Daniel Greene
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Plant Thirty Two
🕑 Added 2019-07-02 02:04:45 +0000 UTCPreamble
I think I am more nervous to share this story with you all than I was to put out my first YouTube video. I don't know if it is good, but it is meant to be me stretching my writing muscles.
I ended up doing a lot of research into the steelmaking process and used maybe 1% of it. Turns out reading about the making of steel is not exactly great fantasy story material. Good use of a massive amount of the 48 hours I gave myself :P
This is the first time I have shared something I have written. Please be honest in your feedback and enjoy a small story meant to introduce The Empire.
The Pant:
“For the last time girl, give me the slip or I’ll take your fingers!” Romi said with mirth. The only reaction his hollow threat received was a screaming giggle from the tiny girl that had invaded his office, and a burst of speed. The child sprinted towards the door leading out from his office, onto the catwalk overlooking the floor of the steel mill. A place no child would be safe, let alone a child blindly sprinting.
Romi feigned a desperate grab for the paper in the trickster's hands, causing the child to focus on lifting the paper out of reach, and not dodging him altogether. With a simple twist of momentum, Romi grabbed the stick-like wrist of the Lost One, and lifted her into the air with such force her black curly hair bounced a couple extra times before settling. The raw glee that had previously dominated her grease smeared face died. Fear and tinges of panic replaced them, and Romi was struck with a pang of guilt.
He knew children enjoyed playing with him due to his bushy black and grey beard, and immense size. Romi even had a striking resemblance to the description of a folktale character often used to cheer up children in the gloomy winters. Couple that with what most people called jovial demeanor, and most young ones under ten tried to climb him like a human mountain.
A small child growing up on the street though was probably only used to being grabbed out of aggression; or possibly as a preamble for punishment. Romi had ruined the game.
“I am sorry little devil. I don’t mean to scare you. I just don’t think it’s safe for you to go sprinting out into a catwalk above vats of molten metal.” Romi said, easing the child to the ground. Her breath was fast and shallow, and Romi suspected that it was more from fear than running. It would ruin the day if he did not make the child laugh again before his shift was over. He racked his brain trying to think of something to amuse the child.
Instead what struck Romi was the fact his office had been locked before he walked in. Yet, when he entered, this child was sitting on his desk holding the slip of paper now clenched tightly in her small, dirt-covered hands. The plant had decent security, but these damn orphans were everywhere.
“How did you manage to get into my office anyway?” He asked with what he hoped was a friendly grin. It seemed the grin was closer to that of a wolf’s. As soon as he let go of her tiny arm, the girl darted for his office door and left the slip of paper floating to the ground.
Good job Romi, you scared the girl. He thought, walking to pick up the report from one of the plant’s many foremen. It would be useless for him to chase her now that she was out of his office. One of the many workers would intercept her before she got close to any dangerous areas, he was sure. It would be impossible to catch her regardless. His permanent limp made sure of that.
The Lost Ones were becoming a very real problem. Keeping them all out of the plant was nigh impossible. Even if he set four or five of his workers the sole duty of keeping them out, the slippery little bastards always found ways in. The children loved to distract his workers. Getting attention from adults, even bothered as his people might be, was the closest thing many of them had to parenting. There has to be something we can do here to keep them busy, safe, and supervised.
Romi sat in his desk chair, read the report, and opened the desk drawer containing the candies the girl had obviously been hunting for. Not today, he thought scanning the document.
The plant was where most of the remaining able-bodied people in nearby towns spent twelve to fourteen hours a day. Only the elderly and crippled were left to watch hordes of children. Children who ended up sneaking out and either following what remained of their families here to work, or had no family left, and simply wanted to be around active people.
The report in his hand detailed the steel output for the previous day. From the mouths of the sixty giant egg-like converters here, two hundred and five pounds of steel had been produced. Above the plant’s average, but not remarkable. Far more wrought iron and pig iron had been produced. But iron was not what imperial officials had been breathing down his neck about. Steel was what won wars now. The miracle metal made better guns, cannons, ship plating, really all mechanisms of war.
