It took Flanagan a small amount of minutes to make a small batch of his formula and

let it sit. He noted that after a few minutes it would solidify into a hard shell.

How did he apply that to make armor?

He realized he could do a chestpiece with a tailor’s dummy using a shirt. He couldn’t

build the rest into a suit unless he created pieces to protect him like ancient armor. He

would still need to drill holes once he had the pieces set out to put in ties so he could

wear everything, unless he used pockets.

He sat down and thought about that for a minute. He could make pads and then use

pockets to seal them inside the suit. He frowned at that. It would work great unless

the cloth was destroyed. The pads would fall out of place.

He needed a way to keep the fluid still fluid but also capable of taking the impact he

had already seen. If he couldn’t do that, he would have to settle for making a

bulletproof vest and wear that under his clothes from then on.

He thought about the potential armor for a while. His experiment had protected him

from a stick of dynamite as it blew into fragments. He was lucky to still have his legs,

but he hadn’t been seriously hurt.

He considered that he had been the target. It made sense except for the weapon used.

Why hadn’t they used a gun when he left the factory? That made more sense unless

they wanted to kill part of the crew too, possibly wreck the place just enough to

knock it out of business but not enough where it would cost a lot to renovate.

How soon would it take for them to try again?

He had too many variables and he wasn’t sure if Courtland was behind the attack. He

needed to make sure before his board tried to muscle him out on the street.

If he had the armor, he could sell that to the government for the war effort. That

would take things out of his hands except as the maker of the armor. The problem was

he couldn’t figure out a way to make it mobile.

If he could solve that problem, the Army would pay through the nose to have a

regiment of bulletproof soldiers.

And that would stop any problems with Courtland trying to buy the company.

He got the log book. He looked at the formula for the mix. He frowned as the letters

moved in his head as he looked at the chemicals and how much of each he had used.

He saw some shifting of ingredients as he thought about making a more flexible mix.

He wrote down a formula on the next page of the log book with his pen.

He regarded the new formula, comparing it to the old one. This might be what he

wanted. He had to make a batch and see what happened when he dipped a shirt in it.

Flanagan smiled. Once he had a suit, he just needed to test it to see what it could do

under pressure.

He got a suit out of his office. He frowned when he realized he was almost out of

spare clothes. He would have to bring some more down when he had time. He put

everything on hangers and hooks on the wall next to his working area.

He pulled the chemicals he needed from the shelves. He mixed everything together

as precisely as possible. When he sold the formula to the Army, he would have to buy

blenders and tubes to place each mix in its bowl to come down an assembly line.

The workers would have to be aware to keep the stuff moving, or the hoses empty.

Once it was frozen in place, they would have to take the hoses apart and replace the

blocked section.

Flanagan poured his mix into a vat. He put the frozen mix in a bowl on a shelf. When

he had time, he would try to chisel the stuff out of the bowl so he could use it later.

He took his suit, folded everything up, and stacked that in the vat inside the mix. He

placed his shoes on top. He shut the lid and set the timer. Once the timer went off, he

would pull his things out and test them.

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If they were as bulletproof as his original experiment and easier to wear he should be

one step closer to what he wanted.

The timer went off as he thought about other things he could put to work. His mind

seemed to generate methods all by itself. He wrote most of his ideas down in his

logbook so he could use them later.

He opened the vat. He grabbed tongs and reached into the vat. He pulled out his suit

and shoes. He frowned at the color change first. The suit had been a brown when he

put it in, now it was blueish purple. Then the suit had looked tacky to the touch. He

realized that he should have put the items in one at a time. He pried them apart with

heavy work gloves so he didn’t have any of the stuff cover his own hands.

Flanagan shook his head. He should have thought about putting everything in

separately. That was stupid of him.

He hung the clothes up on the hooks. He realized he should have put down a drop

cloth first. He went and grabbed an old painter’s cloth and dropped it under the

hanging clothes. He placed the shoes upside down on the cloth at the edge.

He had really flubbed this. He checked the vat. He still had enough of the mix to try

another test. He just needed more clothes.

Would the material stay fluid while he went and got another suit and shoes?

He watched as the excess dripped off his hanging clothes. He frowned as the color

remained. Maybe he had done some of the needed things the wrong way, but he still

might have his suit of armor.

He waited and watched. The drop cloth turned purple under the clothes. He wondered

if he should install a heat lamp to dry new suits faster.

Flanagan waited until nothing else fell on the drop cloth before he touched the jacket

with the tongs. They didn’t stick to the material. He grabbed the sleeve with the tongs

and pulled. The sleeve stretched for a few inches, but no further.

He smiled as he put the tongs aside. The mix hadn’t moved from the cloth to the steel

at all. Would it be as bulletproof as the original hardened mix he had invented first?

He hung the suit jacket on his impromptu shooting range. He got his thirty eight and

loaded it. He fired at the jacket. The bullets hit but didn’t go through. The suit jacket

filled the dents as he watched.

He got a knife and tried to stab the jacket. The point turned aside. He tried to cut it

with scissors. The blades wouldn’t close. He got his lighter and held the flame to a

sleeve. Nothing happened.

Would it stand up to a stick of dynamite?

He didn’t have a way to test that other than getting blown up. He decided he didn’t

need another trip to the hospital.

Flanagan had a suit of armor for protection. Could it be worn? What kind of

procedures could he put in place to mass produce the thing for others? Why was it

dark purple?

He decided that he could wear the suit jacket over his regular shirt and pants. He

didn’t want to test the whole thing out if he didn’t need it.

He pulled the suit jacket on. He stretched this way and that to make sure the thing

would move with him. He smiled at the smoothness.

He decided he needed to take a nap. In the morning, he would have to go to the office

and talk to Coutri about the contracts and the security force he needed. Then he

needed to change his will so his company would not fall into the wrong hands.

His board members were okay in their way, but they had no clue about how things

worked outside their boardrooms.

Selling his company would be number one on their agenda if he couldn’t put a stop

to things.

He needed to make sure Courtland was responsible, or knew what was going on,

before he tried to do anything against the man. Once he had an idea, he could try to

gather evidence to hand over to Dern.

Others could be vigilantes, but he had responsibilities to his employees and his

customers. Running around in a mask was not something he could just do because he

wanted to do that.

He hoped he could settle things without a prolonged war. The contracts with the

government could fall through if this carried on too long. His company could lose one

contract but not every contract afterwards which is what he was looking at if

Courtland did try to damage his factories and chemical plants.

If he couldn’t secure contracts with the government in a reliable way, most of his

business would dry up. Then he would have to lay people off.

He wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

Flanagan decided to take his jacket out and wear it around. If nothing happened to it,

then he had a bulletproof piece of cloth as light as anything made. If the formula did

something to the fabric, then it was back to the drawing board.

He didn’t see any disadvantages. And it was late enough that the streets wouldn’t be

full of people. He could hit any late night place that was open, get something to eat,

and then come back to work on anything else that he might like to do.

And when his mind needed to shut down, he could take a nap without worrying about

anyone breaking into his lab.

He made sure he had his money. He needed to get his identification replaced as soon

as possible. He would have to go down to the license office and get one sometime

between all the meetings he foresaw.

Flanagan took one look around before he stepped out and locked up his lab. He

scanned the hall as he went upstairs. The factory looked like it was going full steam.

He waved at one of the supervisors before he crossed the factory to the door.

At least no one was throwing dynamite at him.

He walked down to the guard box, stepping around the arm blocking the drive. He

waved at the guard. He turned and headed down the road. He could see the lights of

the city and the walking felt good to his addled brain.

The impact of bullets against his back threw him down where he stood.