"Here's the prototype for your waitresses Michael," said
Aaron, showing Michael a pair of sleek black leather pumps with thin
black stiletto heels.
"They...
actually look quite normal," said Michael, surprised by the lack
of gleaming titanium.
"I've used a
thinner shank, and made just the heel core pin out of the lower grade
titanium alloy - 44% titanium instead of 70%. The heel cladding is an
aluminum carbon composite with a black enamel finish, and the sole is
high-friction anti-slip rubber. The upper is cowhide leather, and the
padding is silicone gel with a memory foam top layer. It's not the
same as the Sirius Software combat boot, but should still be durable
and comfortable enough for waiting tables and any kitchen mishaps,"
said Aaron.
"That I can
actually attest to. It's not in the same league as my combat boots,
but I can stand in those all day without needing a foot massage,"
said Natasha.
"Please tell me
they are non-lethal, I'd rather not have my employees face
manslaughter charges," asked Michael.
"They'll
bruise, but they won't break anything. It took repeated kicks or
stomps to do the same kind of damage my combat boots did, and the
heel warped and bent, so relax. These won't get you sued for
attempted murder," said Natasha.
"That's good
enough for me. How quickly can we ramp production?" asked
Michael.
"As soon as you
can convince OSHA that these are safe for an army of waitresses,"
chuckled Aaron.
"Hey, I can be
pretty persuasive you know. How else was I able to bring you all
those shiny permits?" shot back Michael.
"Wasn't
disrespecting you, Michael, was just amused by how an OSHA inspector
would react to the pitch," said Aaron.
"Haha, yeah, I
can see that. OK, I'll take these prototypes and go pitch them,"
said Michael, as Natasha handed him a set of boxes that contained the
prototype shoes in standard sizes.
----
"Mr. Albrecht,
to what do I owe the pleasure?" asked Aaron, as Friedrich
entered the temporary office with another boy about the same age.
"It's
Friedrich, please. This here is my nephew, Axel," said
Friedrich, shoving Axel forward.
"Uncle, do I
really-" began Axel in German, but Friedrich smacked him hard on
the head.
"Speak in
English while you're in America, you imbecile!" barked
Friedrich.
"Sorry Uncle,"
mumbled Axel, rubbing his head.
"And you two
are here because?" asked Aaron impatiently.
"Axel here
fancies himself a bit of an engineer. But he's greener than a spring
sapling. I was hoping that you could teach him some discipline in
engineering entrepreneurship," said Friedrich.
"I don't need
some other kid who makes video games and drones to tell me how to
start a business!" said Axel, his tone defiant.
"This kid
stared down a conference room full of mining executives and pitched
them a mining robot without equity! And then took my first
installment and delivered the first shipment ahead of schedule!"
snarled Friedrich, gesturing to Aaron.
"So what? I
don't want to make plastic toys with robotics. How is this going to
help me make real cars?" retorted Axel.
"And it is that
Luddite attitude that got you thrown out of engineering school and a
Volkswagen internship!" snapped Friedrich.
"All right,
shut up both of you!" barked Aaron.
Friedrich and Axel
fell silent, and stared at Aaron with a mixture of apologetic
embarrassment, and annoyance at being interrupted.
"First, Axel.
Pitch your ideas to me. And Friedrich, buzz off. I'll decide what to
do once I've heard what Axel has to say," said Aaron
Friedrich chuckled,
and left the Temporary Office.
Axel visibly relaxed
once his uncle had left.
"I apologize
Herr Zakhrov. I meant no disrespect, it's just Uncle Friedrich won't
stop singing your praises, and that gets on my nerves," said
Axel, trying to save face.
"Sit, and tell
me what you have in mind," said Aaron.
"Let me be
blunt, Herr Zakhrov. I hate what the automotive industry has become.
Even the last bastions of performance cars are being stuffed full of
electric and electronic gizmos instead of focusing on pure driving
feel. I refuse to make cars that are nothing more than oversized
remote-controlled toys," said Axel, his blue eyes blazing.
"I see. Well,
let me tell you something Axel. I have the same opinion, which is why
I haven't got a car yet. I'm not one for antiques, and the new stuff
is too coddling," chuckled Aaron.
"Yes! Finally!
Somebody who speaks my language!" exclaimed Axel, throwing his
hands up in relief.
"All right.
Now, what you're thinking of can work, but you'll need to control the
entire pipeline. You'll need to turn raw materials into a car with no
external suppliers or intermediaries. Just you, and a team of
like-minded engineers and craftsmen," said Aaron.