A note had been scrawled on the bottom reminding Romi of the visit from imperial officials today. Inspections happened often, and it seemed at random the plant was either given honors or reprimanded for its output. The high royals knew how the production was limited. Chemists had spent years developing the current steelmaking process. While the resulting steel was brittle, it was the most efficient output method ever seen. Unless Plant Thirty Two was given more converters and workers, nothing more could be done.
He placed the slip back on his desk and leaned back in his chair looking out his office’s one window. The sun was near its zenith. The mist covered barren hills of the countryside seemed to glow on the warm summers rays. What had once been the forests of his childhood, was now a resource farm for the war effort. He missed those hills having trees. “To win wars, all must sacrifice.” The mantra of the war effort came to his lips, almost on pure instinct.
Romi never questioned Imperial Will. Such thoughts were treason without question. Yet, he did not envy the children of this generation. Really any generation younger than his sixty-seven years. He had just left childhood when The One Above arrived in the capital city from the sky. Before his arrival, the greatest weapon man had conceived of was a musket. A clunky, horrible weapon that required minutes to even reload.
Even the metals back then had been crude at best. The process for removing impurities pathetic. Now rifles loaded with cartridges, metal-plated shaped ships, and cannons with accuracy at great range dominated the battlefield. All gifts from The One Above.
In the time between The One Above’s descent into the land and now, Imperial Will had been almost entirely realized. What had previously been the semi-dominate trade nation, was now The Empire. The entire continent was nearly under imperial protection. Only the Kingdom of Itha to the north east remained resistant. Held up in castles within their mountains that touched the sky, only their natural landscape kept them free. The Kingdom’s resistance did not matter. Just like everyone of the other eleven Kingdom before it, Itha would be brought under the shade of the empire with blood and steel.
Every pound of steel produced at this plant would be converted into weapons used to bring peace. Once those who resisted Imperial Will were defeated, the unjust King of Itha would be executed. The people of Itha would be free to live under imperial rule, and all the resources currently being driven into the war effort would go into raising the population's quality of life.
If only, if only.
The door to Romi’s office opened, admitting Jome, a foreman in charge of one of the many crews operating today. A good man to his core, Jome had worked for Romi for several years now. He was tall, and fairly handsome. Even under the layers of grime that coated his face, the square chin and pale blue eyes would make many swoon for him. Unfortunately once he opened his mouth, and the harsh Shyrin accent of the south assaulted whoever was listening, much of the attraction would die.
“Everything well?” Romi asked. His booming voice seemed to never come out as softly as he would like. Luckily Jome’s time at this plant meant he probably expected nothing less.
“Yeah,” He chirped in that irritating accent. Jome stayed near the doorway, clearly eager to get back to watching over his men. “The imperial delegation is in town. Probably be here in an hour.”
That was not accurate. If the imperial delegation moved from the town to the plant at the same lumbering pace as tired industrial workers in the morning, they would have been here in an hour. But accounting for the time it would take for word to have gotten here from the town, to his office, the delegation was likely on his plant’s doorstep. No greeting prepared. He had not even washed his face and hands. His skin was dark, but not dark enough to hide the stains of working a day here.
Romi stood. “Get Shira and meet me at the main gate. Do your best to look presentable and, please, keep your mouth shut while the delegation is here.”
Jome smiled at the comment. “Yes sir.”
He was out the door before the last word had fully left his mouth. Jome certainly was not self conscious about the way he talked. No one from Shyrin was. They were a proud people who had fought hard in their war. Now, all Shyrin’s were loyal subjects. Those who had fought the hardest had even been forgiven their resistance. In fact, many now fought in the north to bring down Itha.
Romi stepped over to the sink he had a crew install in the corner. The plant was lucky enough to have running water. Another one of The One Above’s gifts that was rapidly becoming more common. Installing a sink within his own office had been a major request, but after decades of service and asking for very little, it had been approved. Romi also suspected the imperials liked the idea of management having their own source of running water in their offices. After all, if a plant manager could have a sink running in his office, then certainly a regent should as well.
Emperor bless bureaucracy. Romi thought as he splashed cool water over his face and hands. The water spilling down the drain was black with soot.
