The Alchemist Chapter 23

 

Chapter 23

I looked around at the dragons’ hoard. “This is a lot of stuff,” I said.

“Of course,” said Wile. “We are dragons, after all.”

“What happens to a dragon’s hoard when they are hunted?” I asked, running my finger along the edge of a silver spear.

“A dragon’s hoard is like its life. However, recently …” Wile shifted his gigantic body to get a better look at me. “We have begun writing wills. Despite the injustices of the past, we dragon are a hunted breed. We were once immortal kings, but no longer.”

“Dragons are immortal?” I said. “In this world?”

“I do not know of any other world in which dragons are not,” said Wile.

“Touché,” I said, further examining the treasure room. “Now, you wanted to hear my story, right?”

“Mhm,” said Wile, curling up against a pile of gold. “Explain the massive flux of mana around your person.”

“I was given the power of alchemy by Meliapolis,” I said. “I can manipulate the elements to my will.”

“And you used it to create this, camera?” said Wile, as he motioned to my device with his tail. The camera was still on top of the piece of ship deck that had been torn away from the sky ship.

“I come from a very technologically advanced world,” I said. “Cameras are old news to my people.”

“What is the name of this sphere of reality?”

“Earth,” I said. “Terra. A place where the only intelligent beings are humans.”

“Humans are not native to this sphere,” said Wile. “Perhaps your world is where they came from.”

 “I wouldn’t be surprised,” I said. “Humans are a mysterious breed, and I’m not sure exactly why we are the way we are, but the humans here are the same as the humans back home.”

“Mhm,” said Wile, shifting his weight. “So. Tell me more about your power.”

I reached out towards several gold coins that were scattered on the floor. I paused before I touched them. “Do you mind?” I said.

“Dragons are legendary accountants,” said Wile. “I will miss these treasures if you do something to them, but perhaps I will gain a greater treasure.”

I took three gold coins off the stone slab floor, rubbing them together. Using my alchemy power, I forged the gold together, turning it into a small figurine. I then handed it to Wile.

Wile picked it up with his tail and examined it. “Hm,” he said. “The craftsmanship is passable. However, the speed with which you melted this gold is strange, even for a magical power.”

“I can break atomic bonds without using energy,” I said. “That is the basis of my alchemic power.”

“Atoms?” said Wile. “You mean, the fundamental, inseparable building blocks of reality?”

“Technically, they can be split, but you’re on the right track.”

“Hm,” said Wile. “Tell me more.”

“I’ve ben teaching the Royal Society back in Brownfield,” I said. “If you want to join the forum as a human, I’d be glad to teach you all you’d want to know.”

“Who said I was going to release you?” said Wile. “I could just as well eat you.”

“My knowledge and power is a greater treasure than anything you could get by eating me.”

“Do you think dragons eat bipeds for nourishment?” said Wile.

“No,” I said. “But all the same. I can teach you things that are centuries ahead of this world’s science.” I pulled out my smartphone. “Do you know what this is?”

Wile curled his neck to look at the screen. “A window?” said Wile. “Into another dimension?”

I googled “pictures of dragons,” and scrolled through the results. “See?” I said. “This is what is called ‘the internet.’” I said. It’s a network that contains the majority of the knowledge of my world.”

“And you can search for anything using this device?” said Wile. “Where does it store its information? Is there a small golem writing down what it receives from a messenger?”

“No,” I said. “Well, maybe. But the golem you’re talking about is made of transistors, and thinks in binary.”

“Hm,” said Wile. “Explain binary.”

I gave Wile a comprehensive explanation of how binary works and how it is used to compute. When I was finished, Wile’s expression had changed a bit. “You were not lying when you said your knowledge is a greater treasure than anything in this hoard.”

“I have a solid estimation of my own position,” I said. “Have you heard of the fiber steel armor being used by the soldiers of the kingdom?”

Wile looked even more interested. “You do not say. You invented such a device?”

“Not really invented. More of recreated the technology of my old world.”

“And this world is much more advanced than ours,” said Wile.

“There are cars, and spaceships, and computers and guns. The world has been through some tough times, but we’ve come out the other end. My world even has thousands of bombs that can blow up entire cities in a second and can be thrown across the globe.”

Wile snorted. “You’re stretching my ability to believe you,” he said. “There is nothing more powerful than a dragon’s breath weapon, and even that takes a couple of hours to level a city.”

“I’m not kidding. Some of the bombs can obliterate entire metropolitan areas. Millions of people, gone in a blink.”

Wile puffed smoke from his nostrils. “You do not seem to be lying. If you had been, I would have fried you on the spot. Nothing compares to the wrath of the dragons.”

“And yet you’re letting your species be hunted to extinction,” I said.

“It was the invention of the sky ship,” said Wile. “Not one generation ago, a great inventor arose in the country of Nemark and created, along many other magical implements, the technology for sky ships. And since then the skies have not been ours alone.”

“So sky ships are a new technology?” I said.

“For an immortal being, one mortal generation is nothing. Times have changed so fast that we do not know how to retaliate.”

“You did destroy the ship I was on,” I said.

“And we destroy many others,” said Wile. “But they just keep coming. There are not enough of us old ones left in the sky to fight an endless battle against you fast-populating bipeds.”

“I guess that’s how humans in my world worked as well,” I said. “The more of us there were, the more we destroyed our habitats.”

“And the dragons will soon be a depleted race,” said Wile. “Some of us hide as humans or other bipeds, among them, without revealing their true nature. But a dragon’s pride is just as legendary as its anger. We, the true owners of this land, cannot sustain our egos as mere mortals, even if we are just a copy of their form.”

“How many dragons do you estimate are left in the world?” I said.

“Less than a thousand,” said Wile. “And more are being hunted every day.”

“Yikes,” I said. “That’s enough to be considered critically endangered back home.”

“I do not like the tone of that word,” said Wile.

“Um, I may not be speaking my native language right now,” I said. “So I don’t really know what you mean.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Wile. “Your usage of the common tongue is slightly skewed, now that I think of it. Where did you learn to speak it?”

“I was gifted the ability to understand this world’s language by my patron, Meliapolis.”

“Hrm,” said Wile. “Hum.” He shifted his weight again, coins clinking beneath his scales. “Well, another puzzle for me to think about.”

The green dragon called Disc approached Wile and I, settling across from him. “Can we eat him now?” said Disc.

“No,” said Wile. “I claim him as one of my treasures.”

“Pah,” said Disc. “Are you really that hungry for knowledge? Why would you let a tiny person like him live?”

“He is not only educated, but powerful as well. He has the ability to manipulate the elements,” said Wile.

Disc pounded his tail on the ground, causing treasure to shift. “I want payback. My kin was killed by him and the rest of those bipeds we devoured.”

“Um, I was on that ship by request of Yonas,” I said. “I was going to use this technology I have, called a camera, to take instant paintings and reproduce them in order to shift public opinion …”

“Sounds a bit obtuse,” said Disc. “I don’t like its chances. You know people are hard to influence. You bipeds have no respect for those more intelligent than yourselves.”

“I have much respect for you,” I said. “I’ve been against dragon hunting ever since I heard of it.”

Disc seemed a bit perturbed. “You do not speak like the biped mortals I have encountered before,” he said.

“He’s from across the phlogiston,” said Wile. “From a globe called ‘Earth.’”

“Earth,” said Disc, rolling the name on his tongue. “An interesting name. Are there dragons there?”

“No,” I said. “The only intelligent life are humans.”

“Pah,” said Disc. “Sounds like a terrible place. Where would mortals be without the beauty of the dragons?”

