A/N: apologies to net techs if network topologies are inaccurate. I burnt out a long time ago on tech and can barely remember the stuff. Books series referenced is "The Tower and the Hive" by A. McCaffrey
Chapter 54: Renovations, p.2
"Upsy-daisy."
He never thought he'd be able to hoist a two-ton block of old pavement into the air with magic. He carefully set it down on its side. Workers approached it as soon as it settled, measurements were made, and lines drawn on the underside. Other workers began chiseling between those lines to create space for the block to fit over the section of 3D-printed cement pipe being laid in the ditch below. In another three days, he'd lift those blocks again and put them back in place. Rinse. Repeat.
He watched the line of men hammering long metal spikes to split the old pavement. He whistled "John Henry" as he strolled along the rows of entrepreneurial food vendors surrounding the designated service areas set up for the workers. Those areas had tables of free food and drinks and tents for medical service. Red ribbons separated the vendors from the service zones. Patrols ensured the vendors didn't intrude there or into the construction zones.
The free stuff was nothing fancy, just fresh baked bread, hearty veggie and meat stews, and fruits; drinks were water, black tea, and kafe. You want anything different and had the coin to pay for it, there were plenty of food vendors surrounding the job site.
No booze or drugs, though. Curtis had laid that rule down fast. Medical care was being provided for worksite injuries, but the service was not to be abused. Vendors selling that stuff at construction sites would be fined. A second time meant heavier fines and possible jail time. Offending workers got warned, kicked off the job for the day, and forfeited that day's wages. And since workers were organized in teams, the whole team suffered from being down a member, making it harder to meet their quotas. Unmet quotas meant demerits. Demerits meant less pay.
But, hey, if your team was okay with you drinking or getting high and were willing to back your right to get shit-faced on the job, endangering your life and the lives of the team, and the quality of your group's work with their paychecks …
He initially planned not to get caught up in any complex public or extended castle repair project. Just install some fancy new plumbing in the Mournful Throne while absconding major earth-mover machines from Nchuand-Zel.
That plan blew up real fast once he'd arrived in Markarth.
First, the city was on schedule to collapse from accumulated structural failures;
Second, because of mind-boggling circumstances, most Nchuand-Zel's machines were untouched by Falmer or adventurers/raiders; and
Third, there was a functioning teleport station.
So, massive public project number one was a grand water fountain and subsidiary satellite water wells around the city where people could fill jugs, buckets, or small barrels with clean water. Well, cleaner than what currently is being drawn out of the open river running through the city. An open sewer line was what that was.
If it wasn't for magic, Markarth should have had people regularly dying of dysentery, cholera, and typhoid. The water from the future public fountains would at least be filtered through cleaned pebbles, sand, and zeolite. Curtis would advise boiling as a further precaution, but unlikely anyone would listen to him and think it an unnecessary bother. But then, it's why most people drink beer, ale, or mead. The alcohol killed most pathogens given enough time. On the inside of the container. Not much use if the rest of the cookware, dishes, and cutlery had been washed in sewage.
And public toilets and places where people could dump their shit instead of the nearest alleyway or the river. But laziness is laziness, and too many would sooner toss stuff out the window than walk their shit over to a proper disposal site.
But, if magical cantrips worked to kill the invisible little demons in the water, why need a non-magical water filter system?
Same reason the Dwemer had — chemical poisons and micro-pollutants that common cantrip magic can't fix. Or, as Curtis thought of it, you can radiate muddy water to kill all the pathogens, but did you still want to drink the sterilized muck?
Or ignorant use of magic can go overboard and distill ultrapure water, which pretty much kills you by rupturing your cells as it leeches all the minerals from them, as in catastrophic electrolyte imbalances — like throwing a saltwater fish into fresh water. A horrible way to die.
And another reason for the pipeline — not all the water going through this new pipe would be from the river cascading down the Mournful Throne. All the water needing to be drained from Nchuand-Zel would be pumped out through here.
