The manager of the London Cafeteria absolutely could not resist the opportunity to show up the manager of the Academy Cafeteria—lazy, untalented shirker, feeding the entire population year-round according to the needs of the newly awakened, who only required bland foods for their first month, pshaw! He was only too happy to detail Senior Fanshawe to produce two breakfasts and two midday meals according to the diet sheet provided by Nurse Collins.
The breakfasts were served at 0530 in London. The lunches were served in London or delivered, in a large, fragrant basket, to Alan's Academy office at 1230. The aromas brought Alan's Teaching Assistants, wide-eyed, to the hall outside the door while he and Eric ate. The portions were generous. Before beginning his meal, Alan carefully set aside the surplus he knew he could not finish. There were scuffles as the TAs polished off these treats. Not that they could not eat their fill in their own Cafeteria, but the food there was so tasteless. Alan sighed that he could not afford to feed his TAs and Eric's.
Fanshawe, waiting to pack up the plates, observed all with a discerning eye; checked out the fare in the Academy cafeteria; decided on his own to increase Mr. Alan's portions slightly and include a few tempting side dishes. He reported to his Manager that poor skinny Mr. Humphries was shorting himself to feed his assistants, who would fight to the death for a bite, the merest bite, of his sandwich. Why, he himself could witness that the food available to those poor souls appeared to be composed largely of flavored water and boiled sawdust. Surely it hadn't been so bad when he was a student.
The London Cafeteria Manager, having once been snubbed by the Academy Cafeteria Manager as a mere shoveler of swill to untutored brutes, delicately suggested that the London Cafeteria, nay, the Realm itself, owed Mr. Humphries sufficient nourishment to bring him back to perfect health. Ultimately the noon deliveries fed all the TAs who could fit into the room. Two or three of them resolved to apply for positions at the London Cafeteria upon graduation. Passionate, heartfelt descriptions of the heaping sandwiches and rich, savory soups and stews spread through the school, for all that they were ordinary fare in London. The Cafeteria Senior began attending the Thursday Night open table at the Scythe and Skull.
The manager of the Academy Cafeteria protested loudly. Eric handed him the diet sheet; doctor's orders, so it was, and nothing like it to be had on campus. "Alan must eat. He can't eat what you offer. Our interns will be returning for cramming and final exams soon. They've been eating in London most of this year. They won't like going back to the pap ye serve. We've been treating them with respect, ye ken, and they're not so cowed as they were. They may no longer sit quietly for a diet of library paste."
Eric was secretly dreaming of starting a food fight near Exams, using all the upperclassmen who would be moving out by the middle of June. He was quite put out when the Academy food improved suddenly. The Manager had taken his outrage to the highest authorities and learned that they were planning to replace him. Ah, well. Alan would have scolded him mightily. Worth it, though. A wodge of overcooked parritch in the bowl of a soup spoon would demonstrate the dynamics of a catapult ever sae well.
Alan thought of overpopulation and famine in Hell, and unreported Ravenings across the far reaches of the human realm.
"Smitty, can I see your new scythe?" asked Iris. "Frannie says it's wonderful. I'm curious about the extra porting ability. How many injured could I port to the Infirmary with it?"
"Outside," said Ten Hagen, and out they went. Scythes were forbidden in the pub at all times. A number of the Thursday Nighters found a quiet spot out back. Smitty summoned his scythe and presented it to Iris.
"Oooh. Nice. Fancy handle; what does that hide? A little heavy but not bad. Not my fighting style, though. Yes, I could take three people or even four, depending on their weight. How can I get that power added to my own scythe? What gives this one the range?"
"Quantity of scythe metal. Big blade with long tang ending in an extra bar in the bottom of the haft. It balances the blade and adds to the porting capabilities."
Sorenson took the Supplies Special from Iris, hefted it with approval, handed it off to Fairbairn who found it a very nice match to his size and strength.
Iris summoned her billhook. "Can you load extra metal in this handle?"