“Much further than this world,” I said. “We’ve even set foot on our moon.”

Both dragons looked at me with disbelief. “Huh?” they both said.

“Right,” I said. “The humans of Earth built a rocket and landed on the moon. They actually left footprints in the dust before they came home.”

Disc stuttered. “Humans?” he said. “Doing what dragons cannot? Did they meet the goddess of the moon?”

“Sadly,” I said, “The moon is just a rock. A beautiful rock, but a rock nonetheless. We’ve also put robots on Mars, and sent probes outside the solar system.”

“You astound me,” said Disc. “You are either the most prolific liar I have ever met, or you really do come from an amazing realm.”

I took my smartphone back out, and googled “moon landing.” I showed the pictures to Disc.

“Who made these paintings?” said Disc. “They’re black and white. Why?”

I pointed to my camera. “If you get me the chemicals I need,” I said. “I can show you right now how these pictures work.

Disc stood up and shifted towards the cavern’s center. “I will find them.” He curled his neck towards me. “What do you need?”

I took out a small piece of paper with a list of the chemicals. “Can you get me these?” I said. They weren’t everything I needed, but were mostly precursors to the actual chemicals I needed to develop the film.

Disc began rooting through the hoard. Coins clinked and treasures banged around as he searched.

I turned to Wile. “Do you want to see some more pictures?” I said.

Wile put his head close to my shoulder, its massive jaw almost as high as my waist. “Show me the weapons of this world,” he said.

I showed him a picture of a tank.

“What is this?” said Wile. “An iron elephant? How would something like that even reach the enemy?”

“It shoots,” I said. “It fires sabot rounds at high speeds, and they can destroy other tanks.” I switched over to airplanes. “My people also know how to fly,” I said. “Much better than the sky ships that the humans of this world use. Missiles and guns are all over the place.”

Wile turned away. “Very well,” he said. “We shall help you get your pictures, er, developed, and then we shall send you home so that you can continue your quest for knowledge.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I am in your debt.”

“In exchange for sparing your life,” said Wile, turning back towards me, “You must promise to teach us as much as you can.”

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll do everything I can.”

The Alchemist Chapter 22

 

Chapter 22

We cast off the next day. I had signed on to a two month contract, during which we would fly over the valley of Morbunda and into dragon sky. This land was inhabited by groups of nomads, who did not create large settlements, mostly because the rainfall in the region did not support crops and there were no nearby rivers. It was a dry, scrubby landscape, which took three days to sail towards.

Lifting the camera on board had been hard, but eventually we succeeded. I set the camera up on the ship’s forecastle and took some test photos—though I didn’t bring a dark room with me, as that would be too difficult. I just wanted to have some photos of the landscape as seen from a sky ship.

“How does this ship fly?” I asked, as I leaned over the boat’s bow. Kelin was standing next to me with his arms crossed.

“Boy, if you were smart enough to understand how cloud magic works, you wouldn’t have signed on to this ship.”

“Try me,” I said.

“When Skymetal radiates heat, it creates a negative aura that lifts things. All you have to do to lift something big is heat the metal on one end while the other is open to the elements.”

“I understand,” I said. “So, that’s what those bands of metal are doing around the ship.” I looked overboard, and noticed that they were beginning to get red hot. “How hot do they get?”

“I’m surprised,” said Kelin. “Most sailors wouldn’t have understood that explanation.”

“I’m not a normal sailor,” I said. “I’m educated. I can read and do math.”

“You may be stranger than I anticipated,” said Kelin. He turned around and walked back to the helm. Before he got out of earshot, he looked back at me. “Ogle the technology all you want, but try not to fall overboard.” He then walked away.

I peeled away from the fascinating display of magical technology and walked back to where I was storing the camera. At the moment it was covered by a sheet. The silhouette was of a long, thing apparatus that appeared a bit spooky.

The funny thing about riding a sky ship is that, unlike a ship on the sea, there was no rocking back and forth. I suffered no seasickness—or in this case, airsickness.

At that moment the cook rang the meal bell. I went down below and sat around a table with a number of crew members. I hadn’t learned everyone’s name yet, but I was in no hurry, as I had two months to work with.

“Eh, we’re in dragon territory now,” said a red-haired man with a short, well-trimmed beard. “If my reckoning’s right, we’ll see one before too long.”

The man’s name was Johan. He sat down at the table and put his feet up.

The cook came in, a young-looking elf with a scrubby haircut. He was carrying several dishes full of food. After setting them down on the table, he pulled away and waited patiently in the corner.

The five of us around the table dug in—the ship was crewed by eight people. Kelin, the captain, was not with us at the moment. The food tasted fine, but the main course of hard tack and molasses did not do me any good.

Since this was a sky ship, flying over land, we could gather fruit wherever and so the meal also included several strange apple-like pieces that had the flavor of an Asian pear.

The sailor on watch gave out a call. “Dragon sighted!”

I rushed up to the ship’s deck and shielded my eyes from the sun. In the distance, a shape emerged from between clouds. Our ship turned sharply and put us on a course to meet the flying beast.

I pulled the cloth off of the camera, aiming it towards the dragon. I would need to take the perfect picture in order to fulfill my promise. A picture so gruesome that anyone who looked at it would have their mind changed about the hunting of dragons.

The ship’s three harpooners manned the harpoon guns. These guns were operated by compressed air, pumped in by the person who aimed it. Two other crew members, including Johan, grabbed muskets from the armory. These were, of course, the guns that my shop had developed and about which the dock foreman had spoken.

The dragon change course and began to fly away. If dragons were as intelligent as humans, one would suspect it knew what was coming.

The dragon hunting ship, however, had a trick up its sleeve. Several magical stones at the ship’s back ignited and the ship burst forward with the force of a rocket. We gained speed with frightening power, faster than the dragon.

Still blazing magic from our rear, we pulled up alongside the dragon. The dragon roared, turning to try and fight us. This dragon had mottled gold and red scales, shining like the sunset. It released an electric breath weapon. Two of the crew members were vaporized instantly. At just the moment when the crew members’ skeletons were visible like in the cartoons, I took my first shot. The flashbulb reflected off of the dragon’s irises.

This would be a good one. Two harpoons fired, both of them finding their mark between the dragon’s limbs. We began to pull.

The dragon fought to stay away from the ship. Jonas pulled out the kill device: a long bident designed to go around the dragon’s neck.

The device connected and began to glow red hot. The dragon screamed in pain, releasing a huge flood of blood and gore. I took my second shot. The flashbulb illuminated the crimson and golden blood. It was an image of carnage.

The dragon died with one last breath of electricity that flew over our heads.

Human casualties: two. Dragon down.

We pulled the dragon onto the ship’s deck and Jonas and one other crew member began the disassembly. During the process I took several more photos, until the crew told me to stop bothering them with my flash bulb. I wrapped the camera up and carefully stored the film in a safe location. I wasn’t anywhere close to my contract’s end, so I would have many more chances to take photos.

The dragon’s butchery took about a day, during which we sailed further into their territory. The ground changed from shrubbery to desert. We followed the course of a river towards the center of the valley.

Three dragons appeared on the horizon two weeks later. I knew instantly that they had come for revenge. They were intelligent, after all. Even more intelligent than any ordinary mortal.

Kelin stood beside me at the railing. “Aye, that’s a killing squad if I’ve ever seen one,” he said.

“Does this happen every time you kill a dragon?” I asked.

Kelin shook his head. “I’ve heard tale of them, but I’ve never encountered one myself.”

“Doesn’t this make you think?” I said. “Why they’re coming. They want revenge.”

