Chapter 48 – Vacuo: Cutthroat Competition

Cover Art: Mi Chumi

Chapter Beta - ZoroEpsilon

Forty-five year-old Rashem Annar was on the cusp of immortality.

For his entire life, he'd scraped, hustled, and bent Vacuan law into pretzels to build a future for his extended family. And, gradually, he'd seen those efforts bear fruit.

The breakthrough had come fifteen years prior, when his then-teenaged nephew, Harvesh, had shown himself against all odds to be a prodigy when it came to electronics. The boy just… figured things out. He'd started by disassembling anything that had the misfortune to be left unsupervised in his presence for more than ten minutes. Amazingly, 90% of the time, he could just as deftly reassemble them to a fully functional state.

Then he'd progressed to using the nets to teach himself basic programming languages.

From there, the boy had progressed rapidly, and Rashem had taken him under his wing. At one point, Harvesh announced he'd evolved into what he'd told his uncle was "ethical hacking." Rashem hadn't been sure what exactly that entailed, but apparently it meant breaking into electronics in a manner that was technically illegal but with no intent to actually hurt anyone.

Rashem could get behind that kind of mentality.

And so he did. Before Harvesh had reached adulthood, he'd dropped out of school to work for Rashem full-time. The result was that Rashem's Electronics Bazaar quickly built up a reputation as the place to go in Vacuo City to have electronics repaired, with a quieter and more lucrative side-business doing something Harvesh had termed "jailbreaking".

Over the next ten years of this, Rashem quietly amassed a small fortune by Vacuan standards, even after ensuring his extended family was taken care of. Family was important, after all.

But that wasn't where the real money was.

The fact was that 90% of electronic devices, outside of some simple toys, used what was commonly thought of as Atlesian Technology. The mere use of that word made Rashem scowl, and made his nephew's hacking and jailbreaking even more palatable to Rashem.

Every one of the four Kingdoms had their own personality. Vale was the undisputed champion of producing world-class Huntsmen. Mistral was known for its entertainment and culture. Vacuo for its cut-throat individualism and innovation.

And Atlas was the technological giant. Atlas held the patents and most of the manufacturing capacity on everything from military technology to proprietary scroll components, to the CCT Tower technologies themselves.

One might even call it a technological stranglehold. And one that they flaunted, sneering at the other three Kingdoms backward ways, even as they placed roadblocks against them developing competing industries.

For example, Dust was expensive because Atlas' SDC controlled its mining and processing, even when they were stripping it from other Kingdoms. Electronics were expensive, because often the primary source of replacement components, beyond those that could be salvaged from used gear, was Atlas manufacturers. And that went double for the chips that were the core of those components.

And Atlas tended to monopolistic business practices, directly in line with its rigid and militaristic top-down political culture.

Anyone who could build a competing business supplying components like those, without immediately getting shut down by Atlas's business elites, would be rolling in wealth.

But no one in Atlas would dare. The barriers to entry were high, and they'd be squashed or bought out nearly immediately. And Atlas guarded its technology jealously. No one in the other Kingdoms had been able to get their hands on the specs required to duplicate the functionality of key components, much less backwards engineer something of their own.

Until Harvesh.

First, it had been consumer technology. After Harvesh demonstrated what he could accomplish, Rashem had given him the funds to create custom-made interfaces to do something the young man called 'reflashing'. He'd also built four semi-automated machines that could desolder components from existing scrolls, and allow new alternate ones to be substituted, and had begun reflashing and repurposing chips from one application to another, with some remarkable results.

While their resulting Vacuan-sourced products, from custom scrolls to gaming systems, were nowhere near the cutting-edge technology you could get from Atlas suppliers, they were only a few generations behind with a price was a fraction of what it would cost to import the equivalent from one of the Atlas wholesalers. And it kept the money in Vacuo.

The result had been such a spectacular success, and Rashem then set his sights higher.

Two years ago, he'd spent a sizeable amount of lien to know when some core components of the Vacuo CCT would be upgraded. And then another obscene amount of lien to have those decommissioned boards "accidentally destroyed" rather than returned to Atlas.

And he'd turned the resulting boards over to Harvesh. Within months, the young man had reverse-engineered them, from the chips to the boards themselves, and had designed and created prototypes for his own drop-in replacement chips. Ones that he swore, with his own customized firmware, would operate 20% faster than the originals, if he only had the equipment required to produce the wafers.

