Civilian Militia “A Critical Success” – Government Considers Mandatory Military Training of all Citizens
With the end of Civilians Militias – and the return to the “old” normal in light of reduced bandit activity – the Militia Organization Chief, Schwartsen Eckleburg, has tabled a proposition for mandatory training of all citizens. He said in a comment to Der Republifaner, “The incredible success of the militia in aiding the regular armed forces during their sweep of bandits over the past few months has shown what I’ve always known: that there is great power in the people. It is a power the government should be hesitant to use, but when it’s called, it must be ready.”
President Kemerskai and Armaments Minister Erich Kreiger were hesitant of the proposal, calling it “interesting” and “a great expense” respectively, but made no firm statements on the direction the government plans to follow. The President went on to add that “The Civilian Militia is something I hope to never need again. It is a great patriotic duty, but a great burden both on the nation and the people. I promise to try and live up to all of our citizens’ expectations in eradicating the bandit problem once and for all with no further impacts on their quality of life.”
With the Civilian Militia now over, one thing is not in doubt: the nation’s top priority is an end to banditry. Close watch will be given to anygriff that can show efforts in resolving it. - See page 3 for more
- Headline article on the front page of the Griffonian Republic National Newspaper, Der Republifaner (2nd Week of January 1003 Edition)
January 26th, 1003 – Left-NRP Headquarters, Cloudsbury, Griffonian Republic – Rikard POV
As a red-feathered griffon – Chairgriff-General Moe Sparrowsbane – paced about the room, Rikard felt a twinge of pain in his hip and did his best to hide a wince. He had been shot a few weeks prior and while he was out of the hospital and able to move, sitting for too long had the occasional lance of pain race up his side. As it turned out, being the leader of a National Political Party did not grant immunity from conscription, nor did being an officer of a company of citizen militia make him immune to getting shot. Still, as he sat at his desk deep in the concrete confines of L-NRP Headquarters, he could not let his pain show. He refused to show any more weakness to his political rival before him, nor the two tough-looking soldiers from his “Red Guard” that flanked the door.
If things were different, the two would never meet. The General had thousands of loyal and veteran soldiers under his command and was instrumental in crushing bandits and returning plunder from their hoards to families across the nation and earning the accolades of the President himself. Rikard – on the other claw – was a hardly-known councilgriff whose only accomplishments were leading the almost unknown “Left-Wing” party to a minuscule 3% of the vote. If those votes had not been concentrated in Cloudbury, he would be a nobody.
There was a secret, however, one that Rikard knew and which forced these regular meetings.
Moe stopped his pacing to look Rikard up and down. He scoffed.
“This whole situation’s made you look weak, Rikard. Kowtowing to Kemerskai’s political “armistice”? Getting shot halfway through by some bandits? You could’ve been front-and-center protesting the President’s complete disregard for his citizens’ lives and demanding he step down after his repeat failures. Instead, you’re one-step-forward-two-steps-back. One paw in the grave, even. The President’s successful end of a major crisis has him looking grand while the workers I speak to blame you for your inaction. Many of their friends and family died for a cause they don’t believe in.”
Rikard groaned, partially from his wound and partially from having this “can of worms” opened with Moe again.
“Say I did? Say I protested? What would happen? The President would ignore me and nothing would change. When the crisis ended, I’d just look like a fool: the only political candidate that went against the grain. It wasn’t the right time and-”
Moe leaned forwards and slammed a claw against the desk.
“And what would be the right time, hmm? While you “distribute literature” and “setup co-ops” the real communists in Skynavia have carved out a workers’ paradise in the north.”
He huffed.
“Of course, like all true democracies, Skynavia’s way forward has been fraught with debate and discord, but the time will come when they start looking south. If you can build a strong foundation of a workers’ paradise here, there won’t be a problem… but you know my thoughts already.”
Rikard knew very well. It was the secret he kept to himself: Moe Sparrowsbane would lead a Skynavian coup against the government. He was on a deadline.
He grimaced.
“And I would appreciate if you kept such talk out of this. Obviously I have no control over your forces – and their protection of my people despite our differences is something I admire – but such threats are not helpful. We both will do our utmost to take the paths to worker liberty we feel are best.”