“Stupid beasts they are,” said Kelin, “But their revenge is legendary. We’d better turn and run.” He turned to the helm. “Activate the push crystals! We’re getting out of here!”

My skin began to crawl. Even though I was on this boat in order to help the dragons, there was the small fact that I was, of course, on a dragon hunting boat. Maybe I could try to bribe the dragons if things went to hell. I ran over to where my camera was secured and made certain that there were no loose knots. Just as I finished my inspection, the ship leaped forwards with the power of a kicking bull. We accelerated away from the dragons.

We were too slow.

“I can only maintain this speed for another five minutes!” said the helmsman.

“Make it ten!” yelled Kelin. “We need to get out of here!”

The three approaching dragons came close enough that I could distinguish details.

“Man the harpoons!” yelled Kelin. One of the harpooners had been killed by the breath weapon of our first quarry, but there were still two left. We fired everything we had. One dragon was hit. It spiraled down, almost hitting the ground before it recovered and began gaining altitude again. The second dragon, a bright blue creature, severed the line between the harpoon and the ship.

The three dragons surrounded us. All of them at once displayed their ferocious breath weapons. Two shot poison gas, while the third fired off boiling water. I dove beneath my camera and held my breath, hoping to stay alive long enough to have a chance to negotiate.

Kelin disappeared into a scalding waterfall. His screams echoed through the air, along with the coughing and screaming of the rest of the crew.

This was bad. At this rate, I would be dead before I could talk.

One of the dragons grabbed the ship and shook it. The ship began to tear apart.

“Not my camera!” I yelled, hanging on to the device as it split from the deck.

A gigantic dragon eye appeared a foot away from my face.

“You have a treasure there that I have not seen before,” said the dragon, in a deep, rumbling voice. “I will lay claim to it as partial payment for the loss of my brother. And, I will keep you alive until you teach me how to use it.”

Well, that was a relief.

Somewhat.

I stood up and looked the dragon in the eye. “Do you know a dragon named Yonas?”

“Ah, Mistufieldious Excantor Nomibor. The outcast, the wanderer. How do you know him?”

“I was sent to take pictures with this device,” I said.

“Pictures?” said the dragon, appearing less hostile and more curious. I was hoping his greed would get the better of him and he’d leave me alive.

“Automatic paintings,” I said. “Though at the moment I can only do them in black and white.”

“Hm, yes,” said the dragon. “Very well. I shall bring you to my lair so we can lay judgment upon you at a later date.” He pulled away, grabbing some rigging that somehow created a perfect basket to lift me, the camera, and a portion of the deck into the air. The three dragons departed the ship, leaving it to slowly descend into the desert, where it would crash and stay as a reminder of the dragons’ wrath.

We flew for several hours before we came to a large mountain at the top of a steep range. The air was beginning to get thin.

“You are emitting a large amount of mana,” said the dragon who was carrying me. “You are no ordinary human.”

“No,” I said. “I was given the power of alchemy by Meliapolis.”

“Ah, yes,” said the dragon. “We know him. He is the only member of your cursed pentaty who respects us.” The dragon turned its head to look at me. “You may call me Wile. My companions are Disc and Rote.”

“Um, nice to meet you,” I said.

“You will explain to us what your device does after we land,” said Wile. “If you do not cooperate, we will eat you and figure the device out ourselves.”

“I’m going to need a certain number of chemicals to show you exactly how the device works,” I said.

“We shall secure them,” said Wile.

“No, like, these are chemicals that are really obscure and hard to get.”

“Do not underestimate the power of a dragon’s hoard,” said Wile.

We landed at the entrance to an eerie, and even here at its opening I could see a large amount of treasure laid out. Classic dragon’s treasure.

Wile set me and the camera down, and then curled his body around it. “Tell me, human,” he said. “What is your story?"

The Alchemist Chapter 21

 

Chapter 21

Work on the camera took longer than expected. We had to get the mixture of exposure chemicals right, as well as construct a dark room to develop the photos in. The first couple of test runs ended up almost unintelligible.

The camera itself was about as big as those devices you see in old movies and photos, a big thing that looked a bit like a machine gun. I also created a flash bulb with a modified version of the gunpowder we were using to create muskets. It took two weeks for me to finally be satisfied with my product. Yonas came by occasionally to talk about how we were going to secure a “famous photo” that would change the hearts and minds of the people about dragon hunting.

First, I would have to convince the captain of a dragon hunting sky ship to let me on board, and then convince him to allow my camera on deck. I would probably have to lie about its function in some capacity to get permission to bring it along.

Yonas agreed to set me up with an interview with a sky ship captain.

I met with him on a rainy day in the spring when the leaves on the trees were just starting to become green again. He was sitting at a table in an inn near the edge of town, close to the port. His long grey beard was tied in braids, and his stocky stature was a bit different than any possible body type a human could have. Of course, he was a dwarf. I hadn’t seen one of them before, so his appearance was a bit startling.

The dwarf captain pulled a pipe away from his mouth. His blue eyes shone as they met my gaze. “You’re the new crew member who wants to ride the Flying Angel, am I right?”

I sat down. “You’re correct,” I said.

The dwarf pulled a long draught from his pipe, and blew out two smoke rings. He put his pipe back down. “Hunting dragons is tough game,” he said. “You’re putting your life on the line for a couple of cris.” He paused, looking me up and down with his piercing eyes. “You don’t seem to be the working man type. Did you grow up in a rich household?”

“I’m from across the phlogiston,” I said. It wasn’t exactly something I needed to hide.

“Ah, yes,” said the dwarf. “I’ve met several beings who were—” he coughed—”from across the great space between spheres. Nothing new to me. Only—” He frowned. “You’re the first human I’ve heard claim that.”

“I have no reason to lie about this,” I said.

“Of course, of course,” said the dwarf. “I forgot to introduce myself. The name’s Kelin. You will refer to me as captain for the duration of your contract, if you do agree to sign on.”

“How much are you paying?” I asked. I had to ask that, in order to avoid raising suspicion.

“Forty cris a month,” said Kelin. “I pay competitively. Also, you get two percent of the profit from all dragons killed.”

“Sounds about right,” I said. “When do we ship out?”

“Tomorrow,” said Kelin. “Meet me at the sky ship docks at the break of dawn.”

I knew I wouldn’t like waking up that early, but I had no choice. I had to get on this ship. Now to convince him to allow me to bring the camera on board.

“Is it okay if I bring a device with me?” I said.

“Eh?” said Kelin. “What kind of device do you mean?”

“A new one that hasn’t been seen before,” I said. “It creates instant paintings. I want to document what it’s like to be on a dragon hunting sky ship.”

“Instant paintings, eh?” said Kelin. “Would they be worth money?”

“Of course,” I said. “Since this is new technology, we can sell the products at exorbitant prices.”

Kelin rubbed his hands together. “Then by all means, bring it aboard. How big is it?”

“Two toms long, half a tom wide, and one tom high.”

“Then it’ll fit. Let me draw up a contract regarding your signing and this device of yours. I want a slice of the pie, of course.” He took out a piece of familiar printed paper, sliding it across the table.

“This was printed using a printing press, wasn’t it?” I said.

“Eh?” said Kelin. “Oh, yeah, of course. You can’t beat their price and quality. I’m still not sure how they did it.”

“I was the one who brought the printing press to this world,” I said.

“You did?” said Kelin. “What does the inventor of such  technology want with a tenure on a sky ship?”

“To test my newest invention,” I said. “The camera I was talking about.”

“Ah, yes, yes,” said Kelin. “If it involves money, I’m all on board.” He rubbed his hands together.

