The disciple a gamelit p.., p.12
The Disciple: A GameLit Progression Fantasy, page 12
‘We should make it dual-frequency, Iris. Ultraviolet and a visible color. Maybe blue so it can go through water better? That will make it so they can choose to do the most powerful version, ultraviolet, or one they can see to improve their aim. It will also make it harder for the enemy to defend against by creating reflective armor. It will be hard to make something that can reflect both frequencies.’
‘That’s nice, Zed, but we should cross that bridge after we get one frequency working. Making a laser tattoo isn’t going to be easy.’
‘I know, I know. I’m just excited to provide humanity something to defend themselves with.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Hopefully we can get some uninterrupted time to work on the designs.’
Zed nodded. ‘Maybe we could create a tattoo for making water and another for making some basic food, like amino acids, or carbohydrates or something. The non-combatants could use those to feed everyone.’
‘I like the idea about the food, but I don’t think the water idea will work.’
‘Why not?’
‘You need hydrogen for water, and there isn’t much in the atmosphere. It burns too easily, making, well, water. Perhaps you should make a tattoo that can purify water instead.’
‘Yes…’ Zed tapped on his chin in deep thought. ‘I like that.’
They worked for the next couple of days on multiple iterations of the magnetic field design until they had something they thought was workable. Zed looked at their design with pride and decided it was time to talk to a mana tattooist.
**
Zed sat in a chair across from the tattooist, an álfar that looked like he was high on siddhi leaves. It was not a promising sign, but Zed decided to press on so he pulled out his magnetic field tattoo design.
“What do you think of this?”
The álfar shrugged. “I could tattoo that. Where do you want it?”
“Do you think it will work?”
A confused look. “I dunno. I’ve never seen a tattoo like this.”
‘This guy is useless,’ Zed thought. He grabbed the paper and said while rising, “Thanks for your time.”
‘None of the tattooists you’ve interviewed have been that great, Zed.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
This guy had been the worst, but most of the tattooists hadn’t been what he wanted. There was one that seemed sharp and that he wanted to hire, but she had her husband and kids here in Harlond and wasn’t interested in going elsewhere or leaving her steady job. If Zed couldn’t find anyone else he would probably work with her, just not full-time.
Zed sighed as he walked into the next tattoo shop. His hopes were not high when he saw its messy state. There were ink-stained rags here and there and a couple of tattooing needles lying haphazardly on a table. Zed sighed.
A short, middle-aged álfar with light-brown hair looked over to Zed. His shirt and hands were stained with ink. “Hello. Can I help you?”
“Yes. I was hoping that you could help me with a tattoo design.”
The tattooist wiped his hands off with a rag and gestured to Zed to take a seat at a plain but serviceable table.
“Let’s take a look then.”
Zed again pulled out the design he’d come up with for the magnetic field. The tattooist looked it over with a furrowed brow.
“It’s an odd design. Where did you get it?”
“I made it.”
“Really? And what possessed you to do that? Did you figure that you had too many arms, so you might as well blow one up?”
“So the design is dangerous?”
“Any untested design is dangerous, but this one is particularly so. No safeguards whatsoever.”
“What would you do differently?”
The short man hummed and hawed as he scribbled on the paper. He left the core of the design as it was but added sections to its periphery. As he worked he talked about what they did for the ease-of-use, efficiency, and safety of the tattoo.
“This narrow point near the energy entry point of the tattoo is where the resistance is the highest,” the tattooist explained. “You can’t keep the bearers from putting in too much energy. You can make it so if they do put in too much, this one point will burn out instead of frying the whole thing at once, which could kill them.”
“It’s like a fuse.”
“What’s a fuse?”
“It’s… you know what? Never mind. Okay, so we need the choke point. What else?”
The tattooist looked at the clock and grimaced. “Look, I should have talked about payment for working on your design before we started, but I…”
“What’s your normal rate?”
“For this kind of design work? A gold an hour.”
“There’s about four hours left in the day. I’ll give you ten gold to work with me for those four hours.”
The tattooist grinned and said, “Well alright then. My name’s Phineas.” He held out his hand.
Zed shook it. “I’m Zed. Nice to meet you, Phineas. So what do we need besides a chokepoint?”
It turned out that there was quite a bit more. One of the significant issues to address was the tradeoff between efficiency and mana capacity. Or perhaps “tradeoff” wasn’t the right word. The mana capacity of a tattoo, which was controlled by how wide the paths were, brought with it an efficiency profile. It had an optimal mana throughput which was the peak of the efficiency. If the bearer put in much more mana than that, the tattoo’s channels would heat up, reducing its efficiency. Much higher than that, and the tattoo would fail catastrophically, with dire consequences for the bearer.
On the other side of the curve, if the bearer didn’t have enough mana to hit the peak then the mana would not fill the channels, causing a feeble effect to be produced. The long and short of it was that you wanted, ideally, to craft the tattoo according to the amount of mana the bearer had and intended to use in it.
Their time ran out before they could exhaust the topic, but the primary mission was accomplished. Phineas was the guy that Zed wanted to work with.