It was a chore to talk Jarl Igmund into funding the massive project. Curtis did not ask the Jarl to pay him or his engineers. The Winterhold students, however, got paid enough for living expenses. Other experts hired and who were not part of Winterhold College, of course, needed payment.
Paying all the labor and for the materials, tools, food, and healthcare were the impediments. The last two items especially. Outside of a war campaign, those were not the usual cost considerations of large projects.
Lady Caitlin had inadvertently found a solution to the problem of finances. During her tour of the Holds in the care of Revyn Sadri, she had realized the power of financial planning and control, for touring the Holds had also been a tour of the Dragonborn's private financial kingdom. She asked Sadri to recommend financial advisors she could hire for her family's finances.
He'd tasked this to Adassa, the Dragonborn's steward, herself once involved in Morrowind high finance before Red Mountain, and she'd pulled in three former colleagues. The three high-finance Hlaalu experts had come to Markarth, assessed the situation, and had offered Sadri a trade of their services for the next ten or twenty years (short-term contract for a mer) for inclusion in the futures of House Mora. In other words, they wanted House Mora membership for their immediate families.
Jarl Igmund agreed to appoint dark elves as finance ministers because the three swore they weren't intent on permanent positions or any titles that would bind them to The Reach. They would train their successors (be they Nords or Reachmen) and work practically for free. They were that determined to be part of the Dragonborn's clan.
And Helsette Faro, though she was still missing in Sovngarde, was a thane of The Reach. She still had property interests in The Reach. Her husband would look after her interests. And while he continued to do so, as long as the throne of Markarth cooperated with him, they might benefit from that tenuous loyalty as Eastmarch had.
Markarth was now overflowing with people wanting jobs. Curtis and his Winterhold students were also a draw. Those that had balked at traveling all the way north into hostile Stormcloak lands rushed to Markarth to see what inventions he came up with — like that Dwemer machine extruding cement as pipes and small buildings cured in less than two days — and using, or to consult with him, or talk him into a lot of get-rich scheme, or convince him and/or his students to work for VIP So-and-So.
Curtis wasn't completely renovating the Mournful Throne. He didn't care about the chipped decorative stonework or other cosmetic aspects. The palace was the topside part of Nchuand-Zel. Repairs were needed. Parts of the building could not be opened or used because of the buildup of poisonous, explosive gasses. Maintenance was long-overdue for the safety of the people living topside. Last thing anyone wanted was a gas explosion that could level the entire city. The deep machines his Dwemer engineers were reviving also needed adequate venting.
The number of foreigners and nosy people wanting to examine the new plumbing was unwelcome. The kitchen staff complained of people wandering through, turning on faucets, snacking off prepared foods, getting their uncleaned hands all over the food and kitchen tools, and even stealing them. The guards complained of people walking in on them while they were showering. The days of being able to easily walk into the palace were over. Now, to get to anywhere except the public rooms and the Temple of Arkay, security checkpoints for guests, guards, and even servants were controlled by admission lists.
The Temple of Arkay was the biggest weak point because the Temple shared the same space as the entrance to Nchuand-Zel. Calcelmo had been reprimanded many times for zapping trespassers in his work area until Curtis set up a ten-foot electrified barbed wire fence, and guards patrolled the area. Still, stubborn idiots got past all that, so Curtis trapped Nchuand-Zel's doors. If not disarmed prior opening, unauthorized entrants would now be hit with pepper spray and 120 decibels.
After the third heart-stopping door alarm, the Jarl ordered anyone setting off the alarm be publicly flogged regardless of political or social status.
X—X—X—X—X—X—X
Five suits. The Jarl, Lady Caitlin, Lady Caitlin's parents, and Lady Caitlin's brother. The specialty Dwemer armor suits were air-tight and regulated internal suit temperature. Small tanks provided air for those areas in the building that were filled with toxic gases. Full-body armor for the tour was necessary, Curtis had assured them, because some places had super-heated steam that could cook them in seconds, some areas had air polluted with deadly particulates and chemicals that could also burn them or melt flesh, and just in case of a gas explosion. The armor would keep them alive.
