The Industrialist

Lance found a beaten, rust-filled turbine just beside the diesel-operated generator. It's a Lithocore Turbine, 2nd generation. It must have been almost a decade since the said turbine had not tasted electrical currents. Lithocore Turbines were designed to be compatible with perpetuating power sources. Rare-level metal casings, masterwork bearings, and rotating parts, with installed frequency drivers would be able to control the turbine rotations.

Lance took some tools and opened the casing. Unscrewing the screws annoyed him. Seeing Lance had difficulty battling the rusty screws, Joe and George helped him. They like to help him in any way they can. They felt Lance had been doing dangerous jobs, a little help at least would compensate for his hard work.

After a few sweating moments, they successfully took out the casing. Lance turned the turbine fins with his bare hands. They won't budge. George helped, it squeaked and turned a little.
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"That's not good," Lance said after a great sigh. "We need to lubricate it. Let's hope the shaft is still intact."

Joe managed to spray engine oil on the rotating parts. The oil boiled upon in contact with rust. It was working. After a few minutes of application and manual turning, the shafting smoothened and the blades turned easily.

"That's a good sign. I need to check on the controls first before we try it with energy," Lance said, unscrewing again an overhead cover that housed the electrical wirings.

"Let's just hope that there are no burned components." The most common components that would deteriorate and be burned are the capacitors.

"If there is, it won't work?" George asked.

"Yeah," Lance checked the components one by one. He blew dust off that accumulated inside the control box, and cleaned the contacts with a cloth. "I guess, this would work."

Damian helped with the wire connections from the Ultragenerator to the turbine, dismantling the connections from the Diesel-powered generator.

Lance checked the connections so intricately. One wrong move would explode the Ultragenerator into a kinetic bomb.

"You know that this will blow right?" Lance said and his three comrades started to retreat farther from the generator.

"Be careful, kid," Damian said.

"Don't worry, I will triple-check it," Lance said.

Probable misconnections could be interchanging in wire polarities which he verified first. The connections were correct. Then, he used some tools to check on component contacts, they were also good. One loose contact and the surge of energy would escape the circuitries, causing static combustible heat, and burning adjacent wires.

All boxes checked out.

"Ok, it's time."

The Diesel power generator was now turned off and the whole facility fell silent. The natural light from the external grounds sheepishly pierced through translucent glass fixtures right below the high ceiling. They heard the minute complaints from the rebel members, echoing inside the utility room.

"Don't worry, kid. They know that you are here to change power," George said.

He grazed his fingers on the lever switch. If he pulled it, the Ultragenerator would charge and would deliver energy toward the Lithocore Turbine. He felt his fingertips growing cold against the metallic surface of the lever. He felt his heart rate increased, loud thumps against his sternum. After Lance checked the fuse box and the breaker, he pulled the lever.

The Ultragenerator hummed, and the bluish LED lights inside the equipment turned on. These were indicators that the equipment was functioning to its optimal efficiency. He heard the current energizing the infused electromagnetic battery, and a warbling sound emerged inside the energy accelerator.

'So far, so good,' Lance said.

Rebel members slowly entered the utility room. Lance wanted them to go away for safety purposes but he was certain that an explosion would not ensue. The billow of murmurs echoed inside the room, overpowering the humming of the equipment.

Jefferson appeared among the crowd, stepping close behind Lance.

Lance placed his palm towards the vibrating equipment, and there were no sudden high peaks of noise and movement. He closed his eyes as if he felt the components inside attuned with each other, working with one objective which was to produce enough energy to power the turbines, eventually generating power for the facility. He imagined like a song inside his mind, the energy particles moving in unison, glowing effectively.

Then the lights turned on after the turbine purred, rotating parts squeaked for a few rotations, somehow smoothed after a few moments.

The claps and the cheers came like a tidal wave inside the room. Lance faced the rebels and smiled at them, somewhat regaling the sight of happy faces because of his work. This was what drove him to motivation. The injustice that ruled the streets of the city.