Romi did not have time to make sure everything in the plant was in order one last time before the delegation arrived, but as he walked from his office to the main gate, he surveyed his men. Everything he saw made him swell with pride.
Cranes moved vats of molten metal from furnaces to converters. The orange glow coloring everything. Men and women walked between the massive pieces of equipment diligently doing their work. There certainly was chaos to any plant, but order seemed to emerge if you watched long enough. You just had to know what to look for.
From his vantage point on the catwalk, everything seemed to be running without a hitch. Directly beneath him, a converter began to have hot air pumped into it, causing a reaction that would result in some of the pig iron within to turn into the precious steel. Briefly, blue light erupted from the furnace as impurities burnt off.
Many other plants just like this one were in the nearby country. Several operating even more furnaces and converters than were within the limiting walls here. But Romi took pride in the fact that no other plant was as efficient at utilizing the resources provided by the empire as his own. Other plants of similar size put out pounds less of steel a day. Plant Thirty Two brought pride to the empire.
Romi passed over the last of the converters and walked down a narrow spiral staircase into a break room. The three men on break gave respectful nods and resumed their food and conversation. Romi had never demanded more from them, and never would. Only those in imperial uniforms asked for more than a respectful nod after all.
After passing through several more rooms, Romi reached an exit into the plant courtyard. The gravel under foot ground loudly as he walked toward the front gate roughly one hundred yards down a similarly graveled road. Outside the plant, if it wasn’t barren dirt, it was likely gravel.
He passed the plants smithy, a small secondary mess hall, and the medical facility. Since the new safety standards had been passed down, the accident rate had plummeted. Hard hats, insulated gloves, and eye protection were gifts from a god. Of course things still went wrong. Last month one of the newer night shift boys had fallen from a catwalk into one of the massive vats of molten metal. No one was sure if he had been drunk, or simply careless. The report stated there had been one small yell as he fell, then only a splash of fire.
When Romi arrived at the looming, black, metal gate, the two guards on duty turned to him and nodded. Their grey uniforms with orange highlights signifying a role as guards of an industrial complex. Of course, there had never been an attack here. The war with Itha was nearly a thousand miles away, and no rebels had been in this area for the better half of a decade.
Still the soldiers stationed around small towns and by industrial complexes such as this one did their jobs well. They protected locals from any outlaws, stopped children from forming any gangs, and listened to town elders about problems they saw forming within the town. They were the law and order provided by the empire.
“How’s the day treating you Romi?” the soldier on the left of the gate asked. Romi recognized the man, but could not recall a name.
“Bout as well as can be expected. Still can’t stop hearing that damn ringing.” For weeks now a ringing had been haunting Romi. A piercing noise that might drive him mad one day. It prevented him from sleeping most nights. He had told the soldiers about it on the third day of non-stop noise, and a dispatch had been sent to the capital.
The ringing was a known medical condition, common among those working in factories. Any cases were to be reported for possible later examinations. A result of one of the first decrees handed down in the early days of The One Above’s rule. An institution entirely devoted to researching and curing illnesses of all kinds. In only a few years of hard work, death from disease had dropped to a fraction of what it once had been.
The One Above had passed on the knowledge of how tiny organisms the human eye could not see was responsible for all illnesses. Something that seemed like an impossibility or a joke, but who would question word from the one above all others? Besides, the laws of sanitation had resulted in a decrease in illness. The proof was that simple. Again, god had solved a world problem with one decree.
The Institute of Health was one of many creations in the last few decades that had revolutionized aspects of society. Yet, for some unknowable reason to Romi, people still resisted. Life was better in the empire. Few starved, crime was low, and technology was improving at a pace that seemed to violate history itself.
The only drawback was the amount sent to war. Thousands died every day to spread Imperial Will, but it was a sacrifice well worth it. What was the blood of a few generations versus a utopia for all to come? It was a price worth paying over tenfold; a hundredfold if need be.
“You should be getting a response from the capital soon Rom, I promise you that,” the soldier on the left said. The Soldier on the right nodded in affirmation. He had one more stripe on his arm declaring a slightly higher rank.
Why can I never keep all the ranks straight in my head? Is three or four a sergeant? Romi thought pulling a smoke from his jacket pocket and lighting it with a modified flintlock.