It had been a sight that morning. Fifty spider bots scuttled out of Nchuand-Zel, through the foyer of the palace to the doors of Calcelmo's museum. Tourists had to be pushed back by the guards as the spiders funneled through the locked doors at the back of the museum. Doors marked with "Danger," "Do Not Enter," "Unauthorized Entries Are Responsible For Their Own Deaths."
These weren't the Dwemer armor typically available to the buying public. Those things were eons old and patched together from pieces found in ruins. These were custom, high-end suits of thinner superior-grade metals and internal circuitry interfacing with the stretchy, form-fitting body suits everyone had to squeeze into. The body suits controlled sweat and contained bio-sensors monitoring temperature, heart-rate, the bio-electrical signals of muscles.
Pair Dwemer engineering and magic with Curtis's memories of NASA space suits and other sci-fi bio-mecha stuff, and these were the results.
Earl Sinclair made sword-swinging motions. "I've tried Dwemer armor before, but it's never felt this light or smooth."
"Not surprising," answered Curtis. "The cloth body suits you all squeezed into have, um, spells that work with the spells etched on the inside of the armor. The magic enhances motion and strength."
Lord Kerry mimicked his father, then began jumping up and down, five to six feet into the air. "Fantastic! This is ridiculously effortless. As if I'm wearing nothing at all. I almost believe I could run all day in this. Please, may I buy this suit?"
"Uh, sorry. No. We only have a limited number. These suits belong to my engineers working here. And because of all the body types here, we had to use more than five armor sets to make up the armor you're wearing. That's my whole team out of action. They're working on other things right now, but will need those suits back so they can get in here and continue their work."
Lady Sinclair slapped her husband on the top of his head, and he abruptly collapsed to sit on the floor. She lightly cuffed her son in the approximate location of his ear, knocking him sprawling twenty feet away. This remarkable show of brute force did not seem to startle her. "Enough, you two!" she said sternly.
Jarl Igmund looked from her to Lady Caitlin. Caitlin had inherited the build, height, and voice of her mother.
Curtis's helmet hid his grin. Had the men not been protected by their suits, Lady Sinclair's enhanced blows could easily have caused serious injuries.
They began the tour. The closed-off section, with giant pipes, venting gases, and big valve wheels painted different colors depending on their function, was more like the city below than the rest of the palace. Curtis explained that the Mournful Throne was originally just the upper part of Nchuand-Zel, like the cap of a smokestack. The machines below vented gases and heat here, and this place was meant to prevent the poisoning of the surrounding landscape.
The work being done here was to make fixes and adjustments. The city was incredibly lucky the system had functioned as long as it had. But repairs were critical because the inevitable explosion would happen sometime in the next year or two hundred years. Clogged filters had to be changed. If this didn't happen, the air around Markarth would be no better than what was spewing out of Red Mountain in Morrowind.
He was a Dunmer. If he said the air would get as bad as Morrowind, he would know, wouldn't he?
He pulled a filter out, one as wide and tall as he was, banged it on the floor, and a knee-high pile of ash and stuff was instantly around their feet. "If you run your bare hand through that stuff, we'd have to treat you for blood poisoning and hemorrhaging because your skin would be shredded from thousands of micro-cuts. And then the stuff would get in your lungs and veins and start cutting you up from the inside. Imagine tons of that crud spewing into the air and falling into the water."
Highlight of the tour was when he packed them into a corner and deliberately set off the gases. The explosion was terrifying, as was the deluge of water from the safety system.
"I remember hearing this sound once in the past," said Igmund. "So this is what that was."
"Yup. And I'll bet you the water coming from the palace ran gray with ash for days afterward. The water also washed some of the dirt off the filters. That's why the water pipes and the waterfall in the palace. Emergency fire suppression and cleaning system. That's also in dire need of repairs."
"What happens if it breaks?" asked the Jarl.