Moe frowned.
“There is no path for you. If you ever obtain real power, the President will not make the same mistake he made with Skynavia. Your party will be banned, the agitators imprisoned and you will be exiled or killed. He would not let you leave, and he certainly won’t give you the opportunity to seize power yourself. You must know this.”
Rikard waved a claw in flippant disregard.
“That’s the difference between us. I still believe in democracy; not the “true” one up north, but one that allows compromise with ideological enemies. I don’t need 100% approval of socialism to make progress, I can come to a compromise. However, even if what you say comes to pass, it would still be worth the labor. So long as the workers of the Republic struggle, I will fight for them. I hope when the time comes for the changes we hope for, that we can still be cordial with one another.”
Moe huffed in derision.
“Compromise… yes, you would be the type to compromise your ideals… However it will be you that should remember to be cordial; I will not need reminding when I liberate this decrepit nation.”
The General signaled for his guards and made his way out the door. Just before he left, he paused and turned to Rikard with a smirk.
“In the meantime, Kemerskai is due to give my army its generous monthly allowance. More than enough for fresh troops and equipment. It would be a shame if my troops’ claws went dull while I waited for you to figure all this out.”
It was a bounty that anygriff could take for killing bandits. With the size of Moe’s army, he believed it would be a generous amount. It was likely more money than the L-NRP made since Rikard had become its leader 3 years ago.
As the General left, a black-feathered griffon walked in. It was the ex-capitalist and his Propaganda Minister Ernst Thälgriff. He made a clicking sound with his beak.
“Not a pleasant talk with our resident Internationalist general?”
There were two primary types of “Left-Wing” activist. He – and most of the griffons in his party – were communalists. That meant they advocated for convincing people of the cause of socialism through action and word: working on a local, grass-roots movement to make change. It was a slow, but peaceful and stable process. The General was an Internationalist, which meant he desired for socialism to be spread by force. In many ways this was something that Rikard agreed with as well. An aristocrat, for example, would not tolerate even the rumor of socialism on their lands. The only way for change there would be revolution.
However, Moe went a step further than that with. Even if the Republic was democratic and accepting of socialist conversation, Moe would start his coup. It was something Rikard would hate to have happen… but it was also something he would not tell the President about. Rikard might be considered a traitor to the Republic and democracy for doing so, but the coup gave him a tiny sliver of hope. He could not fully trust the President. Between banning national elections and refusing to put any care into worker rights, there was the chance the President would backtrack on the founding principles of the Republic. Moe’s coup would give the Skynavian Socialist General Congress a chance to save the workers of the Republic from such tyranny.
Rikard’s warring thoughts could only result in him letting out an audible sigh as he answered Ernst’s question.
“You know how it is, more of the same. Thankfully, I know Moe’s blowing hot air… for now. He has the forces to make a breakaway state on the border with Skynavia if he wanted, but their General Congress would not support him. The issues with the workers’ paradise are slow going.”
Ernst chuckled. No doubt to a former capitalist this must all seem amusing.
“Trouble in paradise?”
Rikard groaned.
“The paradise part is fine. From what my informants say, it is everything we dreamed of: a fully democratic society. No griffon is valued less for their position in society or the work they do. No, the issues are twofold.”
He held up a talon.
“First, Chairgriff Asper Sickleclaw had been instrumental in forming the country, but has been indecisive in forming a coalition government in the General Congress. He acts like a Communalist or an Internationalist when it suits him and its only made the political divisions worse. There’s Isolationist Communes, Anarchists, Unionists, anti-pony Internationalists, trans-griffon Internationalists and more. There’s even a debate on whether the concept of a “political party” is something they will allow in Congress. At the rate they are going, every griffon will have a veto on new government policy. It’s utter deadlock.”
He frowned as he held a second talon.
“The second issue is that the workers aren’t working. The Internationalist workers are on strike more than they work and many of the communes have reverted back to a borderline-subsistence way of life. No, between the internal problems and the border war with the Northern Tribes Ponies whose land they took, they won’t be a concern for at least another few years.”
Ernst showed him a wry smile.
“Those would be great problems for us to have right now.”
