Again, that vibe.  Pretending he’s not as interested as he is.

Hm. Reluctance to prove his mom right?

“They can’t force you to join, but they do want you on the team.  There’s no negotiating.  You’d get the same I get, pretty much, so if you’re holding back or trying to fake like you don’t want to join when you do, you’re just wasting your time and mine.”

“I’m onto you.”

“I’m not,” Chariot replied, defensive.  “It’s only… this is a big deal.”

“It is.  So take my card.  Call me if you have any questions, or if you want me to pass on word that you’re joining the team.”

Sounds good!

Damn, Kid, you’ve done a fantastic job here.

Kid Win fished in his belt and then handed his card to the boy.  Black with white lettering and his starburst-gun emblem on the back.

“Okay,” Chariot replied.

“Talk it over with your mom.  Get back to us.”

“Thank you,” Chariot’s mother spoke, standing.  Kid Win stood as well.  He shook her hand again.

I kind of have a feeling Kid will only get halfway out the door, at most, before Chariot comes after him.

He pushed forward, anyways, “I get that, really.  But it’s only given away in name.  You still get to use it, you just can’t give it away or sell it to others.  The benefit is that you gain access to all the stuff and plans other PRT tinkers have made.

Which you could potentially use to make your own stuff even better!

I can’t show you any more of that than I have, but the fact is, you’d be able to look at my blueprints as easily as I could look up yours, get inspiration…

“…Or you could look at the sort of stuff Dragon makes.”

Oh damn, heavy hitter point!

Chariot’s eyes lit up.

I think that one line was worth like two points on the scale.

“Tell me you’re not interested, now.”

“I’m… kind of interested.”

Sounds like a success in the makings!

“But he’s risking his life,” Chariot’s mother spoke.  Chariot frowned.

While that isn’t helping, it’s a good point that should be out on the table. That said, surely there are tinkers in the PRT who don’t actually take part in combat? Chariot’s suits sound good for combat in some ways, but if he’s completely unwilling, I’m sure there are options.

“He is.  There are responsibilities.  But honestly?  There’s zero way he’s going to be able to go out and try out any of the stuff he’s made without running into trouble.  People are going to pick fights, just because he has powers.

Yeah, that’s fair. And if he’s a Ward, he’ll have training in handling himself when that happens.

If he tries to hang out in a workshop he establishes on his own, they’re going to find him, strong-arm him into putting something together for them.  Not just villains, either.  Heroes too.

Oof. A rogue tinker’s life is hard, as evidenced by every children’s movie with a brilliant scientist father who gets targeted because the bad guys want some invention or other.

Being a tinker doesn’t just make you a target.  It makes you a resource.  It’s why pretty much every tinker out there is a member of a larger, more powerful team.”

Yeah, makes sense.

“You’re talking money?” That had piqued Chariot’s interest.  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

It seems he does have an interest in that.

All the more reason to recruit him, really. Otherwise it could become a motivation to go down on the dark side if he gets desperate enough.

“I maybe shouldn’t, but I’m going to tell you what I’m getting out of it, because it’s almost definitely going to be the exact same for you.  I get paid, but the money goes straight into a trust.  I’ve made enough to pay for my college education, and every dollar I earn beyond that is going to be waiting for me as a cash award, if and when I graduate from a four-year postsecondary program.

“I’ve made enough to pay for my college education” says a lot when we’re talking about the U.S.

I’m getting four hundred dollars in allowance each month, just to mess around in my workshop, all my materials are paid for, and I currently have about two thousand dollars sitting in the bank, right now, from that.  Once I turn eighteen?  I make more.

*whistles* Not bad!

It automatically transitions to a job with good pay, working with the Protectorate, and the hours will be totally flexible around any classes I take.”

If this deal didn’t sound sweet before…

“3D computer chip.  Uses light instead of electrical current.  They’re made by this Protectorate tinker down in Texas.

Huh, neat.

I’m fairly sure this is theoretically possible, but incredibly difficult to do at this scale. Armmaster might be capable of something like this if he tried.

She gets funding to produce a set number every month, in addition to her regular pay.  So long as you’re in the program, you can put in an order for her stuff, with the specs you want.”

Sounds like a fairly good deal.

“And this metal threading, gold?”

“Gold, for maximum conductibility.”

“That’s a camera, this would be the power source, that part does something with wavelengths, and this reads energy… but I’m not getting it.  What does this do?”

So we’ve got something with wavelengths, at least two sensors and a computer chip. Seems like some sort of advanced surveillance device that can send information back somewhere?

Kid Win quickly slipped the pieces back together, turned the compact device over, then pulled out his smartphone.  Touching the screen, he activated the compact device.  It floated above the coffee table.  He turned his smartphone around to show them the image it was streaming from the device’s camera.