Rashem had gone all-in. He'd invested almost all of his liquid assets in converting an abandoned dust-processing plant into a single-line automated production facility to manufacture the golden egg of technology: the core chips that made 90% of communications and remote operation function on Remnant, from CCT Towers and relays to remotely operated vehicles and drones.

The most difficult aspect had been obtaining the machines required to manufacture the wafers. That had required bribing the maintenance staff at a second-tier Atlesian chip manufacturer to declare one of their fabrication lines that had failed "unrepairable scrap", followed by an offer to purchase it from them for ten times the scrap value. Smuggling it out of Atlas had, in itself, consumed the equivalent of a year's salary for the average Vacuan worker.

And then Harvesh had performed miracles. He'd trained himself on how to repair and operate the machines, and then hired a small team of technicians and trained them. Within a year, they had a functional assembly line for wafers, along with customized machines he'd designed himself to cut and bin them. They couldn't manufacture nearly the volumes that Atlas could, but he could take a small bite out of the business, and that would be enough.

They were due to ship the first components out next month. It had taken him months to find the first set of buyers willing to take the risk and purchase from some unknown upstart in Vacuo. He'd had to forego any profit margin on those first orders.

As he stood on the second-floor balcony, looking through the clear glass across the clean manufacturing floor at Harvesh and his small team as they monitored the latest wafer crystals being grown in the supercooled inert-gas chamber. Next to it, the superfine Dust Slicer stood ready to receive the crystal and slice it into individual wafers before a third machine would use high-powered Hard-Light and Lightning Dust to etch the wafer into what Harvesh had called a three-dimensional matrix circuit ready for the Dust-Ion Doping Oven and final interconnections.

Rashem felt his heart swell with pride. A reaction that would, hopefully, soon correspond to how his bank accounts would react.

And then he heard the yelling.

Harvesh had his scroll out and was jabbing it over and over with his thumb. Finally he threw it to the ground and began rushing toward the Crystal Foundry, waving his hands at the others, and slammed his hand down on the external abort button that would halt all power to the machine other than the supercooling system.

And nothing happened.

Nothing except that first the Crystal Foundry, then the Doping Oven, began smoking and sparking.

Rashem's wide eyes were then drawn to the Dust Slicer, which was designed to separate the crystals into separate wafers, began to malfunction as well. There was a blood-curdling scream as the directing mirrors, against all fail-safes, suddenly pivoted and directed its beam across the room, neatly severing and cauterizing one technician's arm as he attempted to avoid the glowing red beam.

Harvesh stared for a brief second, shock and horror on his face, before he met the same expression as Rashem's on the second floor.

And then that beam of red light flared through the window, to his right and flashing toward Rashem's face.

It was only the distance and the minute spreading of that powerful beam that saved his life, as his legs gave way and he fell to the floor as the beam passed through the space his head had been before it moved on.

Rashem shuddered on the floor, staring at the wall opposite the window where the beam had scored a deep, burnt furrow.

The sounds of high-powered machinery tearing itself to pieces continued for what seemed like an eternity, followed by silence punctuated by sobs and cries of pain as his world went dark.

When Rashem's gaze was able to drag itself from the floor, it was to find it was the facility that was dark, save for what sunlight filtered in through the high windows and a handful of red emergency lights. Harvesh was slumped against the wall next to the master bus for the facility floor, where he'd managed to cut power to everything, including the cooling systems for the powerful Dust Slicer and other sensitive machinery. The first victim was huddled, screaming against a large worktable, being cared for by one of his workmates. The rest of his team were scattered or huddled behind furniture or in corners. Several others had been seriously injured by the malfunctioning Dust Slicer, but all appeared to be moving.

Rashem grabbed his scroll and dialed emergency services, as the awareness of the fact that he was ruined slowly wormed its way into his brain.

Absolutely ruined.

What hadn't been destroyed during the initial malfunctions, had been melted by its own generated heat when the cooling systems cut off instantly rather than slowly ramping down.

They'd invested everything, and now they couldn't even meet the contracts they'd signed.

Dreams had turned to ash, all in an instant.

Far away in Evernight Castle, Doctor Arthur Watts viewed the hacked camera feed with immense satisfaction.

Believing they could encroach on the industry that he had spent a not insignificant amount of time and lien to compromise had been their first mistake.

The use of Atlesian technology, something he was intimately familiar with, for their manufacturing line had been their second.