Romi turned to the guard on the right and offered his hand. “I don’t believe we have met.”
“Jimson,” the man replied shaking his hand firmly. His soldier’s hand felt soft when compared to his own. Not to say there were not calluses, but not the same as someone working in the plant, even someone in management.
“Nice to meet you,” Romi replied, taking a drag from his smoke.
The sound of footsteps on gravel announced the arrival of Jome and Shira. Romi turned and nodded to them in greeting.
Jome’s nerves were clearly on edge now that he was actually awaiting the inspectors to arrive. This was the first time Romi had asked for his assistance in this. Jome’s hands were shaking slightly at his sides and sweat was beading on his forehead despite the cool day. He had taken the time to wipe his face, but Romi doubted the towel had even been more than damp, and certainly not clean. The soot on his face was simply smeared around in swirls instead of streaks.
Shira walked next to him and as always was exuding youth and glee. She was the master smith of the plant, and was known in the region as a savant of her craft. Romi was sure she had spent the entire walk from the plant ribbing Jome for his obvious nervousness. The entire empire could catch fire and all Shira would have to say was a crude joke. She was one of the few people who actually seemed to enjoy her work at Plant Thirty Two.
Romi opened his mouth to ask about the state of the smithy when a sentry bell from one of the towers began sounding.
“It seems your envoy is here,” Jimson stated as he un-slung his rifle and checked to see if a cartridge was loaded. It did not matter who was expected, the guards prepared for a fight if someone approached the plant.
Soon after, twelve guards escorting a carriage came into sight over the nearest hill. The white uniforms of guards assigned to look after royals nearly glowed in the sun. Rifles on shoulders and steps in perfect unison, they seemed more a decoration than fighting force. It would be a serious mistake to think of them not as a threat. To become assigned to the royal guard, a soldier had to go through the empire’s most rigorous training. Over half that tried failed, and more than a few died in the process.
When they finally reached the gate, Romi threw his smoke on the gravel road and ground out the butt with his black workmen's boots. There was nothing he could do for the smell, but he was used to the stench of the plant. It was likely those in the envoy would not smell the smoke over the stench of metal being worked, even if he blew a cloud directly in their faces. A crime that would have been worth lashings if he was stupid enough to actually do it.
Three figures emerged from the carriage. Two men and a woman. One man was clearly a high officer with enough shiny metal decorating his arm to give away his position in the blackest of night. His dark clean cut hair spoke of time away from war and behind a desk.
The second man was one of The Academy’s wizards. His night blue students' coat and black trousers screamed academia. While taking the two steps required down from the carriage, he somehow managed to need to push his spectacles up his nose three times. The way his coat tails seemed to be tangled in his legs certainly did not help the matter.
As soon as the woman came within sight the atmosphere changed. The guards went from being at attention to stiff as stone statues. Jome forgot himself to whisper, “Fuck me” under his breath. And Shira took two steps back. A flat out scream from any other women.
She was one of the Blessed. Black combat gear covered her head to toe. The Blessed’s uniforms were art. Black swirls in the design of the cloth were complemented by matte black armored pads on the shoulders and chest. It was all designed to conform to the body, and be lightweight. Her body moved with the grace that spoke of either dance or death. Two pistols shown on the right side of her belt; their grips facing away from each other to be grabbed by either hand. The uniform was completed by a sword on the Blessed’s left hip.
A sword of that make was almost as infamous as the Blessed themselves. The naturally pure white metal only came from one source in the whole empire, god himself. No one knows how it was made, but seven of the fifty Blessed had been deemed worthy of weapons made of the white material. The metal never dulled, cutting through nearly anything it came in contact with. The blade of the sword could be submerged into the hottest forges in existence and the handle would remain cool. Many claimed they were simply unbreakable.
Romi dropped to one knee, completely unsure of how to react to being in the presence of one of the chosen. As soon as his knee hit the gravel, and pain lanced up his bad knee, he realized this was not the appropriate response. He was debating if it would be even worse to stand his rather large body back up, or remain in the awkward position. He was still debating this as the sound of footsteps on gravel brought the delegation inside Plant Thirty Two’s grounds.