I signed with paper with a quill pen and handed it to Kelin. “All right,” said Kelin, rolling up the contract and putting it in his pocket. “I’ll meet you at the docks tomorrow.”

I got up. “I’ll be there,” I said. I turned around and left the establishment, walking into the rather cold atmosphere outside. The city, as always, stank of manure and other undesirable substances. I would have to advocate for a cleaner system of waste disposal as soon as I got enough political clout. Hopefully, allying myself with the dragons wouldn’t throw this plan off. I began walking down the street towards the docks to check them out before tomorrow.

The docks were small, as Brownfield was nowhere near a regional trading hub. However, there were two sky ships moored to the cramped facilities. I walked up to the nearest one, named the Anne Marie, and examined it.

“How does this thing fly?” I said, to a nearby sailor.

“Eh, you want to know?” said the man, putting down a rather large box he had been carrying.

“I want to know, yes,” I said. “What kind of mechanism makes these ships fly?”

“Dunno,” said the sailor, his breath coming out in wisps. “All I know is that it works better when it’s cold.”

“Well, that’s nice to know,” I said. I imagined what would happen if they were to combine cannons with sky ships. Quite the advancement in warfare compared to my old world, even with all the technology. I walked around the moored ship and did my best to try and figure out how it flew. The ship was rigged with bands of metal that gave the wooden hull the appearance of a sideways barrel. Masts extended from all four axis of the ship, the bottom one almost touching the ground beneath the dock.

I caught sight of a man in a sailor’s uniform smoking a pipe and leaning against a number of wooden crates. I walked up to him.

“Do you know Captain Kelin?” I asked.

“Kelin, huh?” said the man. He tapped his pipe against the box, letting out a bit of ash. “He’s a money grubber, that one.” The man lit his pipe again and smoked it, puffing a small cloud. “Although he runs a tight ship. He doesn’t take any nonsense from anyone.” He paused. “He’s also always ahead of the curve when it comes to tech. he recently equipped his crew with—what do you call them—guns. Some lad here in Brownfield invented them and Kelin’s crew is the first to get some.” He paused. “Damn expensive, too,” he said. He puffed out another cloud of smoke. “Don’t know how dragons will react when it’s that easy to hunt them.”

“Did Kelin say anything about leaving tomorrow?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’s scheduled to ship out at noon. What, are you planning on joining his crew?”

“I signed on with him,” I said.

“Congrats,” said the man, with an uninterested tone. “You’re in for a bit of fun.” He tapped his pipe out and packed it with more tobacco.

“Have you ever seen a dragon get hunted?” I asked.

“Of course,” said the man. “I worked on a dragon hunting ship for five years. Now I’m the dock foreman, but that experience has stayed with me.” He examined his pipe before putting it back in his mouth. “Killing dragons is not as fun as some people say. The beasts are noble, and though I got used to it, I always felt that something was off.”

“Exactly!” I said. “Do you want to help save them?”

“Save?” said the man, narrowing his eyes. “No. The dragons don’t deserve to be saved. Ever since their numbers went down after hunting started, there have been fewer deaths. No more burning towns, no more frozen wives and poisoned fields. It’s a good thing in my estimation.”

“Have you ever thought about negotiation?” I said.

The dock foreman gave me a look of distaste. “I’m just a worker,” he said. “I don’t get paid to think.”

I sighed. “Well, it was great talking to you.” I turned around and walked to the second moored sky ship, this one labeled One More. I ran my hand along the wood bottom.

A man threw a rope down. “Heya!” he said, upon seeing me. “You the new lad that Kelin just hired?”

“How did you know?” I asked.

The man shrugged. “Just a hunch,” he said. “You look like the type of person Kelin would like to be around. You stink of money.”

I had to chuckle at that. I was, of course, fabulously rich and could collect all the precious metals I wanted. But, being rich was not my end goal. I shielded my gaze from the surprisingly piercing spring sun and watched the man go about his business.

“I’m going to be bringing some sensitive equipment onto this ship,” I said. “It’s big and it is very delicate.”

“I’ve worked with dragon breath sacs,” said the man. “Nothing can be more delicate than that.”

“I guess so,” I said. I grabbed the rope. “Do you mind if I climb up?”

The man pointed to a rope webbing at the ship’s side. “Don’t use the sounding rope. Climb up that rigging.”

I climbed up the rigging, and found myself on the deck of a medium-sized ship. The horizon went out in every direction, past the city walls. I ran my hand along the railing as I walked the length of the ship.

“You were hired as a swab,” said the man, extending his hand. “The name’s Gweth.”

“Markus,” I said, shaking the man’s head.

“I’ll remember that,” said Gweth. “Welcome aboard. We aren’t leaving until tomorrow, so you can take a look around.”

I walked up to the hatch that lead belowdecks. “Where do you keep the dragon meat?”

“The meat isn’t that bulky or heavy,” said Gweth. “It’s the bones that require trouble, and the breath sacs that require finesse.”

“What is a breath sac, exactly?” I asked, peering belowdecks.

“A breath sac is where a dragon’s breath weapon comes from,” said Gweth. “If it’s pierced, it could destroy an entire ship with the energy it releases. They’re used to power magic.” He paused. “Plus, they’re tasty once the explosive magic is released.”

“I heard,” I said.

Gweth showed me around the rest of the ship, pointing out all the important bits. When the sun was about to go down I climbed off the ship and returned to the item shop. Rachel was sitting behind the counter.

“Sales today are higher than yesterday and the day before,” she said.

“Great,” I said. I walked into the back. “I’d like to tinker with my camera before I bring it aboard.”

“Of course,” said Rachel.

I went into the back room for a few last minute adjustments. When I was done, I went to sleep, waiting for an adventure to start tomorrow.

 

22

***

The Alchemist Chapter 20

 

Chapter 20

A rather normal-looking man entered my shop a couple of days after I returned from the Incursion. I was working on my first prototype for a steam engine when he arrived.

I walked out into the shop area. “Can I help you?” I said.

The man took a bag of coins out of his cloak and dropped it on the counter with a clank. “I need your help, son of Meliapolis.”

“How do you know my connection to him?” I asked.

“It’s common knowledge among my folk,” said the man. He crossed his arms. “Are you going to help me?”

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” I said. “It depends on if it’s dangerous enough.”

“You’ve put yourself in plenty of danger lately,” said the man. He extended his hand. “My name is Yonas,” he said.

”Markus,” I said, shaking his hand. 

“I’m sure you have heard that dragons are hunted for their oil and bones in this world,” said Yonas.

“They’re just whales of the sky, right?” I said. “Are you a conservationist?”

“I’m not entirely sure what that word means,” said Yonas. “But I think I know what you’re trying to label me as. No, I am not working out of a sense of pity for the creatures. I have other reasons.”

“That was on my agenda anyways,” I said. “At some point I want to end the hunting of dragons for their oil. Back in my world, across the phlogiston, people used to hunt whales.”

“Most people don’t know this,” said Yonas, “But dragons are sentient. My people are just as deserving of life as humans.”

“So you’re a dragon?” I said. “I’d heard that you could take on different forms, but I didn’t expect to see one so soon.” I paused. “What is it that you want me to do?”

“I want you to move the hearts of the people,” said Yonas. “I know you have a way to do this. A way to create a large number of treatises with little effort.”

“You mean my printing press?” I said. “You want me to print anti dragon whaling pieces?”

“Yes,” said Yonas. “But to do that, you need to know how dragon hunting works. If you accept my task, I will get you onto a dragon hunting ship and you can experience for yourself what it’s like to kill such noble beings.”

“Most people aren’t literate,” I said. “How are they going to read the publications?”

