The following week, nothing has happened to my meals, but there is a man shackled to a chair in my lab. “Uh, hola senor, habla englais?”

He shakes his head. Well, that makes things more difficult. I’ve been slacking on my Spanish training. What follows is one of the more frustrating pantomime exchanges I’ve ever been through. I leave to get food for the both of us and unchain one of his hands while I stare at my napkin recipe. I hear scarfing and sloppy eating, and then a scooting chair.

I look up to see the newest member of my staff looking at my napkin and poking at a part that doesn’t translate well to English, or my process.

“No Creo, no idea what you’re saying.” He gestures for a writing implement. I grab him a pencil.

He draws a scale from one to fourteen, draws a segmented bar at 5, maybe chocolate? He shows the addition of ‘ground salt’ to push it toward 7 and a wavy liquid symbol.

“I’m not talking about chocolate, I’m talking about Coca leaves!” I shout and pace around my chair. I watch him scribble an arrow from the bar to a ball, or seed? Okay, yah, chocolate comes from a bean like coffee does. He then draws a leaf, then uses arrow to point to a tree.

“Empress am I dumb. Chocolate and Cocaine come from the same plant.” I grab the paper and pencil, draw the leaf at a low PH and then write the poorly translated concept plus a rise in PH and a question mark.”

He grabs my hands and nods his head with vigor. I do a brief bit of looking on the Astorian version of a satellite information network and find that you can raise the PH of chocolate with an alkalization process. Makes the product more soluble in liquids. Son of a bitch.

I take out some snacks and unshackle his other arm, thanking him in Spanish. I then ask if he has family, to which he shakes his head and replies with some form of dead. I then ask if he would like work and pay and he starts crying while grabbing my hands again and shaking his head and my hands vigorously. His nod is a little all over the place but I mostly think that meant ‘yes’.

I make him a little nook with a cot but leave him shackled to the chair so he can’t move without making noise and carrying the chair. He can lie down and sleep though. He obviously doesn’t trust the change in attitude, but after watching me blend coca leaves with lime in three different solvent attempts: Kerosene, Mineral spirits, and ethanol for the ‘gasoline’ of the process. It’s supposed to sit for a day or two, so once my buckets are set and capped I set to run tests on my explosive crackers after I message Medvedev that the Columbian man identified a problem I had with the recipe and that I am now testing the modified process.

I spend the next half hour nuggetizing the powder wafers into large rolling bins to stay in the next drying chamber while I pour additional slurry into the mold for another 3-day vacuum process. After that, I order a few MRE’s from the exchange along with a pillow and a few blankets. I’ll see about a chest or a trunk . . . or I could get a bank of lockers for people to put guns and flammable materials in when they’re in my lab!! Hells yes. I quickly order a bank of five lockers and one safe put toiletries and a change of clothes for the man in the first one. He can clean up in the emergency shower in the morning.

I put my tools away and set the room’s security setting to locked up and lock the poor man in my sterile, inhospitable lab.

***

I talked with Paolo about the time frame on ‘wait a while’ on the solvent process, and he gestured over his head thrice and I assume he means three days. After those days pass I process the mash as I previously had, and my yield on all three test solvents is increased by at least 40%. I’m not quite at the target of our southern hemisphere counterparts, but this jump in yield signifies we’re on the right path. I put samples in bags and schedule a meeting with the boss.

I talk with Paolo some more and show him to his locker full of toiletries and clothes and discussing with him how security in my lab is going to go after I release him from the actual chains that he’s currently wearing. I agree to only put restraints on his feet at night, and hiring a guard during the day as he goes about some simple tasks I’ve given him. I hate that I feel the need to restrain him, but it’s pretty impossible to trust a stranger who makes drugs after only having met him three days ago.

I’m poking and prodding my resin-cordite brick when I get a message to report to the lounge after dinner. I look at the time and I have an hour and a half before the Cantina opens for meals, which means a solid three hours before I’m expected on the high-floor lounge the message referenced.

I start testing shavings and then cored tubes of the block and find that it is definitely flammable but it would make a poor solid fuel as a detonation signal propagates slowly and it’s not porous enough to allow the solid fuel to allow combustion on anything but the resin vapor. It gives me ideas for a wetted cordite RPG propellant, but the experiment is otherwise a bust.

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Not having time to start anything new, I cue up some Spanish lessons and wait for dinner.

My meal was uneventful and most of the people that do make eye contact with me shudder while watching me eat my highly toxic food. I chuckle inside as I realize only a fool would steal food from me now that Carlos is out of commission. Good, it’s mine anyway.