"May I hold it? Hmmm. Gonna make it handle-heavy. Can you adapt to that?"
"How much extra weight?"
"Couple of ounces, maybe? The haft's not that big."
"Could get maybe four to six ounces in my mattock," said Dutch.
Smitty paused. "Let's step back a bit here. Suppose we want to add porting power to anybody regardless of the scythe they use. Some are all blade and not much handle. Some handles are long but narrow. Some would be weakened too much by the addition if we drilled and filled. But if the additional metal were not in the scythe but on the Reaper..."
"Belt buckle," said Dutch. "It's not against the skin, not going to get lost. Swap it out if you intend to go drinking."
"Bicep cuff," said Iris, "worn over the shirtsleeve and under the jacket."
"Shirtsleeve wouldn't be adequate protection, maybe, unless we put the metal into a canvas or leather cover, or maybe a coating of enamel."
"Clasps break," said Fairbairn. "Might catch on claws, too. What if we sewed it into the jacket?"
"No," said Jacobs. "Too much weight, with the knives and the demon detector and the record scissors there. Shoulder seams are already stressed. Best to hang it off the belt."
"A buckle won't do," said Smitty. "Not enough metal to make a difference, really, unless it's big enough to dig into the stomach. A larger amount, in a heavy canvas or leather holder to button or snap on the belt. Just slip it off and banish it to storage when not wanted. You could keep a box of them in the Branch to summon as needed. Less risk of contact toxicity and drunken porting. But all this assumes that the Reaper can use not just her scythe but additional scythe metal on her person, can use both together as a single unit, and have both arrive together at the same time and place. Too many unknowns. Kinda messy if it fails. I'll investigate tomorrow in the lab if I have time. I'm sure this same question has been asked many times before. It's too easy. There's going to be a good reason that we're not already doing it."
"Let me know what you find out." Iris waved and walked back to the pub. Most of the other Reapers followed. Sorenson stayed to inspect the scythe.
"Dutch," said Smitty, and paused awkwardly.
"What, Smitty?"
"When we get kicked out of Junior Housing in two weeks, will you want to room with me in Senior Housing? Or must you room with your new Partner? I'm not sure how that works."
"I prefer to room with you if you haven't someone better lined up. I'm going to be paired with another singleton, Steve Terry. Nice guy, very competent; I'm stronger and he has better distance vision, so we each bring something to the parnership. But he has a roomie already. I kinda thought you might want somebody from Scythes to study with."
"No. There are only a few registered for the second five years, and we don't know each other very well. You keep me grounded in day-to-day practicality, whereas the others are becoming somewhat detached theoreticians. Not that that's bad, but they aren't producing useful tools for street use." Smitty shrugged. "I want to keep Reapers safe. Anyway. I need to know if I should ask for a single room. If we want to continue as roommates I can apply for a double, unless you want to go for an apartment."
"Not really. Too expensive. I can't cook. Do we want to pay for a kitchenette when it's easier to eat at the Cafeteria?"
"I probably shouldn't cook either, now that I'm working in the Stinks and Booms Lab. I scrub up hard, but I could still accidentally poison us both. The apartment would give us separate spaces for sleep and study, though, so I wouldn't be dependent on the Common Room for homework when you need to sleep. Don't know what their Common Room is like, either. Maybe someone will invite me in for reconnaissance. I need to know if I can study long hours and do complicated assignments without being harassed. The next five years are going to be filled with very difficult classes. Not many attempt them and only about half of us pass the exams."
"New Senior Reapers do tend to get the third and split shifts. I will probably be sleeping while you are in classes. If not, I bet I'll be so bushed that I can sleep through anything you do, including the construction and testing of a motorcycle up and down the halls."
"A double room would be cheaper. You need a better watch and I need to save for some specialized tools. We're also due for a visit to Spectacles. But few Seniors are students. They might resent a request for quiet in the common rooms."