Jefferson tapped him on the shoulder.

It was a success.

After a while, Jefferson took him to the council members, circled on a round table. They seemed to be stressed out with the exodus they had for a week ago. They should be, with the financial reserves at the brink of exhaustion, and the dangers that lingered outside the facility and the incoming Demetrian season. The season of famine.

"Good job on the Ultragenerator Lance. We share the same gratitude across all the members of this faction," the councilwoman said.

Lance smiled at her.

"My pleasure, council," Lance said. "I believe I have matters to discuss."

"You may, please," Jefferson said.

"I believe that you need weapons. Poison-filled."

"Yes, we need weapons. But poison-filled?" Jefferson asked.

"I will invent guns, knives, armor, that could give us a chance against the Abominants. Come Demetrian season, we can defend ourselves, hell, we can even hunt them."

"Why hunt if we can hide?" the older councilman said.

"We will hunt because the trade market will stop, and the food supply will be scarce. With our weapons, we can battle the Abominants and protect caravans."

"What's the catch, Lance?" Jefferson asked.

"Help me procure the material. I can make the designs and fabricate them."

"We can't make it in time, Lance. Demetrian season is fast approaching," the councilwoman said.

"No need to worry, council. I will train your men here to fabricate. I will mold scientists here in this faction. Not only that we can stand a better chance against the Abominants, but also against the Government."

"That's incurring costs, Lance. We can't afford manufacturing weapons here," the treasurer said.

"Let me worry about the finances. I can raise them and I can allocate money for it."

Lance thought about a new age. He just doesn't want to live behind the walls and his comrades recoiled in fear during the season. It was high time to build armaments that could spark wars and fear in the Government.

"How can you do that?"

"I earn in patenting inventions. I can raise money for the patent. We can supply me with the needed raw materials through your dummy and legitimate trade sources, such as Damian. He has a trade license, I believe. With it, you can overprice me."

"Can you do that? It's a risk for audit," the treasurer said. Seemingly, this councilman had in-depth knowledge of financial audits and financial scamming. What Lance would do was financial scamming. He thought about the infinite resources allocated to CBD, especially in the weapons division. Hence, overpricing raw materials would not spark suspicion.

"Yes, no worries. Let me handle the procurement department."

Lance went back to the city with Damian as his driver. They went inside the western wall tunnels, accessing the underground of the Western sectors. Luckily, the SHF had not found the western tunnels yet. He knew that the Special Homeland Forces were still investigating the large network of tunnels in the south. Moreover, the majority of SHF operatives had been deployed outside the walls to hunt down Outsiders.

He went straight to the office to avoid suspicion from his bodyguards who waited impatiently in his condominium. On his viewing deck, he could see the progress of the poison bombs manufactured by the assigned line. The workers were diligent and hard-working, except for one thorn among the flower – Flanegan.

Flanegan stood in front of the array of busy working and functioning equipment on the production floor. He scolded people, shouted at them like slaves, and slapped a few heads. The workers had no chance of fighting back for they feared their lives would be at stake.

Like sponges absorbing the bitter treatment from Flanegan, the employees had kept their cool. Upon witnessing a display of injustice, it boiled Lance's blood, raging hate inside of him. He stormed outside his office and into the production floor, with heavy steps and clenched fists.

He pressed the elevator button so eagerly that the button would plunge inside the casing.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Lance ambled strongly, with long strides towards the fuming TOR.

"Flanegan! What are you doing," Lance screamed. Out of rational thinking, Lance could be kicked out due to an immoral corporate attitude. But he could not stand the workers to be treated as slaves. No.

Flanegan turned to glance at the raging bull that was coming from him. Lance could feel the heat converging into his brain, and accumulating on his fist.

"Lance, what are you doing here?" startled, Flanegan responded. His steps slowly retreated from the incoming barrage.