Before I know it, I’m back on the 40th floor and a teenager asks me how I can be of service. “Is Prudence working this evening? I would like her company again.” I realize my error as soon as I say it and know that they’ll fetch her even if she’s not supposed to be working. I should have just left it at the question. “In the meantime, I believe I am expected for an audience with the Boss.”

The teen and the waiting attendant whisper to each other and then walk briskly in opposite directions. I sigh at the waiting game, but without the clout of my mentor, I can’t just walk un-escorted to Medvedev’s preferred area—or so Marcella warned me.

When Prudence arrives she escorts me to Medvedev, Lamar, and . . . a hologram? I can’t tell if it’s being projected in my HUD or in our 3-D space, but it’s an oddity just the same.

“Greetings Boss, Mister Lamar and guest.” Medvedev flicks his fingers at me, a clear gesture to sit. I nod and do so, while sending a text to Prudence for an infused juice and something sweet.

“Show me your samples.” He orders, briefly splitting his attention from his menus.

I stand and pull three baggies from my coat, one labeled ethanol, one kerosene and the last gas. The boss inspected all three and pulled out a small device that he dipped in each sample of coke.

“The ethanol seems to be the cleanest based on the different number of impurities, but the amount of product is less. Why?” His tone was measured, though curt. I can’t tell if his impatience is malicious or not.

“This is a proof of concept, sir, my best guess is that the petroleum products are actually different percentages of half a dozen volatile chemicals, and ethanol is one. The petrol products are much harder to imbue with aether because of their non-homogenous natures, however, I think I can bring Ethanol up to a similar yield within a week with some optimization.”

Officer Lamar speaks up, “And would the optimizations for the petrol chemicals increase efficiency as well?”

Well, yes, probably; but I don’t want to say that. I huff, “Yes in product but not in process. If we want infused coke, even if I make 10% less with an ethanol process, we gain it back with it being twenty to forty percent harder to imbue the petrol chemicals. In this case, it’s more about my aether expenditure and throughput than how efficient each chemical is. Well, unless I find a different point in which to imbue the process, but so far, the solvent is the best receiver of my aether.”

Lamar and Medvedev both look to the hologram and wait. The hologram taps his chin and starts sorting through a book and mumbling.

“She’s most likely correct, gentlemen. The aether recovery on Earth is nonexistent and the medical data says she’s already absorbing as much is safe from her ration and supplemented food stuffs.” The hologram turns to me before asking another question. “About how much more potent is the high from the original drug, Miss Novarro?”

“From my five test subjects: from ten to fifty percent more potent?”

“I request a sample to verify this, but otherwise, I think we can do business with Warram.” The hologram says with a shallow smile. Medvedev smiles back.

“Novarro will send them via kiosk once I’m finished talking with her this evening.” The Boss says, tasking me and telling me to make myself comfortable for a long discussion. The hologram nods their head and blinks out.

Jamal and the Boss are occupied for the meantime, so I too get into my menus and look at how much coke I could produce if I stopped making gunpowder and then looked at some costs of mix and matching some gear for drug production specifically.

I get Prudence’s attention for a glass of something fizzy and fruity and when I look back, eyes are on me again.

“Now that we have a customer and the capability, let’s talk capacity.” Lamar states. “We have a local market for ten kilos a month and now interests for around a hundred kilos a month. What does that look like to you, miss Navarro?”

Ten I could handle, but a hundred? What the hells kind of operation do they think I have?! I make the gestures associated with me navigating menus for their benefit before answering.

“A commercial facility with like a thousand credits worth of gear if we find an old brewery, maybe three times that if I need to buy everything. This is a scale of equipment and money that I am not familiar with, and I am not the best at doing quick math.”

“Nor am I in the habit of handing new members a fortune, despite your history of sensible purchases. Let’s talk about people. How many does it take for your current process?”

“That I can answer. Rotating shift to monitor the gear and press a few buttons when the next step is ready. So bare minimum would be two if we’re using obscurity as security, four if we want to be more diligent.” The Boss’ face is emotionless and calculating, while Lamar drums his fingers on his lounger while sipping his drink.

Speaking of drinks, Prudence comes back with a tall skinny glass with something pink and fizzy. I sip it and it fruity and the fizz bites the back of my tongue in the way that I was looking for.

“Prakesh could use it for a punishment detail, and all of us have some manual labor that are trainable with terrible tracks.”

Medvedev nods and sips his whiskey before pulling out a half-smoked cigar. His female attendant is quick with a lighter. He takes a long drag and puffs the smoke into a few rings before exhaling completely.

“That was your cue to leave, Navarro.” The Boss says.

I nod and stand. “Good evening gentlemen,” I say, in an effort to be polite as I’m dismissed. I find a few Marks in my pocket, hand them to Prudence and continue on to the elevator with my fizzy drink. Now I just need to survive whomever they send to manage me.