"Your need to study is the most important consideration," said Sorenson. "Let's go now. I'll take you into the Commons for a look. Also, there are several smaller rooms in each wing for gatherings. No problem for the Thursday Nighters to lay claim to one for reading and games. We'll keep things quiet for you."
"Eh. I will punch the nose of anybody who becomes a pest."
Dutch turned to him. "You will not. I will. Newly promoted Senior Reapers are considered overconfident, overtrained gladiators. We're expected to get into dominance disputes. Nobody cares. You, on the other hand, need to stay out of trouble until you finish your training and win your promotion."
Sorenson handed over the Supplies Scythe. "We'll just let everyone know you are a scholar who invents weaponry that saves lives. If somebody stupid leans on you, I will issue a challenge. Dutch will sell tickets. Frannie of Supplies gets the popcorn concession. While we square off, Garraway or Slingby lines up for Round Two, with the rest of the Thursday Night Seniors in queue. We pound the idiot until he learns manners. Agreed?"
"Agreed, within reason. I will defend myself if caught alone or cornered. Remember that I drill daily with every known scythe and fighting style. I am not required to submit to bullying; I'm just not supposed to go looking for fights. You could spread the rumor that Scythes Seniors are walking poison, you know. Hit us and your knuckles rot off. It's not entirely untrue, especially during the Metallurgy rotation."
"Fine. You still tell us if anyone bothers you. Remember the classes you took from Humphries and Slingby. Internal Predation is Bad. Deal?"
"As long as you don't become what you're trying to prevent. Deal."
Engineer Crawford had the last word, of course. This was Right and Proper and the Natural Order of Things. "Hah. So he's willing to stay with you? Brave man. Good thing, though. We are not solitary animals. I will speak to the Housing Authority. Engineering Candidates are rare; they've forgotten the special requirements. I will refer them to the layout of my own quarters.
"You will have adjoining single rooms with ensuite bathrooms. I'll make sure Housing only charges you for a double. It's going to be important that you and he sleep on opposite sides of a wall when you do your Radium and Advanced Metallurgy classes. Lead sheeting on that wall. I'll warn Maintenance to use Lab cleaning procedures on your room and bedding. Scythes will pay for that. If they bill you a surcharge for cleaning, bring it to me. Hmm, yes. I've had this conversation with them before. They probably remember that. Hah.
"Mr. Ten Hagen is not to use your shower or spend too much time in your room. You are not to handle his food or personal belongings. Make a habit of using one of the smaller common rooms for extended conversation, recreation and study. Pick a corner with good lighting and comfortable study furniture. Start a rumor that it's unhealthy for anyone else to sit there.
"You'll be using layers of protective clothing in the workshop and labs, of course. For his safety we must be very careful indeed. We'll run you through detectors every time you leave the workshop, that's standard for all toxic rotations, and if the needles even twitch you'll go back through decontamination. With proper care, he should receive no exposure at all. Still, if your friend shows any signs of discomfort or confusion, get him to the Infirmary. Warn his Reaping partner, too. Unsuspected contamination will slow him down and endanger them both in the field. Your healing abilities are at a constant extreme high level now. His aren't. They may gradually increase, but we don't want them to be elevated suddenly.
"You should be no danger to anyone else, either, not that they have to know that if they seem willing to interrupt your studying. Hah. The warrens of Senior Housing do conceal some unpleasant individuals.
"You have my express permission to defend yourself, by the way. That is an order. Yours is the second strike and the final blow. All attacks, even if only verbal, will be reported to Scythes Senior Montgomery as soon as possible. His duty is to seek patterns in these aggressions. They often lead to demands for illegal access, materials, and devices. We prefer to step in before that stage.
"As for carrying extra scythe metal to enhance porting, that will be covered in Advanced Metallurgy. Long answer: it must be contained in the same haft as the blade, in contact with the tang if not a part of it. Separate or external additions work until they don't. When they don't, it's disastrous and a monumental cleanup. Short answer; you'll spend your first two weeks of class computing the ballistics on the results of one person failing to keep two separate Scythe samples operating in sync."