"What you're
talking about is a hand-built car shop. I could probably pull that
off back in the 1940s, but not in today's world of regulations and
safety standards," sighed Axel.
"Which is why
you're going to ignore and tear those regulations apart. You're not
making something for the masses, or even for idiots with big bank
accounts. You're making something for those who still value driving
skill and mechanics and who accept the risks of driving a raw,
unfiltered car," said Aaron.
Axel tapped his chin
thoughtfully. "I suppose that could work. But where do I start?"
he asked.
"That's where
you need to have a strategy. First, you need to build the basics -
nuts, bolts, pistons, all of that stuff. That stuff will sell in the
spare parts and modding markets. Reinvest the profits into making
more complex parts, until you have the capability to build an entire
car from scratch. Then, it's just a question of selling it to the
right people," said Aaron.
"Sounds like a
plan, but it also sounds like a very long road," sighed Axel.
"Not as long as
you think. Show me your best designs, and if I like them, I'll fund
the project as best I can," said Aaron.
Axel's eyes lit up.
"Really? You would do that?" he asked excitedly.
"Only if I like
what I see. You have something to show me?" asked Aaron.
Axel pulled out a
worn leather portfolio from his backpack, and handed it to Aaron.
"These are the
kinds of cars I want to make," said Axel, as Aaron opened the
portfolio and examined the sketches.
Aaron's eyes fell on
the design for a sleek, low-slung car that was drawn with entirely
flat surfaces and sharp angles, almost as if Axel had an aversion to
curves.
"What materials
were you thinking of using for this design?" asked Aaron.
"Titanium-Aluminum
alloy for the chassis, carbon fiber for the body, and
Titanium-Magnesium for the engine block, pistons and wheels,"
said Axel.
"Axel, you've
got my respect. Natasha, get Friedrich back in here," said
Aaron, as he handed the portfolio back to Axel.
Friedrich entered
the Temporary Office, looking curious.
"Friedrich.
I've seen Axel's designs, and I like what I see. I'll guide him
through the process of building his company, and fund it as best I
can. Can I count on your support as well?" asked Aaron.
"Of course. I
want to see my nephew succeed," said Friedrich, smiling.
"Didn't look
that way earlier," said Aaron, his eyes narrowing.
Friedrich sighed,
and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.
"I suppose I
was a bit hard on him. But I felt his parents have spoiled him
rotten. He doesn't have the kind of drive that I saw in you when I
first met you," he admitted.
"A few
betrayals and attacks from competitors will put that in him, don't
worry," said Aaron, and Axel gulped nervously.
Aaron smiled. "Relax
Axel, you'll be fine," he said.
"Thank you,
Herr Zakhrov. I won't let you down," said Axel, his eyes
shining.
"Come back here
tomorrow, and I'll give you a crash course in getting started,"
said Aaron.
"Yes, Herr
Zakhrov!" said Axel, standing up.
----
"First, lets
talk IP. Have you shown these designs to anyone else?" asked
Aaron, as Axel sat in front of him with a notebook open to take
notes.
"Um, yes. I did
show them to a few of my professors back in Germany," said Axel,
looking nervous.
"And their
response?" asked Aaron.
"They laughed
at me. Said that even if I built it with my own money, I could never
sell it," groused Axel.
"They didn't
make any notes or copies of your designs, did they?" asked
Aaron.
"No, they just
laughed and tossed them back at me," said Axel, clenching his
fists.
"Well, then
they were truly imbeciles. All right, first step is to lock these
designs down tight. You'll need to draft a non-disclosure agreement,
and make everyone sign it before they see your designs," said
Aaron.
"OK, I can do
that," said Axel, jotting down notes.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
"Next, lets
talk infrastructure. You're going to need space for both working on
parts, and for storing inventory. Do you have anything in mind?"
asked Aaron.
"I can lease
space in Stuttgart," said Axel.
"No, you're
not. You're going to buy space, not lease it. Buy a warehouse or
factory building. If it is abandoned or condemned, even better. You
can get it cheap, and renovate it to suit your needs. And it means
there won't be pesky landlords or rent hikes," said Aaron.
"I'll need to
ask Uncle for help with that," said Axel, making a note.
"OK, next.
You'll need equipment, so make a list and price estimates of
everything you'll need to get started on the engine and chassis
components. Remember, this is going to be hand built, so no need for
fancy monocoque presses, just equipment to turn with raw titanium
alloy ingots and sheets into first nuts and bolts that you can sell
to F1 teams and rich modders, while you build engine part inventory
for yourself," said Aaron.
