After the "Steam Clean" incident was resolved and the biological hazards were scrubbed from the Factory Plaza, the heavy iron gates of City Titan were once more opened.
However, they were not opened for an invading army, nor for a triumphant parade. They were opened for the Applicant Pool.
Refugees from the destabilized regions of rcia.. displaced by Ragnar’s "Hostile Audit" of Nottingham and the subsequent collapse of the local feudal economy.. began to arrive in Northumbria.
They did not co with swords or shields.
They ca with empty bellies and rumors of a city where n were paid in silver every Friday, regardless of their birth.
To the dieval peasant, City Titan was a confusing nightmare of grey stone and smoke. To the desperate, it was a Job Fair.
While Ragnar was off conducting field operations in the Midlands, Gyda was left behind to act as the Chief Operating Officer (COO).
This was a shocking revelation to the Council of Jarls, who had been burdened with the task of pretending to understand double-entry bookkeeping while Ragnar was away.
Because Ragnar had not found a suitable candidate for a Vice-President.. soone who understood that "synergy" didn’t an "raiding together"—he had appointed the person who held the purse strings: his heavily pregnant wife, Gyda.
Currently, Gyda was sitting in the Executive Suite of the Governor’s Palace.
She was signing "Work Visas" into law; these were stamped clay tablets drafted specifically to handle the incidents with the growing workforce.
Though they had previously had an influx of thralls fleeing their masters, it now seed as if the entire Midlands was fighting for a position on the assembly line.
Ragnar had previously set up a Departnt of Human Resources, which handled identity verification and assignnt of labor.
Currently, Gyda was in the act of approving a budget surplus to employ more scribes to handle the ongoing clerical crisis.
Though City Titan was designed with rapid scaling in mind, Gyda could hardly believe the overhead costs incurred in finding appropriate Personal Protective Equipnt for these migrants.
Now that the "Asset" in her womb had decided to rest for an hour, Gyda could finally enjoy a mont of peace.
She reached for a glass of imported Frankish wine and sighed as the cool liquid soothed her throat.
It had been weeks since Ragnar first departed for his audit, and yet she had already begun to desire his return greatly—mostly so she could throw a ledger at his head for creating so much administrative work.
While she pondered about when her husband would finally co ho to manage his own chaos, the heavy oak door to the office creaked open.
Helga the Brewer stood in the doorway, her apron stained with yellow sulfur and her hair singed on one side.
Throughout the past six months, their relationship had gradually improved.
Though Helga was a chaotic elent who enjoyed explosions a little too much, she was the only other woman in the city who understood the concept of "Research and Developnt."
As such, she had been spending much ti with Gyda, mostly to beg for more funding.
Considering the Palace had beco awfully lonely without Ragnar or General Bjorn around to shout orders, Gyda could only turn to Helga for socializing.
Thus, the mad chemist approached Gyda, who was busy stamping clay tablets, and inquired about the workflow.
"What are you doing, Pri Minister? You look like you want to murder that parchnt."
Gyda sighed heavily, put down her stamp, and rubbed her temples.
"I am managing the Director’s ss, Helga. With the Nottingham acquisition, thousands of Saxon peasants have co to Titan seeking ’The Hourly Wage.’ As such, I have to expand the Departnt of Housing and the Departnt of Sanitation. I also have to put many of them to work building their own tenents, which of course takes ti and money for these unskilled farrs to learn how to lay brick in a straight line."
Helga didn’t understand half of the economic theory Gyda was talking about, but she nodded enthusiastically as she wiped a smudge of soot from her cheek.
"More workers ans more saltpeter production, yes?"
Gyda gave her a withering look.
"Ideally. Anything else?"
Helga let out a heavy sigh of her own and flopped onto a velvet chair, sending a small cloud of chemical dust into the air.
"The Rail Project," Helga complained. "Leif the Lesser says we need more iron. The Director sent a raven saying we need to lt down the captured armor from Nottingham. Do you know how hard it is to separate the gold inlay from the steel? It contaminates the lt!"
Gyda poured a cup of watered wine for Helga.
"Due to the audit, the steel reserves are fluctuating. Ragnar wants to build this... ’Locomotive.’ He says it will move supplies faster than horses. But to build it, I need to expand the foundry. To expand the foundry, I need more workers. To get more workers, I need to process these refugees. It is a cycle, Helga. A very expensive cycle."