The Propaganda Minister sighed.
“Instead, half the Republic wants to sacrifice the Cloudburians to the bandits in favor of a hopeless war with the Empire and the other half wants to chain workers to their machines. Is the fact we can only scrounge up a measly 3% of support a statement on us, or the griffons that live here?”
Rikard gave him the best look of sympathy he could.
“There’s nothing we can do but continue our work to convince them. Moe’s right that Skynavia is not a threat now, but we’re running out of time. He’s also right that the President will not let us take power while he has the ability to stop it. For Kemerskai, socialism will always be a passing fad for the radicals with more dreams than brains. When we make our move, it can’t be something he can ignore.”
His Propaganda Minister frowned.
“But how? What can we do that won’t just be met with force? I refuse to do all this work just for a violent coup that destroys this country.”
Rikard smiled.
“I have a few ideas, but none of them will work without support, so in the meantime, we’ve a project to complete. The bandits are under control now. Armaments Minister Erich Kreiger has no more excuses left to delay us. We will take control of his munitions factory and prove to the nation that socialism is not just a fad, but the best way forwards.”
Ernst gave him a knowing look.
“And your other project?”
Rikard leaned back in thought.
“Tanya… she’s already received a lot of good attention lately. If I didn’t already know she was a staunch socialist ideologue, I’d be worried about the political capital she’s accruing. The reality is the opposite: she’s as unambitious as you could get. If I let her, she’d still be translating documents. She needs a push or two before she can really surprise you, but that makes her so dependable.”
Ernst stared at him for a moment.
“And you’re sure I’m the one to do it?”
Rikard chuckled and pat him on the withers.
“I put you in charge of the factory project for a reason. As a former factory owner, you know how to get started and what can go wrong. I can think of no one better to show Tanya just how capable socialism can be.”
February 8th, 1003 – 3rd Munitions Plant, Squark, Griffonian Republic – Tanya POV
After the night of terror all those months ago – where illogical things like waving flags were the difference between life and death – an awkward “new normal” emerged in Tanya’s life. In the local Cloudbury paper she was lauded a “hero”, given a pointless medal, put in a dress and paraded around singing the Party Anthem again and again. Such celebrity helped the L-NRP gain acclaim, but that was not what she wanted. The whole affair was nothing but a waste of time, with her continued existence being the one good thing to come of it.
She had hoped for better pay or job prospects, but she was now known far-and-wide as “the socialist flag-waving chick”. The socialist party paid out a pathetic wage that only netted her a tiny shared apartment, and capitalist owners far-and-wide would force her away before she could even come within sight of their place of business, fearing her socialist “taint” might destroy their businesses. The only people that looked on her fondly and said her name with cheer were the miscreants and layabouts of the slums. She knew better than to believe they wanted anything from her but her money or celebrity for use in some nefarious scheme. She considered making a new life in Skyfall or the Empire but as it stood, she was worried either the bandits would get to her first or the new nation might think she was a foreign radical and imprison her.
However, Tanya’s life still had hope to start turning around.
Thanks to her suggestion to the Presidential Council, the socialists were given ownership of a failing business: a munitions plant that built ammunition for the outdated “Vorderlader” Model 71 rifle. The guns were bolt-action weapons upgraded from even older Vorderlader Muskets. Because it was made before the invention of smokeless powder, they needed special 11mm ammunition that mimicked the size and shape of musket-balls. With modern ballistics, the ammunition was utterly inferior to the more accurate 7.92mm rounds used in the semi-automatic Hinterladerbüchse Model 98 rifle the military now produced. Regardless, the obsolete rifles were still being used and so the ammunition would need to be made.
As Tanya and the Project Leader, Ernst Thälgriff, walked up to the factory, Tanya could not be happier. The factory was a dump.
The bricks were old and worn and the windows were simply glass panes mounted in a wooden frame, haphazardly and loosely fitted. Neither provided much insulation against the bitter winter air. The inside was better, but not by much. The floors were covered in a fine layer of snow from the failed outer protection; it did little to hide the cracked tiles beneath. The machines looked positively ancient with rust on the edges. The only things that looked to be in working order was the coal-powered steam engine that provided supplementary electricity to the machines and primary power to the hydraulics. Despite that, the engine looked under-powered from what she would have expected: it was the size she would expect to heat the factory yet alone maintain the power needed for the dozen machines that were supposed to be operating in it.
