“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.

“Sure,” Clockblocker agreed.  Was there a note of irritation in his voice?  Kid Win couldn’t tell.  Dennis was playing along, at least.

I guess he’d still rather be patrolling, but as Kid put it, he’s playing along.

There’s also the way this is partially a reaction to his own highly justified exit from the lecture.

“Now, about the paperwork you guys have been submitting, there’s been a few recurring problems…”

Kid Win sighed and settled into his seat.  This was going to be a little while.

Yeah, here comes the boring part.

■

The building was ugly, had trash piled up on either side of the front door, a sour smell wafting out from it.

Fortunately, we’re reading a narrative. Provided the author knows what he’s doing, we get to skip the boring parts.

I think we’re about to meet Chariot.

The water level wasn’t so bad here, and the building was almost entirely intact.  The only sign of damage was the boarded up windows on the first and second floors where the glass had been knocked out of the window frames.  Red brick, it seemed like the usual sort of tenement building one would find in the Docks.

Sounds like a relatively alright place these days.