“Are you having trouble with your laces?” A male voice said.
Romi looked up to see the officer looking down at him. Romi pushed himself back up with a grunt. He was not sure if the officer was giving him an out or mocking. Either way he was happy to take it.
“Uhh, yes.” Romi mumbled. All confidence had left his voice. “This is not a typical inspection I assume.”
A grin spread across the officers face. “No, and you must be Romi. I have heard very good things.” He extended his hand and Romi took it.
Romi could not help but glance over to the Blessed repeatedly during this small exchange. She stood relaxed among the guards who were all clearly trying not to ease in her presence.
“I am Sergeant Major Clev, and this...” he said gesturing to a wizard who happened to be in the middle of pushing his spectacles back up his face. “...is second sorcerer to the grand chemist Dumsil.” The wizard halfheartedly waved his left hand, while pulling a small vile from his breast pocket and swallowing its contents. Clev seemed bothered by this, but quickly refocused on Romi.
“We are here officially on paper as part of an inspection, but no one with a brain actually believes that because of Avi here.” Clev then gestured to the Blessed.
The Blessed seemed to take this as a signal and began to walk over. Instinctively Romi took a blind step back and seemed to crush Jome’s foot with a large portion of his body weight. The man let out a small squawk and jerked his foot away.
The Blessed seemed to choose not to notice this and extended a hand to Romi. “I look forward to working with you for the next few days.” Romi flinched away from her hand, and she smiled in response. “I have never killed someone loyal to the empire Romi, and I do not plan to any time soon.”
Blushing, Romi shook the woman’s hand. It seemed normal enough, softer than the soldiers he had taken earlier. He just could not process what was happening. One of the deadliest things in existence was physically touching him.
“What did you ask for?” Shira blurted out.
Romi turned to hear. Shira seemed to be more excited than anything else. Her eyes darted to Avi’s sword, then back up to the woman. A second later, back down to the weapon, then back up to Avi.
Clev let out a curt laugh. “I forgot the effect you have on people Avi.” He looked over Jome and Shira both with a completely neutral expression.
“It is okay” She replied with a smile. “I asked to be very good at what I do. What do you do here? What is your name?”
Shira’s face lit up. “I am Shira, and I am a master smith… or I am the master smith here.”
Avi smiled in return. “Can’t be over thirty and already a master smith.” She looked over to Clev. “The master smith.” Putting extra emphasis on the master.
Clev looked Shira up and down in a calculating manner. “This plant is beholden to many geniuses it seems.” He looked back to Jome. “And who are you my friend?”
Jome seemed to decide overwhelming confidence was the proper tone to take. “I am a foremen here. Romi’s right hand man is what they say.”
Romi suppressed a scoff. He had spoken to Jome maybe twice this week. He did not blame the man though. They seemed to have been socially ambushed here.
“Right.” Romi said and looked back to Clev. “May I take you to my office so we can discuss what this is about.”
“Shira and Jome here can fill you in on the way on how the plant has been doing. They will verify that everything is running smoothly, and our output is at max possible capacity.”
A smile pulled on Clev’s lips. “That will not be necessary. We will only need to speak with you Romi.” He turned to Shira and Jome. “Would you show Avi here the forge and plant grounds. She insists on being shown every inch of this place before we settle in.”
Shira nodded blurting out, “Of course!” and Jome gave an awkward salute.
On the way to what Romi suspected would soon no longer be his office, Clev asked surprisingly well-informed questions while the wizard remained silent. Clev’s questions touched on the exact mixtures required to make certain types of metals as well as the process for burning off impurities. The man had clearly done his research. This only made Romi more nervous about his future.
The wizard only spoke once the entire walk, asking about the age of the converters. When Romi replied that they all varied in age, the small man had pulled out a book from another jacket pocket and began taking notes. His pace did not slow as he wrote, and the wizards lack of looking where he was walking was a habit that would have to be broken.
They entered the small office space and Clev gestured towards the chair behind the desk. “Please, sit. I do not want you to take any special measures on my behalf.”