‘A total disaster. If I could meet with Erich Kreiger right now, I’d hug him! A genius move. The socialists will be so busy renovating and upgrading the factory, they will never make any of their deadlines. Even if they did, it would mean bankrupting themselves. A win-win. Of course, he will no doubt have plenty of documentary evidence of what the factory looked like before he ruined the walls and replaced all the machines with these archaic models. No amount of whining from the socialists will be able to prove anything! It would just be a he-said-she-said dispute with the established R-NRP leader being given the clear advantage.’
As they finished, Ernst made a number of notes on a clipboard and nodded.
“Hmm… I see they are using powered workstations and a linear assembly process laid throughout the complex. Things seem largely organized how I’d expect. There might be a few minor changes: fixing the insulation, getting a better steam engine, but it’s about what I expected. I can work with this.”
Tanya was horrified.
‘No, come on! You can’t be this stupid. There’s no overhead lights! There’s no modularity to the footprint; hell, there’s no consideration of the floorplan at all! It was like they just bought a random building and jammed in as many machines as they could! What the hell are you playing at, Ernst?!’
While Tanya could count on her claws the total number of times she’d been inside a modern factory, she did not need it. Forget computer-age or even the industrial-age, this factory looked like it could have been stamped on a woodblock print from the Sengoku Era! She could imagine Oda Nobunaga ordering his peasants to build something equivalent to this for constructing his muskets; right next to a new Feudal Castle!
She paused.
‘No… Minister Kreiger might have made a fundamental error: he overestimated the socialists! With the way things are going, they will completely ignore all the obvious problems with the factory and produce next to no production whatsoever! That might seem great… but it would prompt an audit. Even a brain-dead bureaucrat would see the obvious then! Such an investigation could cause the whole scheme to unravel!’
It was a mistake that Tanya had learned the hard way again and again. Just when she thought that the socialists could not show any less competence or stoop any lower, they always seemed to break through the bottom of her expectations. Still, there was some small hope. While Ernst was obviously a fool who was completely ignorant of common sense business practices, he might still listen to reason. So long as she helped him upgrade the factory to the point it was merely a significantly inferior facility, they would still fail without looking too suspicious. She just needed to give a little nudge; just enough that they could figure out the absolute basics of modern common sense.
Tanya looked to Ernst with a fake smile on her face.
“I can… perhaps… think of one or two things that might improve things here… a little. If you don’t mind me offering.”
Ernst laughed – he laughed – at her.
“Well, what do you think Tanya? Rikard said that your insights have proven very valuable in the past.”
‘Of course they have! You’re all idiots!’
She did not say that to the griffon and as she thought about what to say, her smile turned a little more genuine. She would start with the expensive things that would have them falling into Kreiger’s trap, just as planned.
“Right, well the first thing would be to extend the factory to allow better use of the space. As it stands, there is little room to maneuver and when we get feedback from the production teams on process limitations and roadblocks during assembly, we won’t be able to reorganize the lines to accommodate.”
Ernst looked thoughtful. It was a new look.
“Of course… ah, I feel like a fool. There’s no reason to expect existing methods are better than the ones workers can come up with. Why live by their standards. We should be completely re-imagining the entire concept of a factory from the ground-up. Well, I suppose Kreiger didn’t say we needed to only use the space provided… ”
Tanya rolled her eyes.
‘I hadn’t meant to be quite that ambitious, but that solves the problem of cost. They can feel free to bankrupt themselves with a million pie-in-the-sky ideas. This should be enough to get them started. I look forwards to the absolute mess they make for themselves.’
March 14th, 1003 – 3rd Munitions Plant, Squark, Griffonian Republic – Ernst POV
‘Rikard was wrong about one thing; it wasn’t me who would be showing Tanya how capable socialism could be.’
