- 3 - Mary Ruth Cramer

She had always felt more at home among the workers in the factory. More so than with her family.

This floor was over 5,000 square feet. It manufactured components for rifles which they supplied to other manufacturers. 60% of the Cramer Cartridge Gin was machined and assembled here in this room.

This floor operated at 100% capacity, every inch was meticulously measured and calculated for peak efficiency. During war time, it ran 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Over 30,000 labor hours were credited to this floor alone. 20% of the gross profit of the company came from this operation. Until the war ended. Sales have dropped drastically since then. Mary Ruth had an idea on how to get things firing on all pistons again.

She had longed for the rhythmic cacophony of the factory while at School. All the quiet gardens for tea, respectfully stringent professors, and the social clubs, all the hangers on, and lookey loos were all something to be endured until she could return home.

Mary Ruth walked past the fast moving machinery unconsciously avoiding the ten ton moving parts. It was uncommon for anyone to get injured in this area. the red and yellow painted curbs clearely delineated the safe walking zones.

The new layout should improve the flow of work through the shop by nearly 12%. That will reduce labor hours, inversely, if things pick up with the new project, we can realize higher output in future quarters.

Mary was reviewing her pitch to the board this afternoon.

It has to be exactly right. It has to be unquestionably legitimate. They will see we can change course now that the war is over. There are no longer dwarves to shoot at, we need to build a new legacy.

Their factory was like all the others in New Amsterdam. Fast, gritty, and efficient where it needed to be.

The sounds of steam engines driving conveyors, furnaces blasting, hammers striking steel; they all sang like an orchestra to her. She loved it.

-

The new station was shoring up an assembly issue with their rifle sights. The final inspection was completed by hand and that had turned out to be the issue. They were now comparing each component part to a stencil. There were 7 parts to the mechanical sight and the inspectors spent 8 minutes to confirm the assembly was precisely done.

“359, 360, 362.” Mary said to herself while the stop watch ticked.

The two women were moving quickly, inspecting the parts according to the new procedure. But they missed the estimated time.

And they made a few mistakes. We will need to have them practice more.

“418,419,420,” she counted.

One of the women finished and the other was done a couple seconds later.

426 seconds again, 11.25% improvement.

Mary turned to the production supervisor.

“They are doing well, schedule them for 2 hours of additional practice with this new procedure.”

”Good work you two.” She said.

Those two are our best and they could use the extra pay.

She turned and walked away from them, knowing the supervisor would update their schedules today.

He is a second cousin, aunt Frannie’s boy, may she rest in peace.

She felt the weight of the folder in her hand. It was the SOP for the procedure the two women were piloting. It represented the last pennies they could squeeze out of their current production projects. According to the queries or the analysts, Mary Ruth had run her own analysis and had a new idea.

Mary Ruth crossed the warehouse to the stairs and surmounted the catwalk. She turned heads wherever she went. Yet she noticed each eye as it tracked her progress, through the mall, within the halls of her alma-mater, the opera, or through the factory floor.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

How can people allow themselves to be so obvious?

Mary Ruth Cramer was the acting CEO of Caliber Manufacturing ltd. In truth it was her family’s company. Her father built it, he owned it, and the seat at the board table bore his name. But she ran the company better than her father had. As evidenced by their increased profits over the last two years.

That is evidence enough of what my college education paid for. A natural consequence of hard work will always be additional work and higher rewards.

She spoke with few other people as she left the factory floor. Just the obligatory professional discourse a board member needed to endure while within their domain.

After two flights of stairs, she entered the engineering offices and dropped off the traveler for the Tangent Sights at the shop manager’s desk. He was out on the shop floor instead of at his desk.

As a shop manager should be. We did not promote him to desk manager. He will review the report and take the required actions this evening.

Ruth stepped into an available office and closed the door. She sat in the chair behind the desk. She had to sit carefully to make sure her saber did not get caught up in it.

Carrying the saber gave her some trouble, and kept many of the eligible men away. Young women were not expected to wear a saber, they were expected to look pretty and sit if a chair was available.

By Jove, it is the 1900s already, at least they have stopped asking me to wear dresses.

She removed her clunky functional shoes and replaced them, with her fashionable ones she had left on this desk on her way down earlier.

