Weeks after judging the dentist, the images I saw still plague my nightmares. I don’t see them during the day anymore, so at least there is that. Zia offered to fly out but I don’t want to delay her ‘cultural development’ stay on Earth so that I can see my girlfriend regularly and hold her while I cry instead of just curling up around . . . nothing. I need to get Zia to leave me something that smells like her. In the meantime, little candies still give the gratification flood that we trained into me and it’s been enough so far to get me working in the morning.

  “Aria, do we have anything before the Camp meeting this afternoon?” The methodical buttoning of my shirt is helping to secure me and my mind as well. Focus on the routine, Kimber.

  “Yes. Marcus has requested time with the drone fleet. I checked his operators and they are aware of the drone limitations and they have magitec interfaces for the transmitters. Also, Kenneck says it’s about time to separate the new trainees and he’d appreciate you picking a protégé this morning.”

  “Yeah, perfect thing for me to do while my brain’s all scattered. Fuck. I did say I would sponsor someone.” I know I’m not in a place personally to do training justice though. Maybe I can talk to Kenneck and take them when they’re three months out from their initialization and coach them with how to prepare?

  Gods, Tova, why do I feel like I’m in a constant rut of trying to survive?

  That was probably rhetorical, but you have a ruthless case of Imposter Syndrome. You made the largest weapons manufacturer in the Empire want to do business with you. You fostered several communities where people want to live. So why not lean on those successes to generate a little piece of mind.

  Penny told you it was okay to contact her people at Merc Arms, so do it. She works with an alchemist, so ask her to hook you up. On the other side, you have a community of thousands here in Elsewhere, hire a damned personal assistant. You don’t have the excuse that all of your money is committed anymore.

  Well, shit, you think someone would want to work for me?

  Imagine Penny or Zia saying that and see what that sounds like.

  I snort to myself. Yeah, sounds pretty dumb. Alright, Tova, I’ll post the job. Working hours: 7am to 4pm, 6-days pick your off-day; available for correspondence until 9pm. Some travel required. Duties include: Secretarial work, liaison, Gopher. Required skills: Internal communications relay, familiarization with Exchange services, Event planning experience preferred. Pay: 1Cr per day. Oh! While I’m at it I can post some jobs for the Deputy’s office!

  I ask Aria and Tova if they can re-structure the job board to be something more official looking. Tova opens windows in my vision to show me the settlement menu, Important notices for residents, and creates a Job Openings category along with the public safety and construction alerts. Thanks Tova, and you’re right, I need to learn the Settlement Interface better.

  Feeling better, at least about that, I head to my new training complex to talk to the Training Councilor. I pull on a crop hoodie and make sure I have acceptable shorts on. They’re essentially thigh-length speedo trunks, but the snug fit and the wicking synthetics feel like a dream. The hoodie is just a love for the hood without the overheating aspect of a full sweatshirt.

  As I arrive, the staff either checks me out or raises an eyebrow at my attire, but once they see my face they look away. Damn right suckers, I own this place so take your judgements to your graves.

  “Where’s Kenneck?”

  “They’re on a sparring and weights circuit right now, Director,” a young man replies. “Inside the stadium, ma’am.”

  I nod at that and jog toward the building. Conveniently, people seem eager to open doors for me, so my jog is barely slowed as I see that approximately fifty teens are gathered around the ring and another hundred or so are in the weights and machines along the walls. This setup is a half-compromise with the old Warram layout, as I insisted that there be a legit stadium for matches, but there’s an outside track that has a running path and weights and machines arrayed in muscle groups around the track. Yeah, I designed this for my old workouts and basically forced people to be inconvenienced or do it my way. Heh, being in charge has its benefits apparently.

  I hop up onto the side of the ring where Kenneck is standing, watching to fit boys slugging it out.

  “I’m busy.” Kenneck says.

  “And yet, you’re going to talk to me.” I demand. “I’m not going to be able to train someone from 14 to initiation this time.”

  His head snaps toward me with words of protest on his lips.

  “But I will take and train people that want an aether or Magic track for the last three months before their initialization. I will also be giving another 5k credits to help give your favorite magic candidates more attentive and focused training in general. I just can’t foster them like Marcella did me for now.”

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Kenneck’s snarl eases, “We agreed, Kimber.”

  “I suppose, but this change isn’t terrible. You have enough staff, and now you should have enough money to make it happen.”

  “I guess I should be grateful then huh? Can I go back to work now?” He scoffs and my fucking hackles raise.

  “You know, old man, you keep up with curmudgeon disrespect, one day my answer will be no.”

  “Heh, sure, you’re too busy to train folks, remember? Who are you going to replace me with?”

  “I’d prefer you learn, Kenneck.”

  “Who’s gonna teach me Kid, you?” I snarl in response but take a deep breath as he grins.

  I walk into the ring, tell the kids to get out. “If this is what you want, you got it. Get in the ring Kenneck. Your terms.”

  I finally see the hint of respect in his eyes in the form of fear. “That doesn’t prove anything, Kimber. A fight with rules won’t earn my respect.” He laughs.