“We can use pictures, right?” said Yonas. “And the important ones can read. I also know you’re working on something called a … Canary?”

“Camera,” I said. “Yes, that is part of my ongoing research.”

“And it can capture specific instances with good fidelity?”

“Pretty much, yes,” I said. So he wants me to do some muckraking investigative journalism, I thought. I’m up for that. I picked up the bag of money. “I’ll build a camera before the week is out,” I said. “Until then, hold off on finding me a place on a dragon hunting ship.”

“Of course,” said Yonas. He bowed, and then left the shop.

I sat down in a chair and sighed. Things are getting interesting, I thought. Who knew that the dragons being hunted were sentient? I sat back up and took out my smartphone, looking up the process to create a simple light exposure camera. I would need Rachel and Moray to help me source the materials and chemicals I would need. My steam engine project would have to wait until another time.

Also, I would need to work the final kinks out of my printing press, as well as figure out how to duplicate the pictures that I did take. Then I would have to carry the camera—which would probably be large—onto the ship.

It was a rare occasion around Brownfield, but occasionally sky ships would pull into the tiny port and deliver goods and passengers. The city as a whole was away from major trade routes, and most sky ship sightings happened on the far horizon.

The ships, of course, flew with magic, appearing to be just like old fashioned ships back home with sails on every axis.

About half an hour after Yonas left, Rachel returned from some errands she had ben running.

“Can you get Moray for me?” I said.

“Um, sure,” said Rachel. “What are you up to this time?”

“I need some specific chemicals for a new invention,” I said. “It’s very important.”

“More important than this steam-powered engine of yours?” said Rachel.

“Much more,” I said. “Though for different reasons.”

Rachel nodded. “I’ll go and grab him. He’s usually in his office at this hour.”

“I’ll go with you,” I said.

Rachel shrugged. “Let’s go. I’m sure you’re in a hurry.”

We walked across town to the Royal Society building. After passing the guards and entering, we wove our way through the maze of corridors and found Moray in his office, playing with some test tubes.

“Yes?” he said, without looking up.

I had written down a number of chemicals and materials. “I need what’s on this paper,” I said.

“Hm,” said Moray. “What do you need all these strange chemicals for?”

“A machine that creates an instant painting,” I said. “In black and white for now, but there is a possibility of color later.”

Moray looked up and down the paper. “This looks complicated. How does it work?”

“Remember, a few weeks ago, when I explained optics?”

“Right,” said Moray. “I don’t see how these two things are related, though.”

“They are,” I said. “The light enters through a tiny pinhole into a dark chamber and causes a reaction on a piece of paper coated in chemicals. Then, you take the paper that was exposed and then bathe it in more chemicals to develop the final photo.” I paused. “And, once the photo is made, it’s possible to print copies of it on a printing press.”

“And what are you aiming to do with this device?” asked Moray.

“Save the dragons,” I said. “I received a request from a strange man who might have been a dragon himself.” I thought for a minute. “Do people know that dragons are sentient?”

“That goes against the church,” said Moray. “The church believes that only humans, elves, and dwarves have souls. Orcs have half a soul. All other animals, even if they speak, do not have a soul.”

“That sounds pretty xenophobic to me,” I said.

“It’s the dictate of the pentaty,” said Moray. “No being without a soul can be afforded the rights of man.”

“But isn’t it obvious? That dragons are noble and intelligence creatures?”

“They kill our livestock, steal our treasure, and burn down our cities. Do you not remember the draconic wars?” Moray paused. “Oh, of course. You’re from a different globe. You probably don’t know much about the history of this land.”

“What happened with the dragons?” I said. “Did they attack?”

“It was a long and difficult fight,” said Moray. “Hundreds of thousands of innocent people died due to breath weapons. Frozen, burned, acidified, shocked.”

“And humanity won?” I said.

“Of course we did,” said Moray. “We had the backing of the pentaty. The dragons have no god to protect them.”

“Did you even try to negotiate?” I asked.

“Negotiate?” said Moray. “With beasts?”

“I told you!” I said. “They’re sentient!”

“I assume you equate sentience with the ability to speak,” said Moray.

“Um, isn’t that what it means?” I asked.

Moray sighed. “I have my own doubts, but I cannot challenge the accepted doctrine of the pentaty.”

“Otherwise you’ll be burned at the stake,” I said, with a bitter tone.

Moray was silent.

Rachel clapped her hands. “Why don’t we go get something to eat?” she said.

I sighed, and drummed my knuckles on the wood desk. “Sure,” I said. “All this frustration is making me hungry.”

Moray was silent for a while longer. Then he spoke. “Have you ever tried dragon meat?”

“What?” I said. “Why would I want to eat that, knowing what I do?”

“It’s the byproduct of dragon hunting,” said Moray. “It’s not very palatable, except for the breath gland, but I want you to taste it. Then you may get a different perspective on things.”

“Eating a being who is as intelligent or more intelligent than I am will not sit well with my stomach,” I said.

“Try it,” said Moray. “The beast is dead anyways, killed for its oil and bones.”

“Dragon bone does make good armor,” said Rachel. “Though it’s very expensive and nowhere near as light and flexible as fiber steel.”

I sighed. “I’ll try it,” I said. “But just this once. This is one of the injustices of this world that I think I was brought here to fight.”

“And you’re going to use a camera for that?” said Moray.

“You don’t know the power of a well-placed image,” I said. “Some images in my world were powerful enough to change the course of history.”

Moray stood up. “Let’s go, then,” he said.

Rachel and I followed Moray through the maze of the Royal Society building and traversed half the town to arrive in a small diner at the corner of a street. Moray pushed his way into the establishment, ringing a bell along the wall.

“Hey!” he said, raising his voice. “Stephen! I need three dragon steaks, and two glasses of beer!” He turned to me. “I know you’re young, but do you want some beer too?”

“I’ll just have, um,” I said. “Water. Boiled.”

Moray nodded. “Yeah, that. I don’t know if Stephen will agree to that if he doesn’t know what it’s for. I’m not even sure I know what that ritual of yours is for.”

“One of my next projects will be a microscope,” I said, sitting down at a table, across from Rachel.

Moray sat down between us, to my right. He steepled his hands. “Let’s talk more about this camera of yours,” he said. “How, exactly, does it work?”

“It uses a lens to focus light onto a material that is sensitive to it. Thus, the light etches onto the material and you get a representation of the thing you were pointing at.”

“The light does the painting?” said Moray. “With those, what you called, particles?”

“Indeed,” I said. “Light photons hit the material and cause a chemical reaction. Since dark objects give off less light, they cause less impact on the treated paper. Thus, you get a black and white painting near instantaneously.”

Moray whistled. “Wow. And when do you plan to have this project finished?”

“In a week,” I said. “I have the funds.”

Stephen arrived with three plates of dragon meat and two glasses of beer. He looked at me a bit funny. “Your water is still boiling,” he said. “I’ll have it out as soon as I finish.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You’re doing me a great service.”

“I would have recommended that you not drink the water here,” said Moray, “But you seem to have taken care of that.”

“Boiling water kills pathogens,” I said. “Like I said, I’m eventually going to build you a microscope.”

The dragon meat in front of me looked surprisingly tasty. I took a knife and cut off a small amount, putting it into my mouth. It tasted of, of course, chicken; but also of wild game and a little hint of beef flavor. I put my fork down. “This is surprisingly good,” I said.

Moray’s lips curved up. “I still don’t understand your position on the dragon matter,” he said. “I told you our history with them.”

“That’s the thing,” I said. “I believe in forgiving your enemies if they change their ways.”