It had been over a month since they took ownership of Kreiger’s factory and construction of the expansion was completed. With Tanya’s advice, he had asked the workers what improvements could be made to get the process flowing more smoothly and they had a number of suggestions. With more space, they could arrange the machines such that there was less risk of injury, more room to move supplies and equipment around the factory, and organize them such that materials flowed from one step to the next without need of ferrying parts back-and-forth. There were other things they had thought of to improve – such as keeping the gunpowder more isolated with static-resistant surfaces to reduce the risk of explosions – but they were limited by time and budget. They had less than a month to begin production if they were to start making deadlines.
Of course, none of those suggestions would win them a victory over the Capitalists. Their workers did 12 hour days, allowing to 2 shifts to run the machines all the time with minimal pay, and they had more experience. Sure their workers had more fatigue and made more mistakes, but that mattered little when constructing the 11mm outdated ammunition.
‘And that was the trap Erich Kreiger set for us. The factory needed a little “fixing-up” to get in working order thanks to the old owner’s mismanagement, but Kreiger had provided payment for those renovations. It would've been too obvious he was setting us up for failure otherwise. Of course, the real trick was that the 11mm ammunition could be fired by practically any poorly-maintained rifle. It replaced the musket ball after all. Even Kreiger’s tired and overworked employees could make a lot of them without defects thanks to those loose tolerances. Our three 8-hour shifts would be more alert, motivated, and happier, but I would also need to hire more at higher pay. I wouldn’t be able to compete to produce the same amount of ammunition at the same price because the standards wouldn’t matter.'
Which left him forced to use every bit of knowledge Tanya could give him. Unfortunately that was harder than one would think.
While he did not have a perfect view into Tanya’s mind, he had a pretty strong guess. She was a very humble chick and did not want to say anything “wrong” to somegriff she felt was “senior” to herself in the Party. If he asked her something as the “Propaganda Minister of the L-NRP”, she would rebuff him, telling him “you know what to do” and “do whatever you think is best”. However, the moment he talked to her about his past as a former factory owner and a capitalist, she began to open up to him. Ironically, by portraying himself as an “antagonist” she felt more comfortable. He was no longer her “supervisor” but a “potential convert to a deeper understanding of socialism”. Combined with framing the conversation like it was coming from his workers, she was far more likely to speak her mind.
Ernst found Tanya deep in a book in a cozy corner of the factory. It was a complicated capitalist text, but he was not worried. He often read books from “the other team” too; they solidified his beliefs and gained insight into ways to convince someone on the fence to join his side. He was glad that the chick was broadening her horizons as most of her ideas were completely beyond his imagination.
He softly got her attention with a click of his talons.
“Afternoon Tanya.”
She looked to him with a raised eyebrow.
“Hello Ernst? Do you need anything? Is it quitting time already?”
He had made sure she did as little work as possible. She had been reluctant at first and had insisted in returning to HQ or her home, but he was worried she would try working somewhere else. While he was fine with having the small chick hang around and give him ideas, he was strictly against under-aged labor.
He gave her a wry smile and prepared his pitch.
“Another trying day. You know how it is, the socialist operators are saying that there are too many “defects” in production. When we run the drawing press slowly things work fine, but speed it up too much and… well, we get problems. Of course, as a former capitalist I want to say the workers are being lazy… but that doesn’t solve the problem. The factory is wasting money.”
It seemed a little much for him to speak like this, but it was what she responded to the most.
It worked. She asked him for the 11mm product spec and the diagrams for the machines and he was quick to oblige. No sooner did she receive them was she flying through the information. She read the documents like a seasoned bureaucrat: scanning whole pages at a time. For a former machinist like him – one that had only done desk work for a couple of years – it was both embarrassing and remarkable that a chick a quarter his age would be so much better at it than him.
A few minutes later and she came to a line on one of the pages and frowned. Looking back and forth between two pages, she nodded and pointed out a discrepancy.
“Well, you’re right that the issue has more to do with process than laziness. A process should be able to survive regardless of the quality of personnel so long as someone qualified is supervising… Ah. The tolerances of the lathe you used to file-down new parts of the hydraulic punch machine making the ammunition cup-dies are completely out of spec. The crap Minister Kreiger left- er, I mean the machines that were in this factory are… very well-used. Just a… little calibration and a re-construction of the punch machine and that should have most of the defects from the drawing phase accounted for at higher rates. This would be a perfect use of the new gauge blocks.”