“Phineas, I’ve enjoyed working with you today. I’d really like to finish the work on this design, and I have a few more I’d like to do after that.”
“What kind of tattoos?”
“I would like to enter into a contract with you before I tell you that. What would you think about coming to work for me full-time? I would pay you generously in exchange for working with me exclusively.”
Phineas looked a little cautious. “What would the pay be?”
“How about five gold a day?”
Phineas’ eyebrows raised. “That would be nice. What would you expect of me?”
“That you would work with me whenever it fits my schedule. I often have demands on my time, so I have to do the tattoo work when I can. There will be days when you don’t have to do anything, and days where we go 16 hours straight. I also plan on leaving to go to another city within the next year. I’d like you to come with me.”
“Do I still get paid even if I don’t do anything?”
“Yes, every day, no matter what.”
“Okay. Why don’t we talk tomorrow and draw up a contract then.”
Zed grinned on hearing this. “Great! I look forward to working with you, Phineas.”
Chapter 15
Zed was eager to start working with Phineas but was called in for another mission. The tattooist would have to wait. Zed couldn’t help but feel annoyed at the delay.
“What do you want, Silwan?”
The álfar narrowed his eyes while looking at Zed. “Just because I allow you liberties doesn’t mean I will tolerate disrespect, Zed.”
Zed nodded, doing his best to shove his anger down. “Sorry. What do you want?” The words were the same but spoken in a more respectful tone this time. Alain still didn’t look happy, but Zed ignored him.
“I would like you to learn what you can about Harlond’s City Treasurer, Tibian Fawkes. Blackmail material would be ideal, but I’ll take whatever you can get me.”
“Is there anything that I should know about him?”
Silwan shrugged. “Like what? That his house will have security? That he’s probably corrupt? You could probably have guessed that on your own.”
“Fine. When do you need it?”
“Any time in the next couple of weeks will be fine.”
Zed nodded, got the location of the Treasurer’s home, and left.
‘I’m getting really tired of being a cat burglar.’
‘He told us he wanted someone expendable for his jobs,’ Iris said. ‘I guess this is what that looks like.’
Zed decided to use the daytime for his own needs and scout out the Treasurer’s home at night. He stopped by Phineas’ shop and together they wrote up a contract. Both signed, and Zed paid him for the next week of work.
Phineas seemed to enjoy designing tattoos, so he was almost as excited as Zed to get into the work. They started by reviewing what they had talked about the day before. After discussing how the width of the mana channels needed to be tailored to how much mana the individual intended to use, Zed said, “I get what you’re saying, Phineas, and it makes sense, but we need to be able to mass-produce these tattoos, not individualize them for each person.”
“Then I suggest one of two solutions. Produce a few different versions of the tattoos, for different bearers’ energy levels. We can pick whichever one best fits them. The other solution is to use a mana design that can be expanded.”
“What do you mean by ‘expanded’?”
“The basic idea is to take a high-capacity tattoo design and narrow the channels. That lets the bearer use it with smaller amounts of energy, and then when they get more, the channels can be widened.”
“But the expansion will eventually run out when they hit the capacity of the original design,’ Zed surmised.
“Right.”
“So what’s the catch?”
“The catch is that the tattoo takes an efficiency hit. All else being equal, it’s usually better to keep the tattoo compact, so the mana channels are as short as possible.”
“Okay, so we can do sets of optimized tattoos that are efficient but won’t grow with the bearer, or tattoos that will grow with the bearer but have worse efficiency.”
“Right. And the tattoos that grow will eventually stop being able to grow. The higher you make their limit, the worse their efficiency is in the early stages.”
Zed sighed. “There are no perfect answers, are there?”
“Afraid not.”
“What do you suggest?”
Phineas shrugged. “It depends on what their mana growth will look like, and how long they can wait before they need something with some oomph.”
Zed thought about it. Though he liked the tattoo growth approach, it would require more tattooist time, and the only person they had so far was Phineas. That didn’t seem like a feasible approach for mass production.
With the non-expandable tattoos, if they had to they could burn the old tattoo and Zed could help them repair the skin so a new tattoo could be inked. That approach would require too much of Zed’s time, though.
After going back and forth, the two devised a hybrid approach. For the “elites”—people they would train and build up their mana—they would give expandable tattoos. Ordinary soldiers would get fixed tattoos. A magnetic field on the inside forearm of their shield arm, and a laser on the outside forearm of their primary arm. If the soldiers outgrew their tattoos, they could get a new set by switching which arm was “shield” and which was “primary”.
By the time they figured all this out, it was late. Zed had wanted to dive into getting inked, but knew that figuring out these issues at the outset would save them a lot of time later.
**
Zed changed his mind about breaking into the home or office of the Treasurer, Tibian Fawkes. He was tired of feeling like a criminal. He decided to follow him in public spaces and see what he could learn.