Her three piece suit, was cut to fit her feminine frame, not uncommon for the modern business woman, and many boutiques could be found to offer brightly colored suits for women.

At college, she had set the trend, young women emulated her fashionable suits and even took to carrying ornamental sabers at half the functional length.

I have yet to regain that level of influence out in society. And it won’t be with sabers when women will stand up for themselves someday.

Mary Ruth wore a gunmetal gray suit with a cream and gold filigree vest over a stark white blouse. She wore a cream colored scarf and broach at her throat.

Next stop will be the steel supplier meeting and I will look my best. It doesn't help that I’m a woman half their age. I am a Cramer. I run this company’s legitimately and I look the part.

She checked her makeup and hair in the folding mirror she carried in her vest pocket. Tight golden curls cut short, around ear length.

She checked her small pistol, carried in her coat's inside pocket, which she had specially tailored. It was a dual trigger, snub-nosed piece for close contact. It was ornate as was the fashion for young ladies of her station. She had a custom firearm in the trunk of her car.

She emerged from the office and found a secretary waiting, he held out a folder.

"Ms. Cramer. Your notes for the meeting. I typed them up as you requested." He said.

"Thank you. Has my car arrived?" Mary said. She started walking and reviewing the notes.

Excellent sense of urgency. And he is informed enough to know where to wait for me. He seems to have some significant skill with a typewriter.

She cleared another flight of stairs without losing her breath. The secretary kept a couple paces behind her.

"Thank you, these are in good order. You are new here. What is your name?" She asked.

"Andrew, Ms. Cramer.” He said.

“Yes, Andrew Boucher.” Mary said, remembering the report of the new hires from two weeks ago.

“Who referred you for this position? And how do you know my father?” She asked.

She continued up the stairs assuming he would follow.

Boucher seems smart and capable, he could be trouble.

“A senior of mine from Pandect University, where I was top of my class in political science and business management. She recommended I work for Caliber Manufacturing.” He said smoothly.

I don't recognize his face. Although I did not run in all circles. Who could?

“So you intend to enter into politics.”

“I have considered it. The coursework covers our economic strategy as well. Additionally I believe that brand name companies, like Caliber, have significant impact on the quality of life of the people. I can do more at a larger company than a small one.” Andrew said, his breathing was coming harder now.

He seems legitimate. Three more flights of stairs, we will see what he is made of.

She stopped on the landing and turned to take the man in again. His hair had come loose from the Parisian tie he wore it in. His slacks were pleated, his sweater fashionable but not expensive. His shoes were practical and clean. His face was clear and flushed from the climb. He was smiling.

“So why our company? We manufacture guns Andrew. Guns have never improved someone’s quality of life.” Mary Ruth said before taking off for the next flight of stairs.

“Caliber also manufactures protective vests and there is potential for new applications for our manufacturing capabilities now that the war has ended.” He replied.

Mary stopped suddenly mid-way up the flight of stairs and turned sharply to stare directly into Andrew’s face. She drew her pistol and held it's barrel to his shoulder.

“You read my notes.” She said flatly.

He could be a spy. Or an assassin.

“I read your notes. As I typed them.” Andrew said. His smile was faltering.

“You are interested in me.” She said. “Romantically.”

He stammered.

“You are likely used to women fawning over you. If you pursue me you will find that I am not without my sharp edges.” She said.

There are hard things that only I can do, and I must be harder or they will break me.

“Yes ma’am.” Andrew said.

Mary’s finger had stayed clear of the trigger of her pistol. They were alone, deep in the bowels of her family’s empire. They both knew Andrew could disappear. He was sweating.

“They had you sign the confidentiality agreement when you were hired. You are aware that you are not to speak with anyone about anything you have not seen in the morning paper. Is that understood?” Mary said and pressed her gun into him sharply. "Anyone could be in these stairwells. Do not assume spies are lazy or stupid."

Andrew tottered and had to step down onto a lower step to keep his balance.

“Yes ma’am.” He said.

She stared at him expectantly for a heavy moment.

“Understood Ms. Cramer.” He said again.

He follows orders, can keep his mouth shut, and he learns quickly. Good.

She stowed the pistol in her coat again.

“Do you have a coat? Fetch it. And meet me in the lobby. We are going for a ride.” She said.