Their third had been failing to isolate the machines from the broader CCT network. Oh, they'd had firewalls in place. Trivial affairs that he'd breached within minutes. And then he'd compromised their security camera systems so he could enjoy the show firsthand.

Could he have simply sabotaged the machines so that they produced catastrophically flawed product? Of course he could. It would have been trivial.

Could he have hired some ruffians to burn the factory down? Likewise trivial.

But Doctor Arthur Watts was a genius and an artiste. He wanted not only to halt this threat to his longer-term plans, but to do so elegantly. Preferably in a manner that left the upstarts questioning their very reason for existing on Remnant.

Destroying someone's body was trivial. Destroying someone's confidence in their own self-worth was much more delightful. He'd proven this, years ago, when he'd destroyed first that Atlas Specialist's career, and then the CCT Engineer who'd stuck her nose where it didn't belong.

And so, he'd watched with smug satisfaction as Rashem's little toys had catastrophically self-destructed. And then he watched the shocked aftermath slowly turn to demoralized realization as the wounded were taken away. He saw it in the slumped shoulders and resigned expression of that man, Rashem, and his supposed prodigy nephew, whatever his name had been.

Satisfied, he burned out the security recorders, and then wiped all evidence of his intrusion from both the security system and the controls systems for the machines themselves.

"I do so love a locked-room mystery," Watts said to himself as he leaned back in his comfortable chair.

"We've got a bogey," Sophia opened the call with the rest of the Lone Huntsmen.

Pete rolled his eyes. "Soph, you're the one who demanded an immediate video conference, the least you could do is tell us why without using code."

"Do you want to sleep on the couch tonight? Because I can arrange that."

"Ahh. I meant to say, my lovely lady, that I await your explanation with bated breath."

"More like it."

"If you two are through?" Reggie said, flatly.

"Spoil sport."

Sophia, aka GNU, adjusted her glasses. "One of my scripts pinged on some anomalous traffic piggybacking from that node in the Grimmlands." She eyeballed Selene. "While we have no way of knowing the contents of his communications, Watts apparently took a sudden and intense interest in a particular node in Vacuo. Once I figured out the business addresses that node was associated with, I tried to do the same, but it looks like he took down their network in the process, because I can't get anything out of there since."

"Any idea what he was after?" Garek asked.

"The business address was registered to a new company called "Next Generation Electronics" owned by one Rashem Annar. No details on exactly what they were making, but that name intrigues me."

Selene spoke up. "Would you like for me to ask my father to investigate?"

Heads swiveled. "Huh. That's not a bad idea."

Two days later, Rashem was locking up his only functioning business, the one that had built his now-lost fortune, late in the evening. He'd had to keep Rashem's Electronics Bazaar open far later than he'd have done so weeks prior. He had determined to work extra hours. Both to take his mind off the devastating losses he'd incurred, and because he needed to if he was ever to recover from them.

It would take decades for him to rebuild his family's financial position. And he wasn't nearly as young as he used to be.

Insurance would cover damage to the building, but the machines... They'd not been able to accurately value the machines for insurance purposes, and the manner of the failures would likely have any claims stuck for months before they saw lien, if ever.

He shook his head, feeling exhausted. So much promise. So many years of hard work, destroyed in minutes. Harvesh was broken, possibly more than he. Even now, the young man's wife was likely trying to convince him to come back to work for his uncle. To not give up.

As he finished locking up, he turned to find a large, burly man with long silvery-gray hair and beard and the tanned, leathery skin of a local leaning against the corner of the shop.

His initial reaction was to tense.

Surely life would not be so cruel as to pile a robbery on top of our already horrid luck.

And then he fully took in the man, both in demeanor and weaponry.

Everything about him screamed Huntsman.

Rashem relaxed slightly. Huntsmen tended to be able to make lien freely, and even bad ones had little use for such petty crimes such as robbery of a storefront. He plastered his best face on and greeted the man.

"Mr. Rashem Annar?"

Rashem blinked. "Yes."

"Mind if we walk together for a bit? My associates hear you just had a run of bad fortune."

Rashem scowled and turned away, "If you wish to buy what remains of my equipment," he said through gritted teeth, "there is no need to bother. It is worthless at this point."

The man easily drew even with him as he walked, and then matched his pace, eyes flicking around as they proceeded. "Ah, see, that's just it. We don't know exactly what it was that you were making, just the business name and the fact that there was some kind of accident."