At the use of the term “gauge block”, he could not help but think back to his working life in his father’s factory he had inherited.
‘Of course, I could guess what the term meant. Seemed straightforwards: a block for gauging; for calibrating. Having worked with machines my whole life, I know calibration like the back of my claw. Micrometers, sine bars, levels, and calipers; I’d done it all… Can’t build something more sophisticated than a mud hut nowadays without checking and rechecking every measurement to the point you can’t even see the difference. Then Tanya – a chick who grew up in the slums and shouldn’t possibly have known about modern industrialization – comes to me asking for a “gauge block”. She even has the gall to make me sound like an idiot for not knowing about it!’
But she had been right; even made sure to find some that “stick together”.
Being a former machinist and business owner, he had industry contacts that might have heard of this “newfangled widget”. Once he started asking around, he quickly found himself in a meeting with a very concerned-looking Skyfall business owner. The unicorn mare had demanded to know where he had heard it from and would only do business if he signed an NDA to never disclose any mention of it elsewhere. The way she sounded did not make it seem like he had much choice; and he knew better than to cross a Skyfallian businessmare.
As it turned out, so-called “gauge blocks” were a trade-secret by a rich businesspony out of Manehattan. They were being sold on a “case-by-case” basis to a privileged few. Despite Ernst’s silence, the mare still demanded an enormous sum to purchase one. It was enough to buy the whole munitions factory they were trying to rebuild in the first place. Had Ernst heard of the tool from some catalog or shady business deal, he would have walked out right there. However, with the context of everything surrounding the product, he had no choice but to buy it. It had cost him a lot of favors as the Propaganda Head of the Party, but he managed to scrounge up the funds.
“Thanks Tanya, you can head home early. I’ve got some work to do.”
With a casual wave of a claw, the chick walked out of the factory without putting down her book.
With his plan in place, Ernst walked into a separate area of the factory: the Machine Shop. The smaller room was still large, but unlike the more open-plan of the factory, it was crammed with machines. A dozen griffons worked on filing down burred edges of metal objects while others used large wrenches and hammers to mount threaded rods back into slides and gears into gearboxes. This was where the various machines on the factory floor were serviced and potentially whole new machines could be made. Whatever the factory needed to improve production.
As Ernst walked in he yelled out at the top of his lungs.
“Alright, everygriff stop what you’re doing!”
The machine noises all stopped. The workers let out audible groans as they tossed their half-completed work away. By now, they all knew the gist of what he was going to say.
The Chief Engineer in the shop, Rosy Richter, wiped the thick grease from her gloved hands over her overalls and walked over to him.
“So boss, what does the little chick have us doing this time?”
Ernst chuckled and shook his head.
‘Shouldn’t be surprised they have me made by now.’
“Put the construction of the turret lathe on hold for now. It won’t be ready for the first deadline anyway and I’ve just been reminded that there will be several problems with the design. We’ve got to re-calibrate the old lathe with the new tools first… probably need to redo everything that lathe’s been used for as well, including the turret lathe components.”
Rosy looked confused.
“New tools? Oh, you mean that package?”
Ernst nodded gravely. He walked to a corner of the room and knelt down to be eye-height with a safe sitting on the floor. Making sure that nogriff was able to see the dial, he entered the combination and opened the safe door. Inside was an exquisite, lacquered wooden box. It was trimmed with gold and had a delicate embossed word written in the Equestrian language. He could only assume was a name, but he could not read the language. Taking the box out from the safe, he turned to Rosy.
“Just came in yesterday… I haven’t dared to open it yet.”
Giving the moment an appropriate level of gravitas, he slowly opened the box. Inside were the “gauge blocks”… unassuming metal rectangles of varying sizes neatly lined up in a row.
Rosy was not impressed.
“Don’t look like much.”
He took out two of the blocks.
“What’s the temperature.”
Rosy rolled her eyes.
“20° Celsius exactly. You were the one who wanted it like that, so that’s how it is. I do my job, boss. We’re glad for it at any rate; rest of the factory freezes our feathers off, new insulation or not.”