"Got it,"
said Axel, jotting down notes furiously.
"And finally,
people. This is going to be your biggest asset as well as liability.
My advice is to vet everyone as best you can, pay them well, and make
sure the contracts and NDAs are airtight. Quality over quantity here,
and absolutely no freelancers or part-timers. Everyone needs to be
full-time and bound buy your NDAs and contracts," said Aaron.
"Understood.
I'll make sure of that," said Axel.
"All right, now
flesh these notes out into a proper business plan, and run the hard
numbers. We'll go from there," said Aaron.
"Yes, Herr
Zakhrov. Thank you so much for your help," said Axel, standing
up.
"Don't thank me
yet. You still have a long road ahead of you," said Aaron, as
Axel left the Temporary Office.
----
"You know,
Axel. I'm a bit envious of your head start on this," said Aaron,
as he and Axel walked around the assembly floor of Axel's newly
renovated factory in Stuttgart.
The factory site had
been an old Daimler-Benz storage depot that Axel had managed to buy
at a bargain price, and with Aaron and Friedrich's help and funding,
had been renovated into a small-scale assembly plant with a titanium
alloy foundry, machine shop, and assembly line. Aaron's drone based
construction technology had compressed what would have taken months
into a few weeks, much to Axel and Friedrich's amazement.
Axel had taken a
financial short-cut by blowing his entire trust fund on the factory
site, and on some of the specialized fabrication equipment he needed
to work with titanium alloys.
That move had
impressed Friedrich enough to bring his own Albrecht Nuclear Systems
connections to bear, and helped Axel get the rest of the equipment,
the required raw materials, and had even managed to score a few
supplier deals for safety equipment like airbags and seatbelts -
meaning Axel would soon be able to build road-legal albeit emissions
constrained cars.
"Please, Herr
Zakhrov. Without your help, I would be languishing in some backroom,
building that glorified go-kart that Porsche now calls its flagship
sports car," said Axel, chuckling.
"Well, you've
got most of the infrastructure in place. I'm looking forward to
seeing what you build here," said Aaron.
"Thank you,
Herr Zakhrov. I won't let you down," said Axel.
"You're not
giving yourself enough credit, Aaron. You're the one who built
rebuilt this factory with those crazy drones of yours," chuckled
Friedrich, as he walked up to them.
"Uncle, did we
get the airbag supplier sorted?" asked Axel.
"Yes, with the
airbags and seatbelts now contracted, your car design can be
certified as road-legal as long as the emissions regulations permit
it," said Friedrich.
"Excellent. I
can't wait to get started on the assembly," said Axel, rubbing
his hands together excitedly.
"All right,
I'll check in with you after I get back to America," said Aaron,
as he and Natasha left the factory.
---
"Let me get this straight. You've got a start-up to make you some prototype stilettos, and you want to run them through OSHA's approval process?" asked the OSHA inspector, glaring at Michael DuPont over the rims of her glasses.
"Miss Redfield, was it? That is grossly incorrect. These are performance and safety shoes for my precious female employees who have to stand for long hours waiting tables in my restaurants. I will not have you dismiss them as mere fashion accessories," said Michael, his tone icy.
"Don't you take that tone with me! Congressman or not. I'm not going to tolerate your sexism!" snarled Miss Redfield.
"I see. Perhaps it was a mistake to come to you then. It is clear that your particular sensibilities are unsuited for evaluating such equipment," said Michael, packing the stiletto back into its box and standing up.
"What the hell are you talking about? I'm perfectly qualified to evaluate footwear! I have a degree in podiatry!" said Miss Redfield, standing up to face Michael.
"A meaningless qualification if your ideology blinds you to the innovations these shoes represent," scoffed Michael, heading for the door.
Janet Redfield sprang towards the door, blocking Michael's exit.
"All right you filthy pig! I'll put those shoes through the wringer, and your inflated ego along with them!" she snarled, snatching the box from Michael's hands.
"All talk, Miss Redfield. That sample just happens to be your size, though I suppose you lack the skill to wear them properly," said Michael, looking her up and down, smirking at the sight of her pudgy frame in faded jeans, an oversized sweater, and battered pink sneakers.
With a scowl, Janet opened the box, pulled out the stilettos, sat down, and slipped them on.
"I'll be suing your ass if I so much as twist an ankle in these things!" she growled, as she slowly stood up.
She shifted her weight experimentally in the sleek black 8 cm high stilettos.
Her feet felt snug and supported in the memory foam padding, and despite the rather steep incline of an 8 cm heel, her Achilles tendons and her metatarsals were not feeling any strain.