Rashem laughed bitterly. "Accident? Catastrophe. It was a total loss."

"Yeah. That. Can you… tell me what it was that you were manufacturing there? The news articles weren't specific."

Rashem paused, and the man followed suit. He'd been keeping the actual product they were making under wraps, only telling a handful of potential customers to stay under the radar for as long as possible. At least until he had those first sales completed.

But now… what is the point of secrecy?

"I suppose it does little harm now, Huntsman…?

"Stonecrop. Forrest Stonecrop."

"Huntsman Stonecrop. We were attempting to break into computer chip production. Unfortunately, things did not go as planned." He felt the heaviness in his chest as he spoke the words, but his thoughts were interrupted by the Huntsman's reaction.

There was a sudden high-pitched noise from somewhere near the Huntsman's left ear, and he winced and muttered "One at a time, please."

"Eh?"

"Nothing, just talking to myself and anyone else with half a brain." He paused. "So, you say… you were trying to make computer chips?"

"Not just trying. We had prototypes. We were poised for greatness! And now we are ruined."

Another long pause. "Mr. Annar, my friends would like very much to speak with you about a business proposition. How about I go buy you a drink somewhere quiet."

Rashem frowned. "I should really go home. My wife will be worried, as I have already worked very late. And I do not drink."

"Then I'll buy you a coffee. And we'll pay you 1,000 lien for an hour of your time. You pick the place, right now."

Rashem blinked. He wasn't stupid. That was a ridiculous amount of money to convince someone to sit for a conversation.

But then again, 1000 lien is 1000 lien, just as water is water to a thirsty man. "Fine. Let me call my wife first."

Fifteen minutes later, Huntsman Stonecrop and Rashem were sitting in a corner booth at a local all-night eatery. It wasn't very full at that hour. The Huntsman had spent several long minutes scanning the room before he'd pointed to the seating he wanted.

"First question. Does this man look familiar to you?" He held out his scroll. Rashem was initially distracted by the device he held. It was an odd affair. Not the scroll itself, that seemed typical. But the case was… bulkier than normal, and when the scroll was opened, a thin opaque membrane slid out with it to cover the back of the holographic screen, preventing anyone from viewing it from the rear.

"That is a nice case," he observed.

Stonecrop smiled. "It's proprietary. But that's another matter. About the man?"

Rashem eyed the image. An older man, perhaps close to him in age. Not likely Vacuan due to his pale complexion. Tall, lean. Rich green eyes. Mouth hidden beneath a very impressive mustache. Dressed richly in the Mantlean style. "No. Why do you ask?"

"Does the name Arthur Watts mean anything to you?"

Rashem's brow furrowed. "And again, no." He shifted his gaze to the Huntsman. "What is this about?"

Blue eyes regarded him as the Huntsman seemed to be listening a voice which only he could hear, and Rashem noticed for the first time a discrete earpiece in one ear. "This is the man who just, and I am quoting one of my associates here, 'fucked you up the poop chute.'"

Two hours later, Rashem was in the Huntsman's rented apartment, sitting at a small table. Upon his insistence, his nephew had been summoned and was sitting next to him, looking bewildered and slightly drunk. Their host had set his scroll on the table, facing them, and had initiated a call before shifting to the counter to brew up a fresh pot of coffee.

The call connected without video on the other end, and a woman's voice greeted them. "Mr. Annar?"

"Call me Rashem. And this is my nephew, Harvesh."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, though I wish the circumstances were less problematic from your end."

Rashem frowned at the camera. "Why do you hide your face?"

"Ah, that's a really good question." The woman's voice sounded on the younger side. "The answer is that the same man that destroyed your business has in the past done much the same to me, and I want to make sure we have an understanding before we put both of us at further risk. He is a very dangerous man, Mr. Annar."

"Call me Rashem," he corrected, and swallowed. "How dangerous?"

"He has killed men before if he considered them a significant threat to his plans."

Rashem turned that information around in his head and glanced at Harvesh. "Do you tell me that I have 'gotten off easy'?

"I'm sure it doesn't feel like it. The question I have for you is, does the fact that he's dangerous make you unwilling to get your revenge on him?"

"I am an old man, with little to lose." Rashem glanced at Harvesh again, whose face had hardened. "What say you, nephew?"

Harvesh nearly snarled his response. "He cost my friend his arm, uncle. I would see him staked out in the desert and his entrails eaten alive by sand crabs, were the decision mine."

