Chapter One Hundred and Forty: I Work in a Factory (Patreon)

It was a cold, windy November day in London. In other words, quite normal.

Farnborough, about an hour from the city centre, had been home to BAE Systems and its predecessors for over a century. The town had witnessed something of a resurgence in the last two decades, as more and more industry crept up around it.

This was where the British government had set up the Special Radiation Treatment Clinic. Curiously, the SRTC just happened to be located right next to a bare plot of land, owned by the BAE Systems joint venture.

What a stroke of luck, one would say.

When I’d decided to take Paul’s advice and accept the British government’s proposal, it hadn’t really sunk in that I would be working at a job. In my ultrahuman identity. In a foreign country.

Admittedly the UK was pretty cool as foreign countries went, but still, figuring out forms, taxes and employment agreements was a new experience. Even with my helpful (and very expensive) lawyers.

Granted, ‘chief production officer’ of BAE Dragonfly was somewhat misleading, since I was the only one who could actually produce….

For now, there were three other employees in the firm. William Clegg, a forty-year-old construction veteran, who was busy setting up prefabricated sheds on the empty land, so that it looked like a factory instead of a denuded farm. Dr. Sarah Palmer, a kindly old lady whose grey hair and twinkling eyes hid a razor-sharp mind and a Ph.D. in materials science. And Gideon Troy, who handled the finances and was responsible for the overall health of the business - also called the CEO.

Of the four of us, I was the only one who wore a uniform to work. One made of nanofibre weave. Apart from the need to keep my identity concealed, it also helped with temperature control. Given the usual weather conditions – a far cry from balmy Florida – the extra insulation was something I found welcome. (Doesn’t breathe, my foot.)

And, in a pinch, I could swap to the Greyhound Armor in case we were attacked.

Or in case Clegg needed heavy stuff moved and didn’t want to spend on a crane.

Gideon sighed as he watched me maneuver a generator into place. “Wouldn’t it be a better use of your time to focus on output?”

I shook my head. “We’ve already got too much stockpiled. Until Dr. Palmer figures out the why of my production process, there’s not much point in adding more.”

“We could at least ship out some more. The contract is for a million square metres.”

“The contract specifies deliveries over a two-year period, and the problem - as I’ve explained before - is that until we get a solution that allows mass production, we won’t be able to scale up. Even ten million square metres won’t be enough to armor all the troops in the United Kingdom, let alone the world.”

“We could still do with the cash flow.”

“And if I help Clegg out, our cash outflow reduces, so that’s good, isn’t it? Besides, if we’re running short, let me know and I’ll build another Boar Armor.”

Gideon looked unhappy but nodded.

My contribution to the BAE contract - based on Paul’s suggestions - had been two-fold.

First, I’d insisted on an open-ended delivery date. After all, successfully mass-producing nanofibre weave would need a lot of technical breakthroughs, which didn’t exactly follow a schedule.

The Ministry of Defence hadn’t been happy about that, so I’d offered a ‘sweetener’. Customized versions of my Boar class armor for SAS operatives, at a price tag of a half million pounds each.

Frankly, I’d expected them to bargain. And underestimated just how badly they wanted Boar Armor.

Twenty sets had already been shipped to the SAS for their use, leading to BAE-Dragonfly being ‘flush’ with funds.

Gideon, Sarah and Clegg were experienced executives with a head for business. The problem they faced was the same that every person working with ultrahumans, eventually, would run into.

The day I’d signed the sales contract, a new quest had appeared:

NEW QUEST ALERT: ARMS DEALER

SELL MATERIALS, WEAPONS AND ARMOR TO YOUR ALLIES FOR A SUITABLE PRICE.

SELL 5,500 NANOFIBRE WEAVE COMBAT ARMOR SETS.

SELL 1,000,000 SQUARE METRES OF NANOFIBRE WEAVE.