“That’s a view you can’t hold if you want to win,” said Moray. He sighed. “Of course, I know you understand far more than I could ever imagine. The culture you grew up in is just, different.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’ll play along with you for as long as I can,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said.

We finished our meal in silence.

Captains' Courageous in Space Chapter 1: Overboard

 

Overboard

The transit between Jupiter’s moon Io and Mars was, by all accounts, a normal one. In the ship’s holodeck, a well-dressed Martian-born man with a long beard and glasses sipped from a flask of Earth-grown brandy. Two other men sat with him, one of them being a native of the sky colonies of Venus, who made his fortune selling powdered oxygen; and the other an entrepreneur from Luna who owned a large number of intersystem freighters. All three of them were focused on a table of the game Pristese, a popular gambling avenue among those blessed by luxury. The holodeck windows were, at the moment, displaying a beautiful beach with white sand, green palms, and beautiful blue ocean.

“Have you heard about that boy Carl?” said the Martian. “I hear his father owns the two biggest non-equatorial space elevators on planet Earth. He’s a right brat about it, too. His mother is a softie and he gets away with murder when he’s around her.”

“Two million credits a month, is his pocket change,” said the Venitian. “And he does with it as he pleases.”

The Lunatian chuckled. “Pisces,” he said, putting forth his sticks in the game they were playing. He took in a big draught of his nicotine vape, blowing out a cloud of sweet, sickly smoke. “His mother is a fragile lady. Not the kind of woman who would go about disciplining her child.”

The door to the holodeck opened and a young boy of about fifteen entered. He was wearing the latest in smart technology, a pair of augmented reality glasses on his face, and a well-tailored old-fashioned suit on his chest. His countenance was childish, too young for his age.

“You fellows open to take another player?” he asked. He took out a small vape and puffed it.

“You’re far too young for this game, lad,” said the Martian. He tapped his painted fingernails on the game board.

“If you don’t let me play, I’ll make you regret it,” said the boy.

The Martian looked at his compatriots and frowned. “What, are you going to complain to your mama?”

The boy wrinkled his nose in disgust. “What if I paid you to let me join?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cred stick.

The Pristese players shuffled the table and the tiles without a break in their motion. The Martian took another puff of his vape. “You want to play?” he said. He extended his hand, and in it was a pill. “Prove you’re a man. Take this pill.”

Now, Carl always fancied himself the adventurous type, and he wasn’t about to let himself look like a coward in front of these prestigious spacers. He took the pill. “What kind of a drug is this?” he said.

“A happy drug,” said the Martian, a glint in his eyes. “It will make a man out of you.”

Carl’s vision began to swirl, and he moved his arms in front of his eyes, admiring the tracers. “This is some strong stuff,” he said. He turned towards the door of the holodeck. “I think I’m going to go get some air.”

“We’re in space, boy,” said the Venutian. “There’s nowhere to get—”

Carl walked out of the room, the door closing behind him. He wandered through the hallways of the luxurious space cruiser, admiring the pretty colors that swam across his vision. He came to a more industrial-looking part of the liner, with five sets of tubular entrances on either side of the wall. One of them was open, wires coming out of it, and a sign that Carl could not read in his stupor, but which said “Danger. Under maintenance.”

Carl stumbled into the open crevice and caught sight of a control panel. He sat down in the escape pod’s helm and began tapping away at the controls, thinking he was back on the pod racing circuit.

The door to the escape pod closed, and a sharp force pressed Carl against the back of the chair.

“Ahaha,” he said, his world turning shades of green and blue. “I’m a dragon …” And then he blacked out.

He came to inside of a tiny, cramped room inhabited by a single, tough-looking man who appeared to have grown up on a planet with high gravity. His muscles bulged and his form was stocky. He turned his gaze to look at Carl.

Carl felt his stomach float in his abdominal cavity, as if he were at the top of a roller coaster. He vomited into the air, and it collected into an expanding ball of acidic goo.

The stocky man sighed and took out a small vacuum, sucking up the contents or Carl’s stomach. He placed it neatly back in its place.

The drug’s effects had worn off, leaving just a small afterglow.

“Where am I?” said Carl.

“Where?” said the stocky man. “AB-Four-two-seven.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me!” said Carl. “Do you know who I am? I’m Carl Rube, and my father will find me.”

“Ah,” said the man. “The name’s Derrick. Why don’t you settle down there so I can meet my quota of H-3 and nickel.”

Through the glass port at the front of the small dinghy, Carl could see an asteroid approaching.

“What, what’s that?” said Carl.

“Why that?” said Derrick. “That’s the money.” A drill extended from beneath the dinghy, and began lasering the asteroid, breaking off misty chunks. The rocks were broken into smaller pieces by a secondary laser, and then a stasis field sorted out the valuable elements into loosely configured balls of material. An outer vacuum snaked through the debris and sucked up the concentrated balls of material. The dinghy shook with eve motion, as if it were about to spring a leak and depressurize at any moment.

After an indeterminable amount of time, the dinghy disengaged and headed towards a small light in the asteroid field. The light turned into a small schooner class spaceship that looked like it had been cobbled together from at least three other ships.

“We’re last in today, eh?” said Derrick. “I hope we have enough cargo to make that worthwhile.”

The dinghy docked with an airlock on the side of the mining ship. The doors opened and Derrick floated through with ease.

“How do I get up there?” said Carl.

“It’s on the floor, dude!” said Derrick, before disappearing down a corridor.

All of a sudden Carl was upside-down. He felt like vomiting again, but kept it down. Grabbing on to a piece of equipment, he oriented himself, and then floated down through the airlock to the ship proper.

A young kid about his age floated through the cramped hallway. “Heyo!” he said. “The name’s Jake.” He extended his hand. “I’m the son of the captain here on board the Let’s Go. He wants me to take you to meet him.”

“Good luck with that,” said Derrick, floating past.

Carl fished around in his pocket for his credit sticks, so that he could give one to Derrick in thanks for saving him. They were gone. Unwittingly, he had almost caused himself huge embarrassment, and once he knew Derrick he would understand how close he came to being an absolute idiot.

Derrick floated up into a hole above Carl and disappeared.

“This way,” said Jake.

Carl followed with a clumsy hand, several times bumping into exposed electronics and equipment. By the time he made it to the statesman’s cabin, he was covered in bruises.

A tall, thin man, clean shaven, with bright piercing eyes was floating in the stateroom.

“Thank you, Jake,” said the man. He extended his hand. “My name is Thomas Grook.”

“If you turn this ship around and take me straight to Mars,” said Carl, “I’ll be certain that you get paid triple whatever this ship is worth.”

“Ha!” said Thomas. “Derrick told me he smelled some psychoactive compounds on you. You’re still not sober. Why don’t you go down and get something to eat before you do something stupid.”

Carl slammed his hand against the nearest wall, causing him to spin in the opposite direction. “You stole my credits, as well,” he said. “They were in my pocket and now they’re not.”

Thomas pushed off his seat with practiced ease and came close to Carl. “I can take a lot of things,” he said, “But I can’t take being called a thief.”

“And a thief is what you are!” said Carl.

Thomas slapped him.

Carl spun in a circle and crashed into the wall.

“Jake!” said Thomas. “Get this boy back to the sleeping compartment so he can cool his head.” He turned away. “The boy fancies himself a fairy or something like that.”

Jake gave Carl a light smile. “My father rarely gets angry,” said Jake. “You must have done something stupid to earn his wrath. My father is nothing if not just.”

“I just demanded him to turn this ship around so that I can return to where I belong.”