"Violence is not always the balm you might imagine, nephew."

The woman interjected. "That's good to hear you say, Rashem, because we would prefer you get your revenge in a more subtle way."

"How?"

"By being successful, despite him." There was a pause. "Harvesh… can you explain to me exactly what you had been able to accomplish? Tell me about your prototypes."

Harvesh frowned. "It's very technical. I'm not sure you would understand the terminology, much less the science." He seemed to realize it might sound insulting. "Not because you are a woman, but—"

It was Stonecrop who interrupted him. "Ah lad, I suspect you'd be hard-pressed to trip that one up. Go ahead."

"I… alright." And he began to describe what he'd built, beginning in very simple, layman's terms. And then about a minute into his explanation, he was shocked when the woman, whose name he still didn't know, corrected his terminology.

He'd used a generic simplification, and she'd used a very specific, very exact term instead.

"Oh…" He glanced up to see the Huntsman grinning at him. "Alright, then…" And he continued on with increased confidence and in much more detail. After thirty minutes of that Rashem, now totally lost, stood up and moved over to where the Huntsman still stood, leaning against the countertop.

"Who are you people?" Rashem demanded.

"Potential allies, Mr. Annar." He handed the man a cup of coffee, and then took a sip of his own. "At the least, someone who hates Watts as much as you do now."

"Yes… but… this woman. She is clearly knowledgeable. Are you from Atlas?"

"Not my place to tell. Not yet. But if you play your cards right, I've got a strong suspicion that you'll get a second chance out of this."

Rashem froze. A second chance?

Preposterous.

"We are… well, we are not bankrupt. But the cost to replace the equipment alone. And we will never regain the trust… we promised products and we failed. Our purchasers will not give us a second chance." He shook his head. "And if what you say of this… Watts… is true, even if we did, he would merely destroy us again, or worse."

"Yeah." Stonecrop grunted. "I can see how those might look like barriers." But his expression seemed more amused than anything else.

"Uncle! The lady wishes to speak with you again!" Harvesh seemed rejuvenated by his conversation, his eyes no longer held the haunted look they had the last couple of days.

"Here's a cup of coffee for your nephew. I'll stay here and make sure the counter doesn't try to run away," the Huntsman said with a grin.

Placing the cup in front of Harvesh, Rashem regarded the blank scroll with a growing sense of bewilderment. "Err… you wished to speak with me, young lady?"

"You're damned right I do. Your nephew there is a real prodigy, you know that? Some of the things he's figured out on his own… well, I wouldn't have come up with those workarounds, and I have the education for it."

He felt his chest swell slightly, and regarded his nephew, who was smiling broadly. "I thank you, though I fail to see—"

"Exactly how much would it cost to get your facility fully operational again?"

Rashem stilled. "That is… impossible… the machines."

"You got your hands on them once, so it ain't impossible. Just expensive, right? How expensive?"

"More than I have the funds for. Even if I mortgaged all that I owned, we could not—"

"BZZZZ." The woman actually made an annoying buzzer sound. "Wrong answer! Let me ask it differently. How much could you come up with, on your own, and how much would that leave you short?"

"I could… perhaps… obtain financing for 50,000 lien." He looked at his nephew. "Is any of the existing facility salvageable?"

"The building itself, uncle. The utilities and air and water filtration systems are easily repaired. It is the machines, themselves."

"Ah. So… still well outside our reach. It cost me nearly 200,000 lien to obtain those machines, young lady. It will likely cost more to replace them, as there will be greater scrutiny on the methods I used the first time."

There was a long pause, and he had the feeling she had muted her microphone. He heard an audible increase in background noise after many seconds.

"Done."

"Excuse me?"

"Done. We'll even help you transport them to your facility."

"But… there is no way to repay the loans I would be forced to obtain! We cannot sell the product even if we produce it. Our buyers—"

"Not a problem. We'll be your sole buyer anyway."

Rashem looked to the Huntsman again, as if to verify that the woman he was speaking with was sane. The big man just smiled and nodded once.