She took a tentative step.
"Whoa!" she exclaimed, as the heel landed on the floor with a sharp "clack".
Michael struggled to keep a straight face as Janet waddled forward in the heels, clearly unaccustomed to walking in stilettos.
He didn't have to suppress his mirth for long though, as Janet soon got used to her new center of gravity, and started to take smaller, more elegant, and increasingly more confident steps.
"OK, seriously. What the hell are these things?" asked Janet, twirling to face Michael, and standing with her hands on her hips.
"Oh nothing, just some titanium alloy, a dash of cowhide, and a little old silicone oil dampening system, I'm not the guy who built it, I'm just the guy who ordered it after seeing how effective they were," said Michael nonchalantly.
"Congressman DuPont. Are you seriously telling me that you had some tech-bro make you titanium stiletto heels for your waitresses? That is the most disgustingly chauvinistic thing I've ever heard! B-but, can I keep these?" blustered Janet, a mortified blush spreading across her cheeks.
"Correction, that tech-bro made them for his own employees first. I just happened to see them, and thought they would be perfect for my waitstaff. And no, you can't keep those as that would constitute a bribe, Miss Redfield," said Michael.
"F-forget I asked!" squeaked Janet.
She kicked off the stilettos, and tried to look for a label.
"The Feminine Professional," she whispered, reading the label inside the shoe.
"Yes, the new fashion start-up that's been the target of Senator Goldberg's activism lately," said Michael.
Janet swallowed nervously.
"All right, Congressman. I'll evaluate and test these shoes, but I'm classifying them as safety equipment. I don't want heat from Senator Goldberg. That's way above my pay grade," she said.
"Fair enough, Miss Redfield. I appreciate your professionalism," said Michael, extending his hand.
"Get out of my office, Congressman. I'll email you my report when I'm done," said Janet, pointing to the door, but unable to meet Michael's gaze.
---
"Alright,
James. The rest of the reactor fleet is ready to go. How is our grid
looking?" asked Aaron, as he entered the control room.
"Well, the grid
is stable, and we can handle the load of four 400 MW reactors.
However, I would recommend that we only bring them online one at a
time, to avoid overloading the grid." said James, his voice
steady.
"OK fuel
loading reactor number 2," said Aaron.
With a few
keystrokes, drones began to load the reactor core with fuel rods. The
pumps began to circulate the pressurized heavy water coolant and
moderator, and the reactor slowly came to life, its deep rumble muted
by the thick lead shielding and the control room's soundproofing.
"Reactor 2
approaching critical, turbines spooling up," reported Aaron.
"Relays are
stable, power is ramping up," reported James over the intercom.
"Reactor 2 is
now at 100% power. James, switch the grid to internal power,"
said Aaron, as he watched the reactor's power output stabilize.
"Switching to
internal power," said James, as the lights in the control room
flickered and then stabilized.
"Excellent.
James, how much surplus are we selling back to the State Grid?"
asked Aaron.
"Works out to
$20,000 per hour as of now," said James.
"Well, that
number's about to grow," said Aaron, as he started the fuel
loading sequence for reactor 3.
"Hang on, boss.
If we dump over a gigawatt into the grid, we might just tank the
energy market," warned James.
"There's no
such thing as too much energy, James. Demand will rise to meet
supply," said Aaron, as he watched the drones load the reactor
core with fuel rods.
"Well, you're
the one who has to explain that to Congressman DuPont," replied
James.
"I'll handle
it. Reactor 3 is now online. Fuel loading reactor 4," said
Aaron, as he started the fuel loading sequence for the last reactor
in the fleet.
"OK, surplus is
now at 1000 MW. The rest of the utilities companies are going to be
pissed," said James, as he watched the power output stabilize.
"They should
have gone nuclear when they had the chance. Now they can go play with
their solar and wind farms," chuckled Aaron.
The intercom buzzed,
and Natasha's voice came through. "Master Zakhrov, you have
visitors, a Father Abel and a Catherine Cormac,"
"On my way,"
said Aaron, as he left the control room and headed for the Temporary
Office.
----
"Father Abel,
Miss Cormac. It's been a long time," said Aaron, as he entered
the Temporary Office.
"Sure has
been," chuckled Father Abel, as Catherine smiled warmly at
Aaron.
"So? What
brings you two here?" asked Aaron, as he sat down at his desk.