Gyda picked up a ledger titled "Project: Iron Horse."
"I seriously do not know how Ragnar manages to co up with these ideas every day; it is exhausting! He wants to lay iron bars all the way to Winchester. Do you know the zoning permits required for crossing the Thas?"
As such, Gyda took another sip from her chalice. She was well aware that King Aethelred of Wessex was currently regrouping, and she needed to fortify the economy so that when Ragnar finished his "negotiations," they could afford to occupy the South.
As such, she had begun a period of "Mandatory Paid Internships" where all male migrants aged 16-40 were forced into the construction battalions for an undesignated period of ti.
This also applied to the Saxon prisoners from Earl Godwin’s failed raid; as such, the numbers of the Titan Workforce were growing rapidly, so much so that the nutrient brick factories could not keep up with the demand for lunch.
"The Saxons are soft," Helga grumbled, downing her wine. "They complain about the 12-hour shifts. They say it is ’unnatural’ to work by gaslight."
"They will adapt," Gyda said ruthlessly. "Or they will starve. We are building a future, not a charity."
Gyda’s problems were temporary; once properly distributed to the residential zones and educated in the importance of hygiene, the population of Titan would create a tax base that would rival Ro.
Luckily, they had implented the "Crop Rotation Directive" in the surrounding farmlands; as such, they had enough turnips to feed the booming population, even if the flavor profile was lacking.
Deciding she needed to take a break before she declared war on the paperwork, Gyda got up from her desk, her back aching from the weight of the pregnancy.
She looked at Helga.
"How about we go inspect the Thermal Exchange Unit? I need to get off my feet."
Helga smiled, her teeth white against her soot-stained face.
"You an the bathhouse? I added so lavender oil to the water. It helps cover the sll of the sulfur."
"That sounds optimal," Gyda agreed.
The two won absconded to the large bathhouse constructed in the lower levels of the Governor’s Palace.
Unlike the wooden tubs of the Saxons, this was a tiled pool heated by the waste steam from the central boiler room.
Gyda lowered herself into the warm water, groaning as the heat seeped into her tired muscles. The steam swirled around them, thick and comforting.
"You know," Helga said, floating on her back. "Ragnar says the Locomotive will breathe steam just like this. He says it will scream louder than a dragon."
"Ragnar says a lot of things," Gyda murmured, closing her eyes. "He says he wants to invent ’Electricity’ next. I told him if he brings lightning into my house, I will divorce him."
Helga laughed. "He is a madman."
"He is a visionary," Gyda corrected, though a smile played on her lips. "But he forgets that visions require funding. When he returns from Nottingham, I am going to make him sit down and explain this ’Train’ to in detail. If the ROI isn’t at least 20%, I’m canceling the project."
"ROI?" Helga asked.
"Return on Investnt," Gyda sighed. "Never mind. Just pass the soap."
While Gyda soaked, her mind was still working.
"Helga," Gyda asked suddenly, opening her eyes.
"Yes, Pri Minister?"
"Did the ’Auditors’ report back from Winchester yet?"
"Yes," Helga nodded. "They say Princess Judith has taken power. She is... wearing the velvet."
Gyda smirked. "Good. Brand loyalty. If Judith is in charge, we can negotiate. Ragnar won’t have to burn Winchester."
"That’s a sha," Helga pouted. "I made extra grenades."
"Save them," Gyda said, patting her belly. "My son will need toys when he grows up."
****
anwhile, in Nottingham
While the won of Titan relaxed, Ragnar stood in the mud of the Nottingham courtyard. He was looking at a pile of lted scrap tal.. forrly the armor of rcian nobility.
Leif the Elder (the Smith) approached, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Director, we have cast the first batch."
"Show ," Ragnar ordered.
Leif gestured to the ground. There, lying in the mud, was a long, straight bar of iron. It wasn’t a sword. It wasn’t a spear. It was shaped like an ’I’.
"The I-Beam Rail," Ragnar whispered, touching the cooling tal. "Standard gauge."
"It’s heavy, Director," Leif grunted. "Laying these all the way to the South... it will take years."
"Not if we have enough interns," Ragnar said, thinking of Gyda’s refugee reports. "And we are about to have a lot of interns."
Ragnar looked South.
"Pack the wagons, Leif. We are taking this prototype on the road. It is ti to show the Saxons that the Iron Age is over."
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