  I shake my head. “But avoiding a fight that you instigated will lose theirs.” I point at the gathered students. “Sure, I could be lessening the effectiveness of their training, but if I strike the right tone, they’ll train for me, and not for you. Your money and opportunity come from me anyway, so what good are you if you can’t train, right?”

  “If this were a street fight . . .” I grin as he says that. I pull on [Triggered Action] and throw a fist full of knives at his thigh, liver, and mouth, counting on the fact he won’t have time to fully face me. He drops, shouting as blood flows from his thigh and his cheek. The one in his belly isn’t bleeding on the outside yet.

  “You’d be fucking dead.” I growl out. “This is a teachable moment, folks. If your opponent is letting you pick the terms of a fight, always be wary. In fact, you should avoid it and arrange your own terms because no one is going to give you a better fight than you can arrange for yourself, and it should never be fair.” The students are still staring at me, and many of the teens on the workout track are gathering.

  “Fine. If you’re still here, you all now have homework. I’ll post a copy of The Tenets of Sun Tsu by a War Weary Sociopath to the training boards. You will all read them and start thinking about ways to make supposedly fair fights unfair in your favor.”

  Kenneck is still bellyaching as he tries to limp out of the building. I run over and dose him with a sedative and have him carted over to his daughter at the Hospital. A few minutes later I find Kenneck’s assistant slash second in command and start loading responsibility on the bastard.

  “You heard what I said about the Magic sponsorship?” He nods, “then I want you to keep an eye on two candidates. At least six months from their initialization, I want their names so I can send them additional info. Three months out, I’ll take over their training.” He nods again, perhaps too afraid to speak lest he sprout knives. Can’t say I blame him: I’m in a mood.

  “Uh, I hate to ask, but when will I get face time with the boss again.” The assistant asks.

  “Go ahead. If you do as I ask, you’ll have brownie points to spend.”

  “Uh, yeah. Like, could we get you to come in and do a bladed weapons class? Kenneck keeps bitching that the person with the highest blades skills is you, and we uh, we could use the help.”

  Oh. Really? I have the highest blades at . . . Advanced? Okay, that’s not too bad actually.

  “Yeah, I can do that. Two three-day periods for a start? But, start training them in a martial discipline first. No blades longer than a saber, though.” His face brightens up as I agree. Apparently he was one of the people who wanted a class in bladed combat. “What’s your name, trainer?”

  “Gilbert. Donny Gilbert, Ma’am.”

  “Alright, handshake and I’ll send you my comm’s ID.” He reaches out and slaps my hand with gusto. A quick swap, and maybe I have a man on the inside of the training park that Kenneck can’t actively block me from. Bastard was a necessary inconvenience before, but perhaps not anymore.

  I stay to get a workout in, because why not while I’m here. That and I’ve been slacking lately. Where I used to put in four hours plus a day, I’m only doing about one and a half hours lately. I’m also eating three thousand fewer calories too, so there’s that.

  ***

  Aria, my delightfully virtual work wife, reminds me that I have meetings with my head of supply and temporary head of finance (until I find a deputy director I can trust), and a combined meeting with the new Council of Camp Elsewhere.

  “Alright, Mr. Russel, what matters are we to discuss before our first meeting?”

  “There are several issues, one of which needs infrastructure?” I eyeball the man with a serious stare. “Yes, yes, well; we need something like a central depot or a supply center that we can go to for supplies instead of ordering from the Exchange. Our Settlement network is not robust enough to supply all of our needs so shipments from Reno or other locations in the country would be more economical if we ordered in bulk and stored them.”

  “Understood. I have ideas for, twenty thousand square meters of warehouse under the freeways, is that enough?”

  He nods, “it is for the foreseeable future. Next we arrive at funding pools. Logistics, personnel and planning should all have funds available. A common fund would be . . . irresponsible, so at least four budgeted funds should be available. Lastly, we don’t have transportation. A small attachment of lift trucks, vans, etcetera, would allow us to trade with the southern California region more effectively. However, as you spend many hours in the Arizona-Texas conflict region, perhaps a few small transports would be more all-purpose.”

  “This seems solvable with money and construction drones. Is there an obstacle I’m missing?”

  “Is that not enough? We need drivers, and or pilots, permanent employees for the warehouses, permanent transportation employees, etcetera.” He says in exasperation.

  “And we have no Head Councilor for Personnel. Okay, I get that. I’m posting job listings, stat sheets to vehicle suppliers, and I’m sending you a contact list for Reno City cervices.”

  I watch the man tally his work before responding. “That should work, Ma’am.”

  “Alright, Now Russel, after this upcoming meeting, I’m going to give you a budget. I know from your resume that you worked a budget for Warram. I’m giving you more money because you have to work with ops and plans, but the system will tell me what you’re working with. Nothing under the table, no side hustles with this money, understand.”

  “I would be offended, but I did work with Warram. Understood.”

  “The benefit of working for me, however, will be a reward for every scheme of yours that saves or makes me money. Anything that loses less than 2% in a gamble we can talk about.” I see some hope in his eyes and it makes me wonder what kind of conditions he was working under at Warram. Poor bastard.