Catherine placed a
battered paper form on his desk. "I know that you may not have
any love for St. Ignatius Academy, Mr. Zakhrov, but we are badly in
need of donations. A recent school shooting has left us with a lot of
expenses, and our infrastructure is in dire need of repairs,"
she said.
Aaron raised an
eyebrow. "What makes you think that I have no love for St.
Ignatius Academy, Ms. Cormac? I understood the political machinations
that led to my expulsion, and I still have fond memories of the
school," he said.
Catherine sighed in
relief, before her tone turned melancholic.
"I suppose you
haven't heard about the school shooting that happened a few weeks
ago?" she asked.
"No, I
haven't," replied Aaron.
Father Abel sighed,
and his eyes teared up a little. He pulled out his phone and showed
Aaron a news article about the shooting. Pictures of the
bullet-ridden bodies of two security guards were plastered across the
screen, the article mentioning that the school had been the
battlefield of a gang war that had erupted in the area, that the
security guards had bravely defended the evacuating students, and the
principal had been hospitalized with three bullets extracted from his
body.
"I suppose we
were lucky that there were no student fatalities," said Father
Abel, his voice cracking slightly.
"How did that
happen?" asked Aaron.
"A lot changed
after you left. The school is now a mixed charter school, and the
admission policy has been relaxed to allow more students in. The gang
violence has been on the rise ever since," said Father Abel, his
voice grim.
"I see. What
would it take to bring it back under Jesuit and private control?"
asked Aaron, his eyes narrowed.
Father Abel gulped
seeing the glint in Aaron's blue eyes.
"An investor
willing to fund the transition back to a private institution."
he said cautiously.
"Harry, get
over here to the Temporary Office, we've got a new project,"
said Aaron over the intercom.
"On my way,
boss," replied Harry.
----
"Father Abel?
Miss Cormac? What are you two doing here?" asked Harry, as he
entered the Temporary Office.
"They came here
for donations to rebuild St. Ignatius Academy's infrastructure after
the gang-war," said Aaron.
"Oh yeah. I
heard about that. Horrible stuff," sighed Harry.
"I'm
considering investing in the school, and bringing it back under
Jesuit and private control. As an alumnus who wasn't expelled, what's
your take?" asked Aaron.
"I'd say it's
an awesome idea. But the school's totally different now," said
Harry, sitting down.
"If I'm going
to invest, then I want the school to go back to its roots, that means
the uniform code, the admission criteria, and then some. Are you
willing to accept those conditions?" asked Aaron of Father Abel
and Catherine.
Catherine squirmed
in her seat, "What do you mean by 'and then some'?" she
asked cautiously.
Aaron looked her up
and down, taking in her faded white sneakers, blue jeans and
cream-colored sweater. "Do you remember the first time we met
Ms. Cormac?" he asked her, as she squirmed further under his
gaze.
"How could I
forget that stare? You were probably the first student to ever meet
my gaze without flinching," she chuckled.
"Let's just say
that you're lucky Father Abel is here to compensate for your fall in
standards of presentation," said Aaron.
"He means you
should have never given up your no-nonsense skirt-suit and power
heels," chuckled Father Abel, seeing Catherine's confused
expression.
Catherine blinked,
and then sprang to her feet. "Is that any way to speak to your
former vice principal Mr. Zakhrov?" she barked, her eyes
flashing.
"Now that's the
Ms. Catherine Cormac we all know and love!" chuckled Harry.
Catherine folded her
arms and glared down at Harry.
"What's so
funny Mr. Smith? Yes, don't think for a second that I haven't
forgotten your brazen innuendoes towards me when you were in the 10th
grade!" she snarled.
"Hey, you
looked smoking hot back then, and I'm pretty sure that you still
clean up nicely. I consider it my greatest privilege to have been
taught English by such a hot babe of a teacher," said Harry,
grinning.
"That's the
'and then some' Miss Cormac. Discipline, decorum and deportment under
pressure," said Aaron, as Catherine sat back down, her face
flushed.
"These boys!
Such troublemakers!" she sighed, shaking her head, but trying to
hide a smile.
"Cathy, you
know that they are right. Crass as Mr. Smith is, he does have a
point. You are a great vice principal, but enforcing discipline works
better when you project authority," said Father Abel.
Catherine took a
deep breath. "Well, I suppose we don't have much of a choice. If
you are willing to invest in the school, then I will accept your
conditions," she said.
"Not so fast,
Miss Cormac. I want to see my old Alma Mater before I commit to
anything, we can do the inspection now if you'd like," said
Aaron.
"Of course, Mr.
Zakhrov. We can leave right now," said Catherine, standing up
with Father Abel.