"Oh, you get a new river running out of the museum and flooding your foyer. And the next time a gas explosion happens, it'll keep on burning until the pipes melt and stones melt, too, and this entire section collapses. Gases will spew out, spreading poisoned air throughout the the palace. And the rest of the city, of course. And with the venting no longer working, gas will build up below ground. And in a few hundred years or so, something sets the gas off. This area will burn for decades, maybe even centuries. 'The Burning Caldera of Markarth.' How's that for a title?"
"And how much will that take to repair?" the Jarl's voice was not happy.
"We can work it out," Curtis reassured him. "You've already agreed to let me and House Mora have the giant automatons stored in Nchuand-Zel. They're construction machines. But don't worry, plenty of repair automatons remain in Nchuand-Zel that will continue to maintain the system and the palace."
"I see. I will have it written into law against hindering or destroying any automatons within the city," said the Jarl.
"Theft," said Lord Sinclair. "Something should be done to discourage stealing the little mechanical spiders."
Curtis waved that concern aside. "The machines stop working if taken a certain distance from Markarth. All anyone would be stealing is parts. And on the rare chance someone has a working control rod that can reactivate the automaton, it can only act as it was last programmed to act. For example, if someone stole a harvester bot ordered to pull carrots for that day, that unit will only perform as ordered. The control rod cannot make it perform any other action. If you don't have a field of carrots to harvest, that little robot will just sit there or follow you around like a puppy."
"Well, time to end this tour and return the armor."
Curtis spent the rest of the day carefully explaining to the Jarl why giving him the giant automatons was not cheating Markarth.
First, of course, was the complicated work to keep Markarth from exploding. Work only Curtis and his team of Dwemer tech experts could handle.
Second, the giant machines were nothing like the Numidium in size and capabilities. They were for digging and moving tons of soil and rocks. They weren't part of Nchuand-Zel's automated control and repair system. Only Curtis and his people knew how to operate and maintain the big mechas. To anyone else, they were no better than statues. Markarth already had plenty of automaton statues in Calcelmo's museum and sitting the city.
And third, Nchuand-Zel was a technological gold mine. The Falmer hadn't destroyed this city as they had all the others. This city had most of its functions. And it was all Markarth's, not the Empire's.
If the Jarl was agreeable, Winterhold College would like to set up a satellite school here for advanced engineer graduate studies. Agrund would likely be the master in charge of the school.
X—X—X—X—X—X—X
The automated cooking system in Nchuand-Zel had been restored, and a menu was created dependent on the raw materials in current storage and recipes programmed in for the month.
Curtis chose apple pie (recipe #3), beer (Honningbrew), portobello steak, grilled yam slices, steamed cut corn, a small loaf of whole wheat bread (hard crust), a side cup of fish stew, condiments (salt, pepper, umbragi). Choices were heavy on Dwemer preferences meaning fish, mushrooms, eels, lichens, and yeasty breads. Umbragi was the Dwemer equivalent of Vegemite.
Not quite the sterile, molecular replicator machines of sci-fi food dispensers. The three Dwemer did a lot of cooking while the AI recorded everything. Once the AI processed the data, it built specialized spider bots.
Yup, spiders in the kitchen. A whole tangle of mecha spiders kneading and swallowing dough balls to extrude pasta out their butts, sticking their legs in bowls to mix sauces, whip cream, churn ice cream, vomiting batter into baking cups …
What was the saying — never watch a professional kitchen make your food? Just pretend it's all clean, sanitary magic and ignore the horror stories of what goes on in a restaurant kitchen when the health inspector ain't looking. At least the mechas never forgot to sterilized their surfaces between food stations, didn't come to work sick, and were manic about cleanliness.
"You secured the Jarl's permission to take away the big earth-movers, very good, my lord," said Agrund. "Not having to smuggle them out will be a relief.
"Yeah. But it looks like we're pretty much committed here. I wish we didn't have to, but in all good conscience I couldn't leave knowing this city could have a catastrophic rupture within the next two centuries and blow up in three."