Romi hesitated but decided it would be better not to question something that could be interpreted as an order. He sat in the chair and Clev walked over to the sink, unbuttoned his sleeves, and began rinsing his hands and face. The wizard stood in a corner and continued his writing.
“My lord I cannot tell you how nice it is to be back among regular people.” He looked over to Romi who was trying to hide surprise at the statement. “I am from near here. Well not near, but closer than you might believe. You may not believe me, but Avi is the most normal person I have worked within years.”
“You’re right.” Romi replied. “I don’t think I can believe you.” He then glanced at Dumsil scribbling in the corner and decided the statement might actually have some merit to it.
Clev let out a chuckle and turned to face him.
“I already owe you an apology.” He sat in the wooden chair in front of the desk. “We obviously came here under a ruse.”
“Yes.” Romi replied. “Now can you tell me honestly why?”
Clev smiled his small smile again. “Why yes. Yes I can.”
“What is it then?” Romi said. He leaned back in his chair trying to consciously make himself relax his back muscles.
“How much steel do you put out a week from one converter?” Clev asked.
Romi exhaled. He had begun to suspect something along these lines. “Between fifty to sixty pounds. Terribly inefficient compared to almost any other metal and a lot of it is brittle.”
Clev looked over to Dumsil. “And how much will be produced with your new coating?”
Dumsil finally looked up from his book. “Depends on how much pig iron you have.”
Romi looked between them confused. “We have as much pig iron as you could possibly need. It’s the fact that phosphorus metals make up most of it that is slowing…”
“That is no longer an issue.” The wizard cut him off. “Add acid through limestone and the phosphorus will rise to the top.” He put his small notebook back into his pocket and looked Romi in the eye. “Skim what rises to the surface off and you will have the greatest steel ever produced here.”
Romi took a second to think over what was just said. When he finally spoke he said, “Is this theoretical or..”
“No, but not done on mass scale yet. I believe we will now be able to make well over one hundred tons of steel per converter in a day.” The wizard said, again cutting him off.
A large grin now split Clev’s face. “Congratulations Romi. You now head the first plant that will be used to flood the world with perfect steel. The plant that will produce the steel to crush the kingdom of Itha to the north. You will retire an imperial, and go down in the history books.”
Romi realized he was having trouble breathing. He inhaled deeply and said, “Why only here?”
Clev sat back in his chair. His grin slightly fading. “The empire has had secrets leak before. That will not be allowed to happen here. One plant we can control.”
A pit formed in Romi’s stomach. “My staff?”
“Will be kept under watch until the war is won.”
“And after?”
Clev’s smile faded entirely. “They will be let free as long as they have been proven loyal to the empire. This I swear to you.”
This did lessen Romi’s fear. Imperials always kept their word and he had provided Romi an out without having to force him to ask the question directly. The empire had become rapidly more protective of its secrets in recent years. Itha’s guns were now rivaling that of imperial forces and there was no way that could have been possible without leaks happening over the years.
A noise at the window caused Clev to jerk in his chair and reach for his pistol. Romi looked as well and saw the girl from before staring in at them. How she had gotten into Romi’s office became clear. The uneven brick provided perfect handholds for tiny fingers.
The girl tried to descend, but the wizard began to glow with a faint light and a harsh twisting of the air extended from his now outstretched hand. The girl floated off the wall and hovered in the air for a moment. Humming filled the air as the magic was used, and a sharp metallic taste filled Romi’s mouth. Clev walked over and opened the window fully. The wizard adjusted his hand and the girl floated inside.
Romi was frozen in place. Not from fear, but physically lacked the ability to move. It was only then he realized the wizards left hand was pointed at him. You can never see a wizard use magic on yourself. He thought. Only on others.
The wizard lowered his right hand but kept his left trained on Romi. Clev took the child’s hand and lead her to the wooden chair. He made her sit and began removing the hair from in front of her face.
“Unfortunately my friend, while your men will be under my personal protection, all possible leaks from this location must be stopped at all costs.” The girl began to tremble as Clev continued stroking her curly hair.
Clev looked to Dumsil. “If we are to trust those we questioned about life at a plant, the Lost Ones will be nearly impossible to keep out.” An imperial accent that had previously been hidden filled his voice.