REWARD: APART FROM THE MASSIVE FINANCIAL INCENTIVES? FOR FULFILLING A BRIGADE-SCALE DEFENCE CONTRACT, GAIN 1,000,000 XP.

BONUS: SELL BOAR ARMOR SETS TO YOUR ALLIES FOR +5000 XP PER SET UNTIL THE CONTRACT IS FULFILLED.

The twenty sets of Boar Armor had netted me ten per cent of the XP I’d gain from selling five-and-a-half thousand nanofibre weave sets, and the time taken had been a lot less.

The minute the contract finished, I’d be unable to gain more bonus XP that way.

Until and unless we got mass-scale nanofibre weave production going, that was.

NEW QUEST ALERT: WEAVER’S PROMISE.

CREATE A NANOFIBRE WEAVE FABRICATOR, CAPABLE OF PRODUCING OVER 10 SQ. M. PER SECOND.

REWARD: +500,000 XP.

As things stood, what they wanted wasn’t exactly what I wanted. A perfect recipe for conflict – and misunderstandings.

Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to get the fabricator working and start putting out weave by the bucketload. Unfortunately, Gideon wanted to get busy making suits in the meanwhile, which I honestly didn’t.

If the machine could spin up the weave - which was the most time-consuming part to make - I could mass-produce the suits very, very fast.

Until then, my time was better spent stockpiling Boar Armor and fullersteel ingots.

And healing the thousands of people who came to the clinic every month.

Actually casting Cure on a person took two seconds, recharging took another three. The time it took to get them lined up was more of an issue. The first day, I’d spent more time talking to people than actually healing them. Don’t get me wrong, I like talking as much as the next person, but for every second I spent talking to someone, I wasn’t healing another.

The SRTC had been created to solve that problem. Appointments were set based on a random lottery of the injured. Nurses tracked and triaged them, and then sent them to meet doctors at time intervals.

The walk from the appointments centre to the doctors’ chambers went through a well-lit tunnel, where they were asked to wait for ‘healing rays’.

Which was me, behind the wall, casting Cure.

The NHS was nothing if not efficient. On the first day, eight hundred patients got a dose of my healing powers. The number went up the next day, and the day after that.

Twelve to fourteen hours a day, and it still took two months to treat everyone. Well – everyone willing to get treated.

In the arena of healing, I had competition. Two more healers – Nightingale and Hospice – had come to London after the battle to help with the wounded and sick. There were a few people who weren’t keen about being healed by the person who ‘caused’ the radiation sickness in the first place, and they were happy to pay for Nightingale’s services.

Hospice created buildings that healed everyone inside them of most known diseases – of course, with a few limitations. Each building could treat a maximum of eighty people, and he could build one per day; still, it was a massive improvement over my limited skills. Nightingale had a more hands-on approach, treating one patient at a time, curing a much wider range of illnesses than Cure could. Nearly a thousand people had opted to pay for their services instead of taking the ‘free’ SRTC treatment.

Not that I cared – the goal was to get everyone healthy, and I had enough demands on my time already. Between healing people, preparing designs for the nanofibre weave production equipment, training my new skills and keeping Phoenix Company equipped, there was hardly any time to spare for making suits.

The healing process had, however, set a few records. Cure was now at an unheard-of before Level 20 - the maximum it could rise to.

The day it maxed out, the next level skills unlocked - skills that I'd pushed to level ask quickly as possible, given their potential.

HEALING AURA.

CONTINUOUSLY HEAL YOUR ALLIES WITHIN A FIXED RADIUS FROM ANY WOUNDS OR INJURIES. AUTOMATICALLY CURES STATUS EFFECTS WHERE APPLICABLE. PREVENTS STUN, DAZED, CONFUSED CONDITIONS.

LEVEL 8: RADIUS: 25 METRES. COST: 50 MP/SECOND. HEALS UP TO 25 HP/SECOND FOR EACH ALLY.

RANGE, EFFECT AND DISTANCE INCREASE WITH LEVEL.

MASS HEAL / MASS CURE.

