Ginipesh scratched his head as he headed to the docks. He was back in his position as overseer, albeit with much more military "security". Two days ago, he was sitting in jail, finally resigned to his fate, when he was released and reinstated by King Greyson out of nowhere. The news of Lastrik's death was shocking enough, but to find out the reason for his release was the exact reason he was jailed in the first place was already too much. Sitting in his speeder, studying his data-pad for what seemed like the millionth time he still could believe what he was reading. During his time in jail there had been a steady, but negligible, decline in overall production, followed by a massive explosion that completely halted operations. Not only had all the repairs been made, but production was up by twenty-five percent, despite a thirty percent reduction in his work-force. He had to see this for himself. There had to be some kind of error in the data.
When Ginipesh got out of his speeder he almost dropped his data-pad. This was clearly not his usual group of workers, but they were stronger and faster than his old crew ever was. It was like watching a holo-vid on fast forward. He gawked as carriers, over capacity with resources, would float over, then be emptied, packaged and loaded in record time. It was to the point that the shuttles carrying the loads to the freighter in orbit couldn't keep up.
An unexpected hand on his shoulder woke Ginipesh from his stupor. He turned to meet the smile of a gentleman he knew very well. Gregory, the First Mate for the freighter taking today's load, was a tall handsome Rednasi. Normally he wore a bored, tired expression born from over a decade and a half making the same runs in the same places. "Ginipesh you old salty dog!" he began, showing a lot more life than anyone had seen from him in ages. "I don't know what you're feeding these guys, but I need some for my crew!" Gregory laughed heartily. "Never in my life have I seen such an efficient and motivated port crew! I actually came down here to ask you to have them slow down. They're running circles around my crew." Ginipesh laughed sheepishly and shrugged. "Hey, what can I say? Let me go talk to them, see what I can do." Ginipesh walked over to a nearby group of workers and asked where he could find their foreman. Barely looking up from their work they just pointed in the same direction. Ginipesh followed the direction and found a short stern looking native woman sitting in the driver seat of a repulser crane, reviewing information on a data-pad. She looked up as Ginipesh approached and climbed down from her perch. Her face was stoic as she regarded Ginipesh, and impossible to read. Her voice was cold and emotionless when she spoke. "Good afternoon sir, is there a problem?"
The overseer stopped in his tracks as he looked the woman over. He had been working with these people for two decades and never before had he seen the kind of cool confidence that poured off of this woman. Her stance looked like a battle stance, and he felt like she could kill him in three different ways before he could blink. Ginipesh began to sweat as he stammered out his answer, fully intimidated. "No, there's no problem!" He waved his hands in the air as if he was being threatened. "Um, I… I mean the shuttle team was wondering if you all could slow down some so they can catch up with you." The woman just blinked and kept the same unreadable expression. She looked down at her data-pad and scrolled up and down with her finger. She sucked her teeth and looked back up at Ginipesh, her expression unchanged. " No can do, sir. We have oversize loads coming in from all three worksites for the rest of the day. If we slow down, it'll cause a massive backlog, and we'll never be able to catch up. Maybe you can ask the shuttles to speed up." Ginipesh looked like he had just been kicked in the face. "Oversize loads? All day? How?" The foreman shrugged. " The king asked for production, we're producing." Stunned, the overseer simply turned around and went to deliver the news.
Greyson entered the space he supplied Mr. Wesson to use as a lab looking terrible. He looked more like a ghost than a king. His pale skin was gray and ashen, there were deep, dark bags under his eyes and his cheeks were sunken as if he were mal-nourished. His shoulders slumped and his gait was slow and clunky as if his feet weighed a ton. When he spoke his voice was a hoarse grumble that was hard to hear and even harder to understand. People whispered behind his back that he had been a shell of himself since he took the throne. Some believed it was because he lost his mother. Others said the pressure of ruling was getting to him because he was never ready for it to begin with. Of course, most people said nothing to his face. The one person who had dared speak up, ended up with a dagger in his chest. The man had taken the king to the side and simply expressed his concern for his health due to haggard appearance. Greyson had produced a dagger out of, seemingly, nowhere and stuck it in the man's ribs, all the way to the hilt. He thanked the man for his concern as he stepped over his gasping body. No one gave voice to their concerns after that.
Mr. Wesson beamed brightly as Greyson entered. His most recent findings had been nothing short of extraordinary and he was practically bursting at the seams to share them. "My king," he began excitedly, "we are so close. According to my calculations the ship-borne cannons I've developed will destroy a planet twice the size of this one if fired at full power. I've managed to scale down the power source to a vehicle-mounted size with no problem. At full power one could wipe out an entire city block with one blast. It is magnificent Sir, we will change warfare forever with these weapons!"
Grayson gave the man a cold expression. "And what about handheld weapons?"
Mr. Wesson dropped his eyes and began looking for something safer in the room to look at. "Like I said, my king, we're close. The problem because the components needed to build the power source become incredibly less effective at smaller sizes. The power source becomes unstable and.."
"Save it Wesson." Greyson growled his interruption. "Can you do it or do I need to replace you?"
"It can be done, but maybe not in the way you envisioned, Sir. by my calculations, i can safely make something, crew served the size of a mortar, or maybe something with a backpack like a flame thrower, though it would be pretty heavy…"
"That," Greyson interrupted again, "The second one, do that" Greyson snapped his fingers and pointed at Wesson. "An individual weapon like that will require specialized gear and training. It might even inspire the creation of specialized units. I want a prototype ready for testing by the end of the week, Mr. Wesson. Evidently the factory we're building to produce these things is ahead of schedule. I want something to build by the time the factory goes online." With that, the king turned on his heels and strode out of the room. Once Greyson entered the shadows of the corridor, his eyes gleamed with an eerie silver light. Once again there was something he and the voice in his head agreed on. This was excellent news.
Later that evening, the foreman from the docks was sharing a meal with Omnira and laughing hysterically while recounting her encounter with the overseer earlier that day. "You should have seen his face, boss." she howled, slapping her knee repeatedly. "I didn't know if he was going to faint and shit a brick! It was all I could do not to laugh in the man's face." Omnira laughed along with the woman, glad to be able to find some merriment in their situation. It had been two days since her visit with Azaacar, and the goddess had been true to her word. Her people had been able to tap into the Old Power and were performing like superheroes. Not only that, the land was yielding more resources than it ever had. Crops grew faster and minerals were being found in larger quantities. At this rate, there was no chance of incurring the king's wrath. They were relatively safe, for now. It was a tremendous relief. She could finally put her focus back on drawing up battle plans and preparing for Marley's return. Marley. Azaacar said he was on the way back. She'd be glad to see him. Not just because of the fight ahead, and not because of all the preparations she had made for his return as Azaacar's chosen. She missed him. He was both kind and gentile, as well as strong and fierce. They hadn't spent long together, but the connection between them was real, and it was strong. Somehow hearing that he was ok and on his way back had revitalized her. She was so close to giving up, right on the edge of despair. Just the mention of his name had dried her tears. She never felt anything like this before. How had this man come to mean so much to her in such a short amount of time? It was scary.
Suddenly, deep in her chest, Omnira felt a sensation as if her heart had slammed against her rib-cage. Just once. She never felt anything like it, but she knew it had something to do with him. "Marley."