"Understandable. It can't be helped. I don't believe it will adversely affect our current projects in The Vale. We've been at standstill since the clerics need time to catch up on documentation and other paperwork. Until the data has been compiled, we can't continue with our research. I may as well be here. Any data or clarifications I'm needed for can be handled over the phone."
Amgar and Gourd joined them.
"Functional," announced Amgar. "Needs reprogramming to the new laws. Nothing to connect to, though."
"Still, it would make for good testing. Balvus is dream-consulting with Kineher and Sidabor," said Gourd. "Balvus says the power patterns in The Reach are chaotic. Something out there is mucking up the ley lines. Arkngthamz for one. The other might be Bthar-Zel or Bthardamz. Both are the next stations in the circuit. Bthar-Zel was involved with that Aetherium research."
"Maybe bypass them for now and just concentrate on Winterhold and Darkfall," said Amgar.
They were talking about the teleporter they'd discovered in the levels under the water. Agrund believed the station had finally been installed shortly after he'd left on his dream cruise. It was a network patterned after the one that used to exist in Vvardenfell. Not surprising as it was Clan Rourden that was doing the set up.
Yeah, Rourden. The founders of Volenfell, or Hammer-fell, as in "I toss my Clan's Hammer in the air, and where it falls, our new home is there." They'd left Resdayn in a major snit over Dumac amending relations with the Chimer and staying allies with them even after the Nords were driven out. Of course they'd set up the familiar teleport system of Resdayn.
"I hope not Bthar-Zel," said Curtis. "That place is totally collapsed. Bthardamz … well, last I heard a Peryite cult had taken up residence and were brewing some nasty crap to infect the world with."
"Why?" asked Gourd.
"Religion," answered Curtis. "Some stupid shit about purification through the fires of the plague. 'What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger' nonsense." The Dwemer all snorted. Despite accepting Jhunal the Owl as their patron deity, they retained much of the Dwemer cynicism toward religious organizations and teachings.
Curtis added, "Dunno if the Dragonborn might have burnt them out or not. The only cool thing you get out of that storyline is Spellbreaker, a Dwemer shield that negates most magic attacks. I'll check with the College. In any case, it will still take another week to finish the fountain pipeline and yet another week to pump out water from the lower levels," said Curtis.
"Hack the station and create a new key," grumbled Gourd. "That's Jalen's skill. But you've got him sound-mixing, and then he's got the reconstruction commitments in Whiterun. And before we even begin to set up a node at Darkfall, there's no good power source. Leeching energy off of their wayshrine is too chancy."
"How about a solar array collectors like the Falmer uses to supplement the lay line current of The Vale? Put it in the mountains above Bthar-Zel and run an underground cable back to Darkfall," suggested Curtis. "We've got the robots to do the tunneling now. Going by battery bank isn't so bad for now. And once we get a node working in SkyTemple, that will take care of the power level."
Gourd slapped down a large, blank piece of paper. They all began doodling diagrams and formulas on it as they discussed the teleport system.
If one thought of them as computer networks, the Falmer system was a hybrid mesh and point-to-point (P2P), the Dwemer system was a token ring, and the Aldmer was a full mesh. The difference between the Falmer and Aldmer systems was scale. The Falmer system in the Vale all drew power from the same source. The Aldmer network required each node to monopolize a power source and living operators to open connections and control traffic. It was, after all, a global network built by the Aldmer explorers to all the lands they explored. Probably not the Akaviri continent, though, and certainly not Pyandonea.
Each system had their own … something. Curtis wasn't quite sure what it was called, so he just called it a "gatekeeper." The Dwemer system had to have those index keys. The standard index key allowed you to travel forward or back from the current station. Only a master index key allowed you to travel the entire ring, and only ring diagnosticians were allowed to have master index keys. The Aldmer network required trained mages, usually Alteration specialists, to communicate with other operators, direct traffic, and use the station's power to send and receive packets (travelers and/or goods). A live person was cheaper, easier to train, and easier to replace than building a computer system.
