My days have been consumed by work. I finished my quest, took me four days--plus a sanity break of tinkering—but I got the units done. I would say this, that and experience woo! Save Merc Arms, an Astorian Crafts subsidiary, messaged me with some wonky ass bullshit.
“Tova, I’m hearing a lot of hedging from you, just drop it on me for fucks sake.”
Fine! Merc Arms does not like your powder’s aether decay spectrum and want you to test your recipe with enchanted corundum powder instead of imbued salt peter. They’ve done the calculations and they predict the merge will have an increase of 15% energy yield and 73% increased stability for storage. Additionally, they have built you a gun, and the apparatus to make the bullets you want.
Well shit Tova, they want to hand me a whole world, of course I want to see where this goes. What’s the catch?
Video conference, and they come to us for the rounds of testing. Bullets, gun, the works.
Empress, I need this Tova. Tell them, I need a kilo of this dust, for free, a kilo of Astorian wood pulp, preferably dried, and I will be amenable to a piracy of a deal when I make it work. Seconds go by before Tova replies and a thud hits my desk before she says anything.
There’s your answer, get to work.
At three grams a test, I have like 600 tests that I can run and run them I do. They suggested I substitute the aether crystal powder for the salt-peter, but I’m feeling I can bind the crystals to an aether-charged cellulose construct before the next two imbuement processes that I need to do—hence the wood pulp.
I blow myself up a mere three times before I get a workable hit. The result is twice as volatile with 40% more flame speed, but stable at 50C, the trick being, it needs an aether ignition, which I don’t know how to build.
Oh hells, why does this feel like it would have been more difficult without the divine aether?
Because divine aspect aether is a belief construct that is powered by faith?
Make It gross why don’t you.
I don’t have the aether left to make another batch, but as soon as I can reproduce this with the remaining two hundred grams I will send the results back to Merc Arms with my notes.
I wander back to the Cantina and don’t take my food to go this time. I just freaking eat there and no one called me on it. I was hoping that folks would become inured to my presence and it seems to have finally worked. Because karma works this way, another executive walks over and sits down in front of me to either study me or chew my ass.
“Good afternoon, Kimber. My name is Carlos. It has come to my attention that you make some items that encroach on my merchandise. As the Org.’s new Alchemist, I can’t tell you not to make stuff, but I am telling you not to sell stims, or other drugs on Warram turf.”
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Really? The Org has an executive drug dealer? “I hear what you’re saying. If people come to my office for such things I will happily turn them away. However, if the Execs put in an order, I’m making it. Those stim chews and a localized pain blocker is all I have recipes for that might cross over.”
“Are they ordering big from you?” He clenches his fists but his tone stays level.
“A batch of 50 stims and ten blockers. Seems like a test amount of both.”
“Let me explain a different way. If your product starts infringing on my business, I expect a cut.” He stands and leans forward on the table. “Your mentor isn’t around to bend the rules for you anymore, little girl.” He takes a piece of my fish and pops it in his mouth. Idiot. I can see the moment the aether starts to burn his throat by the widening of his eyes. He begins coughing moments later, under the mistaken impression that it’s caught in his throat. Well, it might be, depending on how hard his body is trying to reject it. Then he makes mistake number two by grabbing my drink to try and wash it down.
I ramped up to a decent tolerance the twelve weeks leading up to my initialization. After being inoculated with a symbiote, my ability to mitigate and use aether jumped significantly. After that, I have near constantly ingested aether to keep my alchemic pursuits going for the last few months. That fish I supplemented my infused meal with tingles a bit for me to eat. I do it for a tolerable—and somewhat wasteful—surge of aether.
It might be best if he induced vomiting, but there is a high probability that the look on his face as he tries to hold on to the table intends me harm should he reach me. I pick up my plate and move to another table.
“Tova, alert on-duty medical that a drug dealer named Carlos has acute aether poisoning, possible mutation incoming.”
You realize you can do that by thinking about switching to messaging yes?
Yeah, but this way, people can hear me call for medical. With the number of folks that seem to want to take a piece out of my hide, plausible deniability is a friend.
You’re okay with just letting him squirm there?
Yes on three accounts. One, I don’t know where to take him. Two, I cannot carry him myself. Three and consistent with my pattern of my behavior: He was being an ass and was trying to steal food. The funny part is that his success is the problem. Are we going to have a moral clash over this?
Not in this case, as I have done the math and he is unlikely to die, but I want to hear your motivations and for you to voice them to yourself. There’s a dark part of yourself that you keep at bay, but what happens when you stop resisting?
Blarg, feelings, my one weakness! That question is the exact reason I cling to relationships so fiercely. Feeling a relentless affection for Marcella has been a gift and a curse, but I’m happier and healthier for it.
Perhaps text Pixie-haired Jamie? You need friends more than you need a girlfriend, but I’m not sure how much it really matters.
I’m shaken from my musings by a light touch on my shoulder.
“Are you the one that called in the alert for Mr. Mancia?” The man asks, a tired and calm face being held with the remaining scraps of his alertness.
“I am. I have a heavily infused diet, and this man decided to steal some food and wash it down with infused juice.”
“On a scale from One Earth to Ten Astoria, how dense of aether are we talking?”
“Oof, like a fifteen? The fish is from Elysium.” The man immediately takes two steps back and looks at me like I have horns or something.
“Are you okay?”
“Hmm?” I say, taking another bite. “Oh, yah. It tingles and I’m overdoing it a little, but as long as I don’t do this more than two times a week, I should be fine to bleed off the excess aether. I’m a magic crafter. Gotta make up for the void that is Earth.”
“You should get a check-up all the same.”
I wave the man off, “I have an appointment with Doctor Medvedev on Friday. I’ll be fine until then.” He nods and types a few things into his interface while giving me a side-eye stare intermittently.
He asks me for a statement of what happened, and I send him my record. Tova said he wasn’t going to die, but there’s still a chance that the mutation makes him violent enough to be put down. Marcella might be right about saying trouble has a way of following me. On my way out I ping Daniella my meal choice and what happened in case she had advice for them about aether poisoning and left without another word.