She seemed to read his thoughts. "Mr. An… fine Rashem. The reason you got hit is because you were going to sell those chips on the open market. Watts found out, probably has a spy or was eavesdropping on one of the customers you were courting and decided to put the kibosh on you. If you try selling them again, he'll do the same thing, and it'll probably lead back to us this time, and then all of us are in trouble." She paused. "But the fact that he doesn't want you making those chips means that we need you making those chips. And we'll buy them all off you. Every last wafer. Nice and quiet like, with the understanding that you don't approach anyone else. You don't advertise that you're even running." There was a whispered conversation on the other end. "In fact, we're going to have someone buy the building off you using a new corporation, one that you will actually own and control behind the scenes, and you're going to be making something completely different. Something very boring."

"But what is the purpose of all of this, miss? For what reason would you do this thing for me?"

"Ah Rashem, that's complicated. But how would you like to be known someday as the sole manufacturer of a series of computer chips that were responsible for saving the world?"

Rashem Annar did not drink. But at that moment, he felt as if he'd consumed far too much alcohol. "I… I…"

"Tell you what, we'll be having some non-disclosure forms sent over as soon as our advocate in Vacuo can draw them up, and then we can talk in more detail. In the meantime, remember, this bastard is capable of reaching into your control systems, and your security systems. He probably watched while your employees nearly died, and he didn't give a fuck, if you'll pardon the language. Do not talk about anything related to this conversation outside this room. Our mutual friend there has swept his apartment for snoopers, and this scroll is my own custom work. You don't know where Watts has ears. Got it? We can protect you physically, but only if you protect yourselves technology-wise."

The realization sent ice up Rashem's spine, and he turned to his nephew, only to find that the younger man's face was twisted with anger.

"We must not let this man, this demon, commit this atrocity, uncle," Harvesh said through gritted teeth. "If we can thwart him in this manner…"

"Think about it, Rashem." The woman interjected. "We'll be in touch."

In a darkened basement in Argus, Pete glared at his girlfriend. "I didn't understand a damned thing you guys were talking about," he complained as the call ended.

"That's because, lover boy, you just use the technology that people like me create," Sophia quipped with a crooked smile.

"You trying to say I'm inferior?"

"Eh… I wouldn't say that…"

"Alright you two, get a room," Reggie said, interrupting what honestly was something akin to foreplay between the two.

Garek tried to drag the conversation back on topic. "Seriously Sopha, we all went along with you on the money side because you seem sure these guys were geniuses. Is it really that good?"

The gazelle faunus leaned back and adjusted her glasses. "Good?! That Harvesh guy self-taught himself enough about semiconductor structure to backwards-engineer existing chips and then come up with his own completely new technique for dust-doping. Yes, he's apparently that good." She threw up her hands. "What the fuck have I been doing with my life?" She glared at them all. "I'm telling you that if he'd asked for twice as much money, we still should have said yes."

The group shared some looks before Garek continued. "Alright, sold. How bad is this going to set us back on our work in Menagerie though?"

Pete spoke up, because he'd agreed to take charge of tracking all their various planned expenditures. "Based on the numbers that you and Chieftain Ursulus gave me for this year, and the burn rate so far, probably a few months. I think we can handle that, right?"

"I guess no plan survives first contact with the budget." Garek shrugged. "Besides, we can't really open the Combat School until Lionheart finishes his fundraising work and starts renovating Haven later this year. Can we do the CCT Chimera without those chips?"

Sophia tapped her fingers on the tabletop, eyes distant in thought. "Well, yes and no. We can build one that works, but not one that is Watts-proof if he ever got physical access. But chips that his grubby mitts never touched? Oh baby, I can build a system that Watts will never see the inside of." Sophia continued. "Selene, give your father our thanks. That was perfect. And let him know we'll be wanting his services this coming week to provide a meeting spot for Rashem and our Advocate to meet."

"I will do so."

"Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have our chip supplier!" Sophia finished, eyes glowing.

"Gods," Pete leered. "You're hot when you're all techie."

"I said get a room."

"Jealous."

[A/N] And another player is set upon the board. Or perhaps shoved onto the board despite their own desires, set on fire, pushed over, and sat upon. They are now slightly angry, and looking for someone to punch. Who has a punchable face? Why Doctor Arthur Watts does, of course.

The description of electronics manufacture here is very roughly based on one of our mundane electronics semiconductor processes, adjusted to account for Dust being a key resource.

Next chapter update April 29th-ish where we will return to Argus to see how Cinder and her classmates are doing at Sanctum.

(PS Dear Readers, please let me know if you are put off by the chapters jumping around between locations/arcs like this, and I'll try to bunch them up better into mini-arcs instead.)