REMOVE NEGATIVE STATUS CONDITIONS FROM MULTIPLE TARGETS WITHIN AN AREA OF EFFECT. YOU MUST BE ABLE TO REMOVE A CONDITION WITH CURE IN ORDER TO USE MASS CURE ON IT.

LEVEL 8: HEAL OR CURE UPTO 100 PEOPLE AT A TIME.

MASS HEAL COST: 2000 MP FOR 100 PEOPLE.

MASS CURE: MP COST EQUAL TO THE TOTAL COST OF INDIVIDUALLY CURING AFFECTED TARGETS.

Sadly, with a 750 MP cost of curing radiation sickness, I could help a grand total of two people at a time with Mass Cure. Three if I used hypercaffeine.

On the other hand, if I had to fix panic, hallucinations, or stun effects, it would be a great deal more useful. And with Mass Heal, I could technically get a hospital full of wounded soldiers back on their feet in seconds.

Agni had commented once that my powers seemed less oriented to individual combat and more along the lines of being force multipliers. Meaning I’d function better with a squad - or a brigade - of soldiers at my back.

A disturbing thought, considering how squishy normal humans were.

Which brought me back to the challenge of the day - the Nanofibre Weave Fabricator.

Contrary to what Gideon thought, I wasn’t helping Clegg out for the fun of it.

BLUEPRINT: NANOFIBRE WEAVE FABRICATOR LEVEL 1

DESIGNED TO SPIN WEAVE IN LARGE QUANTITIES FROM THE RAW SUBSTRATES OF FINELY GROUND CARBON DUST AND ENERGY, THIS DEVICE REQUIRES TRUE MASTERY OF ENGINEERING TO ASSEMBLE.

CONSISTS OF MULTIPLE SUBASSEMBLIES, EACH OF WHICH HAS TO BE BUILT SEPARATELY.

PRODUCES UP TO 100 SQ.M. OF NANOFIBRE WEAVE PER SECOND.

POWER REQUIREMENT: 1800 MW.

REQUIREMENTS TO BUILD:

ACTIVE BASE FACILITY.

ACTIVE POWER REACTOR AND ACTIVE ARMORY WITHIN BASE.

CONSTRUCTION LEVEL 20.

MECHANIC LEVEL 50.

Getting the Construction skill had needed me to put up a shed myself - something that Clegg still didn’t understand my reasons for. Creating fullersteel-armoured walls for all the sheds had been another source of strain - and confusion - between the two of us. Clegg was deeply sceptical of using inventech construction materials when normal ones would do.

Surprisingly, he hadn’t objected too much to my setting up a ‘private’ lab on the premises - and armouring it with fullersteel walls twice as thick. In hindsight, the rest of the team understood that inventech could be tricky. Even Dr. Palmer gave the place a wide berth.

Which worked out perfectly for me. Inside the lab was my first ever Foldspace Generator.

Creating it had required Reverse Engineering dozens of Hierarchy wrecks, fragments of the shuttle engines, and a significant amount of almost-burnt-out junk. Powering it had required a dedicated Microfusion Reactor. Keeping it quiet from the rest of the team had required massive warnings plastered all over the premises, coupled with some of the most dangerous traps I could put together.

Using it to get home every night to Quartermain Heights?

Priceless.

A nuance of my power was that the Quartermain Heights garage was a ‘station’. A small space where my domain ran, and I enjoyed the freedom to do what I wanted.

London - and its environs, stretching as far as Farnsborough - was a Base.

A Base gave me a lot more options, some of which I was still only beginning to understand.

For the small, small price of a five-second recharge, I could hop across the ocean and return home, spend a few hours with Anne and Paul, every night.

Like so many other things at the Farnsborough facility, I’d managed to keep this little feature quiet from the others. As far as they were concerned, I had a bedroom within the Lab, which doubled as my home-away-from-home.

The daily transatlantic commute added an additional layer of security.

Unfortunately, there was a definite need for it.