Ernst nodded. Taking a block in each claw, he brought them together and slightly rubbed them against one another. When he took his claw off one of the blocks, they were sticking together.
Rosy was still unimpressed.
“Neat party-trick, sir… don’t know how you did it.”
He shaked his head.
“This is no magic act, Rosy. This is the future. The gauges here are so perfectly shaped that they fit together entirely by the vacuum created by their joining and the nuclear forces between the atoms of the metal. They are perfectly flat within less than a micrometer. Do you know what that means? We can make our own go/no-go gauges, calibrate our tools to be perfect. We can create interchangeable parts. We can have machines that can perfectly reproduce actions again and again with no operator controlling the movements!”
Rosy’s eyes widened.
“You mean-”
He smiled.
“We are on the ground floor of a revolution to eclipse the industrial one. We already have machines that can do the work of 10 laborers. Now imagine machines that can replace machinists. Those machinists now free to work on machines that can replace even more griffons. Soon the hours per shift will drop from 12 to 8 to 4 then... an end to labor entirely. It might take 100 years or more to accomplish, but it is possible. A global network of automated machines producing the parts needed to make themselves, as well as every conceivable luxury for the common griffon who no longer needs to work.”
Rosy chuckled.
“Utopia, huh… and not that ideological nonsense up north either. You certainly think big.”
He shrugged.
“Yeah I know, big dreams; we won’t ever see it in our lifetimes… but do you feel a little more motivated now? I know I sure do.”
Rosy shrugged back.
“It’s all just words… but sure, it sounds interesting. I’ll make use of these “miracle blocks” to calibrate that lathe. Let’s do it.”
It took a few hours of careful work. The machine shop’s calipers and micrometers were re-adjusted first, then the lathe’s head chuck and tail post were aligned. Then the slides and tool posts were re-zeroed to their correct starting positions. Finally, with everything re-calibrated, Rosy turned on the lathe and the subtle whine of the motor came on with it.
With an involute gear cutter on the chuck, Rosy aligned a cylindrical metal blank on a vertical tool slide. Using the calibrated micrometer, she set the proper depth and cut the first “tooth” out of the gear. Taking time to accurately rotate the blank to the next position, she cut it again and again and again. After 30 minutes of careful work, Rosy had two gears of different sizes, but with matching “teeth”.
Rosy looked at Ernst and chuckled.
“Well here they are; your ‘perfect’ gears… you look nervous.”
He shook his head.
“Just excited. Put them in the lathe and see how they work.”
Rosy opened up the headstock assembly of the lathe and revealed the motor and mess of gears that took the electricity of the factory and used it to rotate the chuck. The gear assembly was drenched in a tar-like grease that kept any friction from damaging themselves. With a few quick torques of a wrench and few hits of a hammer, two gears from the assembly came loose. They were identical to the ones Rosy had just made. Slathering the new gears with grease, she slotted them back into the lathe. With a few turns to ensure the gears were fully drenched in grease, she closed the headstock. With the flick of a switch, the lathe turned back on and the subtle whine returned… for a moment before the sound’s pitch went higher and higher until it went completely outside their hearing.
Rosy laughed.
“Incredible. Runs as quiet as a mouse. When I first turned that thing on and it started crying out like a dying rabbit, I thought I’d be hearing that sound until I quit or I died. With the old precision, would've been a massive waste of time and money to fix it. Just for this alone, I owe that chick Tanya a few beers… when she gets older of course.”
‘It’s been a long day.’
Ernst stretched. While the work had been incredibly rewarding, he would be glad to go to sleep and take another look at this new perspective with a fresh pair of eyes.
“Well, you know what to do now. Fix every component that lathe can get its “teeth” into when you have time. I’ll be calibrating everything else, heck, I’ll re-calibrate everything every day until we figure out what tools are good and bad. I’ll even take these gauge blocks with me to every co-op and workspace the L-NRP manages. As the capitalists say: I have to get my money’s worth!”
Laughing at his own joke, he put the gauge blocks back into the safe and made his way home.
‘Heh… Just a few words from that chick and she’s already revolutionized my way of thinking. I wonder what groundbreaking new insight she will have for me tomorrow.’
He could not wait to find out.