There we go. But that in itself is fairly basic these days (though I guess maybe it wasn’t in 2012? tech evolves rapidly these days, smartphones in themselves aren’t even all that old), so what more does it do? What sort of energy is the other sensor for?

“So much effort, for a video camera?” Chariot’s mother commented, “My tax dollars are going towards this?”

The dumbfounded look Chariot gave his mother put Kid Win in the awkward spot of having to suppress a smile.  This is a point for me.  If I asked him again, what would he say?  Five, six?

Niice.

“You join the Wards, you get exactly what you need to reach your full potential as a Tinker.”  A small lie there.  Not like I’ve reached my full potential.

Fair enough. Not for lack of trying, though.

“And anything you make, the PRT buys the rights from you.  If you’re willing to give up that much, you can do well for yourself.”

Sounds like a sweet deal.

Kid Win reached into his belt, retrieved a compact disc.  He placed it on the glass coffee table, then withdrew a set of small tools from the other side of his belt.  He dismantled the object and began laying out the components one by one.

A compact disc as in a CD, or is that just unfortunate phrasing for some other sort of disc that is compact? A non-specific “object” seems like an odd description for the former, and it’s hard to dismantle a CD into components.

Chariot reached for the nearest component, and Kid Win moved to block the boy’s hand.  “Don’t touch, please.  Look only.  Trace oils and static charge could damage something.”

That’s more like a CD though.

So what are you up to, Kid?

The boy gave him an annoyed glance, bent over the table to look closer at the chips.

“What’s this crystal?”  Chariot asked.

Okay, I don’t think this is a CD. It probably slipped Wildbow’s mind that that’s what CD stands for while writing this.

“I’m not giving up my stuff.”

Kid Win paused.  This is like looking into a mirror to a year and a half ago.  “Look, I can see your TV, your toaster.  Chances are you’ve gone to the Trainyard or a scrapyard to find some stuff.  Old batteries, car parts, chains, good metal, whatever.”

You might want to view it as more of a… lease arrangement than giving up your stuff.

“He wanted to go to the Trainyard,” Chariot’s mother cut in, “I told him no, caught him trying to sneak out.”

Chances are he’s been there at some point anyway.

I wonder how that area is doing these days.

Chariot scowled a little, looked away.

This would be easier without her here.

Yeah, probably. Maybe you should ask her to let you talk in private? She might respect that.

“I get it.  Been there.  You’re hungry to use your power, but more than any other kind of cape, you’re facing a hurdle in terms of the entry-level resources you need.  This is where the team would support you.  You get funding, a lot of funding, to put your stuff together.”

Hm…

“hungry to use your power”

I wonder if that might be a thing beyond just regular psychology, for other capes as well. An instinctive desire to use the powers that comes packaged with them.

“Mm,” was the noncommital reply.

“Just to give me an idea, on a scale of one to ten, how interested are you, in maybe joining the Wards?”

It’s currently sounding like a two or so.

“Ten’s high?”

“Ten’s a lot of interest.”

“Four.”

Eh, higher than I figured.

I suppose he did agree to meeting. If it were a two, he might be vehemently against it.

“Trevor!” Chariot’s mom admonished, “They offer funding, education-“

Ahh, I see. Ashley wants him to join, but he doesn’t particularly care.

“We do,” Kid Win interrupted.  If mom pushes, this guy’s only going to get less interested.  Shit, a four is low.  Maybe if I do the talking… “It’s good money, with room for better money.  Especially for a tinker like you or me.”

Smooth introduction of the fact that you can relate to being a tinker.

And yeah, tinkers being well paid makes sense, given how often they produce things that can be used by others, in all parts of the PRT.

“How’s that?”

“The guys in charge want tinkers.  They really want tinkers, both because they want us in a position where we won’t be making trouble for them, and because and they want the kind of stuff we can create.”

Makes a ton of sense.

When Chariot arrived, Kid Win stood, offered a hand.  There was a delay before the kid shook it.  He was lanky, with big ears and close shorn hair that made him look slightly goofy, but he had a wary look in his eye.

The PRT had to literally chase him down to get a word with him, so it’s not surprising that he’s a bit wary.

Exactly why he’s wary is a bit more questionable. Bad experiences with the PRT?

He wore a t-shirt and jeans that were stained with grease, had lots of little cuts and stains on his fingers, hands and forearms.

The calling cards of a mechanical worker.

Been there.  Substandard tools, not enough parts.  I can use that.

“Please sit,” Chariot’s mother said.

I mean, yeah, the best thing the Wards can offer to an up and coming tinker is more resources, right? Although there could be more the kid wants too.

Kid Win obliged.  Chariot was the last to take a seat.  Was he reluctant, something else?

“Chariot, is it?”  Kid Win ventured.  God, hope I don’t fuck this up.

Good luck, pal.