Jake chuckled. “Well, whatever you demanded of him, it must not have been very smart. He only gets angry when people put down the things he loves.”

“I did say something about giving him three times what this ship is worth.”

Jake laughed out loud. “Yep. That’d do it. If anyone insults the Let’s Go, he earns himself a knock in the teeth.”

Carl sighed as he entered into a small bunk area that looked just big enough to fit four people, sardine style.

“There are eight people on this ship, including you,” said Jake. “The seven of us crew members share this compartment. We hot bunk.”

“Hot bunk?” said Carl.

“It means we share beds. When one person is awake, another is sleeping.”

“Um, Derrick, he said something about this being a mining operation?”

“Indeed it is,” said Jake. “We’re belt miners. We make our living out in space, free form the stifling atmosphere of a planet or moon.”

Carl turned towards the door. “You look kind of young to be working as a space miner.”

“Been doing it since I was a kid,” said Jake. “I’ve known nothing but.”

Carl sighed, putting his hand in his now empty pocket. “I think I owe Thomas an apology,” he said.

“You know where his stateroom is,” said Jake. “I’ll be waiting here.”

Carl floated through the corridor until he came back to the state room. The door was closed. He knocked.

“Yes?” said Thomas.

“I want to talk with you,” said Carl.

“Go ahead,” said Thomas. The door opened.

Carl floated in. “I apologize for my behavior earlier. I didn’t realize you held your ship in such high regard.”

“Well, she is the best ship this side of the Kuiper belt,” said Thomas. “And there’s no denying that.”

“I wasn’t trying to offend you,” said Carl.

“Good,” said Thomas. “On this ship, you don’t eat unless you work. After you meet the crew, I’ll have Derrick and Jake teach you a thing or two about working the mining dinghies. We lost one of our crew just a week ago in a depressurization incident. He was not much older than you are now.” He paused. “You still up on that fantasy of yours about being a king and all that?”

“No sir,” said Carl. “I don’t think anyone would believe me, anyways.”

“That’s a good way to think about it,” said Thomas. “Great. Get some sleep and we’ll wake you up next rotation so that you can start being an asset to our crew.”

“How long has Jake been working on a mining crew?” asked Carl.

“Long enough,” said Thomas. “Now get to sleep. It’s the most valuable commodity we have aboard this ship, besides our crew.”

Carl nodded, and backed out of the stateroom. He floated through the corridors until he came back to the tiny sleeping berth. Each bed contained a sleeping bag that was attached to the wall. Carl had never tried sleeping in zero g before, but he fell asleep before he could contemplate much more than that.

 

 

2

***

AI Dungeon is a real treat

Who would have thought that an interactive AI could say something as cool as "Leave the bodies be. The buzzards and rats can have them" after defeating a bunch of "wolves," otherwise known as "the hooded men" or "the shadow guard." They worship a monolithic entity called "The Great Wolf" and their leader, "the Old Alpha." 

Every single piece of lore was generated by an AI algorithm. After defeating the shadow guard, me and my party went to a town to try and recruit soldiers to fight against the wolves. On the way I asked one of my party members, Ant, who he was, and he gave me a backstory fit for any real NPC. Except: it was all AI generated!

Holy moly, the AIdungeon architecture is amazing. I'm on the edge of my seat. And this is just an artificial intelligence! 

I always have fun, playing around with AI. This is just one of those times. AI is going to keep improving, and before we know it we will have AI sentience. 

Here's a quote. When one of my party members said he was a monster, I told him he wasn't. "I guess I'm not," he said. "But I wish I was one. That would make things a lot easier."

That's the most philosophical thing I've ever heard an AI say. 

Why I believe the government must subsidize food production, even as a libertarian.

I have to say beforehand that I am not an economist and I do not understand the full depth of what I am talking about. These are just the thoughts that I have about our current situation. 

I believe in small government and the power of private business to fulfill almost all needs a human may have or want. The free market is powerful and produces efficient, cheap, and high-quality products at ever-increasing scale. Where there is demand for a product, companies will make more of it. For example, all luxury goods (everything from computers to dresses) are greatly benefited by capitalism. However, there are some goods that are not very compatible with capitalism. Stay with me here. 

When a good is a) very easy to produce; b) has a limited possible demand; c) has a lag between commitment and production; and d) is necessary for survival, you get a good that is not treated well by pure capitalism. 

Let's start with a. Food is, actually, very easy to produce. So easy to produce that, if people were left to their own devices and planted all the food they wanted, prices would drop to below profit margins for everyone and everyone would lose money, thus causing a retraction of planting in the next harvest. Market swings like this are tolerable for non-essential goods, and even non-essential foods, but a single shortage of food could cause huge problems to any society. 

Secondly, people can only eat so much food. Demand for food rarely goes up, and when it does it's because a new market for processed goods has emerged. Take orange juice, for example. When California growers encountered the problem outlined by a, they decided to turn their oranges into juice. Every bottle of juice contained many more oranges than could be eaten normally by people. The growers artificially increased the demand for oranges. Behavior like this is part of capitalism and it should be encouraged, but it illustrates that in order to increase food demand one has to upturn the status quo and come up with new ways to use things. But demand for food doesn't grow infinitely.

Third, prices of food fluctuate faster than food grows. Food is a special good in that it must be planted at least four months before harvest, and in that time prices of food can change enough to influence the next harvest. This is an example of the "tragedy of the commons." When food prices are high, everyone plants more food for next year. But when next year comes around, because everyone planted so much food, the prices go down and farmers lose money. And then, because food prices are so low, they plant less food, and next year there is a food shortage. One of the main boons of capitalism is market fluctuation. It's a good thing for the market to decide what a car is worth, or what a house is worth. Those do not spoil and can be assembled relatively quickly. However, the hidden hand of capitalism works like a pendulum around an attractor. Because food production is delayed in reaction to its price, this pendulum-like motion is increased. Thus, we can have a glut of food one year, and then high food prices the next, and so on and so forth. 

And finally, food is necessary for survival. If food prices are too high, the people suffer. If car prices are too high, people take the bus. If house prices are too high, people pick a cheaper place to live. But if food prices go up, what are they to do?

And this leads to what I call the "value of the glut." The best way to manage food production is, in fact, to a) pay people not to produce food; b) buy food and destroy it; and c) subsidize the food that is produced.

What is best for society is a little bit too much food at middle of the road prices. The key to this is working within the free market as a government to regulate food prices through manipulation. If, one year, people produce too many potatoes, buy enough to settle the balance between price for the consumer and profit for the farmer and destroy them or give them away to the poor. This is where government cheese came from. I believe it was Reagan who instituted this policy, and he is touted as one of the most conservative presidents of this century. Food destruction may seem wasteful, but the alternative, which is not enough food, is worse. 

Now, there probably is a completely pure market balance that could be achieved without government interference. The orange juice story is an indicator of this. If people find themselves with too much product, they can be creative and find ways to sell it as something else. 

Another story about too much food causing innovation. One day, a certain meat company had produced far too many turkeys for thanksgiving. For weeks they sent the refrigerated cars holding the turkeys from one place to another, trying to sell them. One day, an employee had an idea: what if we froze the turkeys and sold them as meals to be reheated? 

And thus, the TV dinner was born. The company sold all their excess turkeys and we gained a valuable part of American cuisine. 

However, because of the actions of people like FDR during the Great Depression, our economy is hooked on the drug that is subsidization. Like an opioid addiction, it started at first as a way to relieve immediate pain, but then became an addiction that would cause severe withdrawal systems if we were ever to go off it. I believe that, if allowed, the free market will pull an orange juice or a TV dinner for overproduction and create more wealth and good things than anything government economic triage will ever do. 