One did not need to have skills in Alteration magic to operate the Falmer nodes. Curtis had heard the tale of the ghost prelates who had been the last operators of the nodes. They had been casual gatekeepers and posted there for the Journey of Enlightenment for novitiates. The gates stayed underground until the novitiate had proven to the prelate they were ready for the next step of enlightenment. If it was a go, the prelate would work the spell that would cause the station to rise up, allowing the novitiate to take some of the holy water within and thus opening the node for travel if the novitiate needed to come back to consult the prelate. Travel between the opened portals did not need any further action by the prelates. The Falmer network's mesh design was limited only to those stations within its own power connectivity. It was designed with panels upon which was cast pictures of the available destination for the traveler. Step into the picture and be transported.
The ghost prelates were gone now thanks to Revyn Sadri. From Gelebor's tale, they vanished after finally being able to convey their messages through the Dragonborn's mate as he walked the pilgrim's path to help re-sanctify the great temple.
The P2P gateway into the Falmer Vale network was through the shrine in Darkfall Cave. Sort of. Actually, the Darkfall cave portal is a one-way trip to a platform that shuts down once you arrive because you must find your way through the darkness until you discover the Wayshrine of Illumination, the pilgrim's first gate of the mesh. Religious stuff. If desired, the Illumination shrine can connect the Darkfall portal and bypass the long, dark walk, like if the grand temple was expecting guests or taking in shipments from the outside. The dead destination platform was when the Illumination node was shut against the Darkfall node.
Also, the Darkfall node's independent power collecting sucked. It power in gems were below the ground and leeched the meager magic from the surrounding area. Recharging on its own took years. If connected to the mesh, it recharged in a day. The current idea was to create an interface card (pillar) at the Darkfall node for P2P to connection with the Dwemer system node they were building at SkyTemple. They could add in a better power feed. The Dwemer had figured out the Falmer system thanks to their overnight data access in Apocrypha.
The Aldmer system was trickier because it was essentially just a magical catapult for the Alterations mage who did the sending and receiving. It reminded Curtis of a sci-fi series of books where espers gifted with telekinetic abilities resided in special towers that boosted the espers' psychic powers so they could throw ships between worlds. The Aldmer nodes were like that. They were just launch pads and destination beacons anyone with Alterations training could use.
Heck, by the time he'd left Skuldafn, he'd been using the gate to send people back and forth. It was simple enough turn-key system.
Aw, man. Pipelines, security gates, water gates, mecha-bots, a world-wide web — How did a bathroom install turn into a renovation from hell?
Related Shopkeeper's Wife story(s): #7 Whiterun Ordination; #49 Show Me The Wayshrine;#97 Tides of Time
Related 2nd Life story(s): #40 To Boldly Go; #41 The Gardener of Mer; #47 Bloodmoney
Welcome to the Critics' Corner
Falseproffitt : Uh-huh, uh-huh, okay. "Moronic." Yeah. Read your profile. I usually do to see the type of person calling me out. Congratulations. You have a profile. That's a step up from the usual anonymous trolls. I'm always curious to see what kind of audience my writing has attracted or pissed off. For a self-proclaimed "muse," I did not find your review summary enlightening, encouraging, or inspiring. Anyways, did you "get" that Curtis was a man with a family, committed to a life and way of living and thinking, and even while suffering depression, he was working hard to turn his life around when he got isekai'd into another world? He wasn't some angsty, detached, loner teen or overworked black (not talking racial) company worker (he owned the company) wanting an escape. He's adjusting at his own pace. He's not afraid of magic; it just isn't his priority. However, as your review was at Chapt. 24, and this is #54, you'll probably never see this, so I'm just talking to the void.
Guest: You're outta luck. He talks alot.
Poplar40: "Gamerspeak." Guilty. 2nd language/lost in translation syndrome. A strange guy in a strange land. BYOB. I think I understand the discordance. It's like the newer stories of the isekai manga protagonists with the "power of the gamer," those status windows only they can see and points allotment to tweak their life. I haven't yet come across one where the sys-admin is Sheogorath and "the points don't matter."
Badnovelreviewer: Much, wow. Such insight. So helpful. :D