Zed surveilled Fawkes for five straight evenings, and was feeling rather grumpy. He had learned very little other than where Fawkes liked to eat dinner. He had dined with other álfar and, on one occasion, a dwarf. Zed had recorded their images into a memory crystal and shown them to Silwan. Some of them were prominent business leaders. Some were unknown.
The one good thing that came out of it was that Zed developed a technique for listening in on their conversations. Zed had seen examples of people on Earth listening in to distant conversations using devices that looked like satellite dishes. When he asked Iris about it, she taught him how reflecting parabolas can focus energy into a single point.
‘How do I shape the reflector?’
‘The general equation for a two-dimensional parabola is y = a(x - h)2 + k, where “h” and “k” are the vertex of the parabola. We can arbitrarily set the vertex to 0, so the equation simplifies to y = ax2. Of course, we would have to rotate that parabola 360° to get a three-dimensional…’
‘You know what, Iris? Why don’t you handle making our parabola and super-spy/stalker device?’
‘Well, if you insist…’
‘I do. Strongly.’
‘Fine.’
So night after night, Zed found himself wall crawling up to the corners of upscale restaurants’ dining rooms, camouflaged, with an invisible paraboloid behind his head. The sound volume wasn’t always good, so they moved the paraboloid to in front of his hand, and Iris relayed the sound energy at the focal point to one of Zed’s ears.
He had to admit that he felt a little like James Bond when he was able to listen to the Treasurer’s conversations from 100 feet away. After the initial coolness wore off, though, he was back to boredom.
‘I don’t even like making my own small talk, let alone listening to someone else’s,’ Zed grumped.
‘They are kind of dull, aren’t they?’
The conversations did get around to business, but so far none of it had sounded sketchy. There had been lots of talk about grants for starting businesses in the city, a loan to start a mine, and a loan to help a restaurant through a difficult period. Zed listened for indications of bribes, but didn’t find much. The biggest “thank you” gift was a case of wine, which Zed figured was not the level of corruption that Silwan was looking for.
Things got interesting on the fifth night, when the Treasurer met with an álfar woman. She was wearing a faded blue dress, but seemed uncomfortable in it. It was loose on her, like it was an adult hand-me-down.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Fawkes.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Reynolds. Please, sit down.”
“Thank you.”
The pair engaged in small talk that bored him, as per usual. Unlike previous evenings, though the woman clearly wanted something from the Treasurer, she wasn’t sucking up to him. Her voice had a note of irritation in it.
The change intrigued Zed. He was hopeful that it meant they would get to the point faster. A few minutes later, Zed got his wish.
“Mr. Fawkes, though the food here is delicious, the reason I’m meeting with you is to discuss the funding of the Sailors’ Orphanage. The funding has been dropping and is entirely insufficient for the orphans’ needs.”
“I sympathize with you, Mrs. Reynolds, but there is nothing I can do. Due to inflation and other financial difficulties, the pot of money for the orphanage is not what it used to be.”
“I am not a financier, but I do not believe that is how inflation works, sir,” she said with increasing irritation. “When inflation rises, the money we receive will not buy as much, but it should have nothing to do with receiving less money in the first place.”
Though the two were far enough away from him that he couldn’t make out fine details, Zed could see Fawkes’ smile as he responded in a condescending tone. “On a very basic level, you are right, but the economy is unfortunately not that simple. You see, inflation rises, causing the sailors to put less money into the fund, the administrators’ wages rise to keep up with the market, and investments to grow the funds fail. It is a multi-faceted problem.”
“Whatever problems may be, sir,” she said through gritted teeth, “the fact remains that the orphanage requires more money to care for these children.”
“Like I said, Mrs. Reynolds, I am entirely sympathetic. I do not have a solution at the moment, but no doubt one could be found with enough effort. Why don’t we continue the conversation over drinks at my house?”
“I think not. Similar ‘proposals’ have been put forward by your underlings to me and my staff over the last few months. Now I see where they learned these tactics. It is shameful behavior, sir!”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I assure you that I had no inappropriate intentions, I merely wished to help you and the orphanage. My work days are very busy, so I was offering to help outside of those hours. I am, of course, still at your service if you wish to discuss it further during working hours, but you will have to make an appointment through my secretary.”
“If I were to do that, could I look at the fund’s finances?”
“I’m afraid that only myself and the board of trustees can do that, madam.”
“Of course. How convenient.” Mrs. Reynolds rose from the table. “I find that I have lost my appetite, Mr. Fawkes. Please excuse me.”
As she walked away, Zed dissipated the listening device and moved towards the restaurant’s exit, dropping behind her silently and following her through the door.
After walking a block from the restaurant, Zed dropped the camouflage and silence.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Reynolds.”
She turned around, startled, and drew a dagger from somewhere.
Zed approved. “Nice reflexes, but I am not your enemy. Hopefully I can be your friend.”
Mrs. Reynolds’ eyes narrowed in anger.
“Not like Mr. Fawkes, ma’am. I’m not propositioning you. I want to learn more about the orphanage’s finances. You obviously suspect that Mr. Fawkes is withholding or skimming money from the fund. I’d like to find out if you’re right.”
