?
A thousand thoughts were going through Third’s head but the moment he nestled into the rugged plush seat of the experimental aircraft, the moment he felt the heat blasting into the sealed cabin, his mind went blank as he drifted once again into drowsiness.
As the hum of the engines grew louder, he began to feel safer. Finally generating the guts to peer outside, he watched as the ground began to disappear from beneath them. Within moments the forest he had given up in began to grow small and the few distant buildings began to grow visible.
A few words brewed up in his chest as he sighted the buildings, but he swallowed them after a moment.
“Have you spoken with the merchants he arrived with?” ‘Princess’ Camilla asked a nervous-looking man dressed in a light form of armor consisting of planks of metal sewn into a form-fitting suit.
“We did your highness,” The man confirms with a quick nod of affirmation. “They have not heard from him, and when asked, they said that they had no idea where else he might go.”
“I see.” The princess brushed a hand behind her ear as if to tame some non-existent out-of-place strand. “Maintain the teams searching outside the manor and collect any information on strange people or anyone selling other strange items.”
“Yes, your highness. We will find him.”
“And alert me when the team sent to investigate his crash site returns.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That is all, dismissed.” The princess said plainly without acknowledging the man’s salute After watching his form leave the room and ensuring she was alone she finally released a held breath.
She had faith, but not necessarily in them. Twisting her palm, she looked at the small emblems engraved into the medallion hanging on her wrist.