I will leave you with this quote, which I will paraphrase from the book 1984. "War is just a way for countries to get rid of overproduction."

Why I like electro swing

 I'm a big fan of electronic music. My idea of a banger song has a lot of bass and hard rhythms. Before I got into this scene, I did not realize how wide and expansive it really is. There's dubstep, chillstep, darkstep, glitch hop, and electro swing. My favorite of the bunch at the time of writing is definitely electro swing. 

Generally, these songs come in compilation videos that are about an hour long, featuring cool anime artwork. The art of these videos, while probably stolen from the internet, is part of the experience of this particular genre.

It's been a hundred years since the dawn of the swing era. One of my favorite ES songs references it. There are a lot of talented artists and groups making this stuff. 

Electro swing has the perfect balance between old and new. While I will probably move out of this phase of my musical life eventually, I'm happy to enjoy what I have in the moment. 

Jokes that rely on semantic ambiguity are stupid

Here's one. 230 - 220 X 0.5 = what? 

You'd be surprised that it's actually 5!

If you didn't get it by looking at it (which I doubt you did) the answer is that the answer is "five factorial," or 120. 5! is five factorial. Sigh. 

I do not like these kind of jokes because the only purpose is to create an "in group" and an "out group." This is not a puzzle with a solution that makes you feel clever. It's the opposite. When someone else tells you the answer, you invariably feel stupid. I think these jokes propagate because people who felt stupid about it like making other people feel stupid about the same thing. 

It's not funny. It just makes people feel stupid. There is no puzzle. It's ambiguity that causes the punch line at the expense of those who don't get it. Even if you're told the answer, the lingering feeling that you were too stupid to notice it remains. Sigh. Jokes that rely on ambiguity are my least favorite form of humor. So, why do I keep seeing them on Facebook? Maybe because FB is the perfect place to propagate these kinds of things. A real puzzle works like a math problem, not a punch line camouflaged by ambiguity. 

Even though I hate them, I still try to solve them when they do pop up my feed. I would never share any joke of this kind on my own page but I can't pass up a puzzle when I see it scrolling by. Maybe it's just me. But I hate these kinds of jokes. 

Today I looked at a giant picture of my own eye and it was scary

I went to the optometrist's office today to get a floater in my eye checked out. During the process, I had to look at a close-up picture of the inside of my own eye. 

I can never understand how surgeons and other people who work with flesh and blood do what they do. And it's even weirder when I'm the one looking at my own internal organs. Like, the three places you don't want to see close up are the inside of your ear, the inside of your nose, and the back of your eye. They all make one feel especially strange when looked upon. 

This is a peculiar feeling, and that's about all I have to say about it. 

On to one of the questions I've always had. I've done finicky work with small parts (instrument repair) and at least once per overhaul I would make a rather serious mistake. Breaking a spring, adding a dent, losing a screw. How do surgeons deal with mistakes like these? Do they just not happen because of experience? Or do surgeons just have hands that are adept enough to fix all of their mistakes before they spiral out of control? 

I could google it but I'm not certain I'll find an answer. 

Also, how do surgeons practice? I would think that operating on a live patient would be too dangerous to let a beginning surgeon do. So, how do they gain experience? Cadavers? How many cadavers does it take to make a competent surgeon?

Anyways, these are the questions that I want answered. Maybe you can find out the solution for me. 

Cyberpunk: Meme Edition

It was only a matter of time before state of the art technology was used to meme. This meme trend, labeled "dame da ne" features a Japanese song from the game Yakuza being sung by deep-faked celebrities. This is science fiction as it truly ended up becoming. I do not believe that a single sci fi writer from before 2010 ever imagined that this is how we would be using actual science fiction-esque technology. 

Here's the video. Try not to be wierded out. 

Yikes. Nobody could have expected this technology to become a postmodern joke template before it was used for a legitimate purpose. We are in the future, boys. A future where technology capable of transforming life as we know it begins as a way to make people laugh. If I were to travel back in time in a Delorian, and were to show this to anyone, they would not believe me. 

I have to admit, though. It is pretty funny. I believe this meme marks the beginning of the AI revolution. Also look up GPT-3. You'll be surprised at how smart these programs are. 

Tales of the graphing calculator

Graphing calculators are really fun to mess with. When I first got a graphing calculator for school, I immediately tried using it to play games. It took me a whole day to figure out how to find games, install them, and run them. While doing so, I learned more about computers than I have learned anywhere else. 

Installing games on a graphing calculator taught me a lot of things about how computers work. There are lots of different programs out there that interact with each other and sometimes fail to interact with each other. So many different things float around the internet that perform interesting functions.

The best way to learn how to work with computers is through Google and experience. Google is your teacher and your own computer is your textbook. 

Learning how to operate computers with some level of technical proficiency has saved me many times, from knowing how to re purpose an old hard drive from a broken computer and recover data to fixing the various problems that come up while you're working with your computer normally. It's very hard to teach computer savviness. You have to learn it on your own. It's like language in that it's very hard to teach. 

For example, the different file types and how dangerous they are to your computer. .exe files should only be run when you trust the source. Zips are dangerous to unzip if you don't know where they're coming from. Et cetera, et cetera. It takes experience to become adept at avoiding the bad stuff and sticking to the stuff that won't harm your computer. 

And then there are pop up ads and devious advertisements that pretend to be something they're not. The only way to learn how to deal with those is to get burned a couple of times. 

The internet is a wild place. There are lots of ways to do something, and all of them are usually going to be complicated. 

In conclusion, I advise you to watch yourself at all times, and to experiment and use Google to figure out what's going on behind that screen of yours. 

Just hurry up and fill my cavity!

Today I went to the dentist. This dentist, for some reason, liked making small talk. So, every time he would drill a bit into my teeth, he would leave me hanging for a minute while he told me a story about something or other that didn't really matter. I mean, he got the job done, but several times I was laying there thinking "my teeth are only partially drilled. Please hurry and keep drilling so I can end this."

It was a bit of a funny situation. Everyone knows that time is a lot slower when you are under the dentist's drill. So a minute of small talk seems like an eternity. He would drill or scrape a bit, talk for a minute, and then drill and scrape some more. It was probably the longest amount of time I've ever been worked on for a single cavity. 

Not to say that it was a terrible experience. It was just a bit funny that a professional would tell me a random story about lipstick and door knobs while drilling my teeth. Yikes. I mean, it's the closest dentist, so I'll go there again next time I need some tooth work done (walking an extra mile isn't worth this small complaint) but seriously, it was difficult to stay sane when the dentist was multitasking like that. 

I find this situation to be funnier in hindsight. During the ordeal, I wanted him to just be quiet and drill my teeth so that I could get it done faster. I respect his skill and, again, he got the job done. But it was a little weird while it was happening. 

Duct Tape is Silver

As a kid, I used to play around a lot with duct tape. One day my mother bought several rolls of duct tape online, and though they were thinner and smaller than they looked like in the pictures, they still worked to give me a passion that I held throughout elementary school and a good portion of high school. 

I made a lot of things out of duct tape. Wallets were the main one, and sometimes I would mix it with paper to make toys. The height of my duct tape obsession happened in middle school, when I built duct tape crossbows out of tape and paper and rubber bands. I even made arrows for them. I sold them at school for about ten bucks and for maybe a week during the middle of the school year you could find arrows flying everywhere in the halls and outside. 

Duct tape is fun. If you have kids, I recommend teaching them how to make stuff out of it. It will teach them creativity and give them an outlet to create things. When mixed with paper, origami, and other crafts, it can improve the lives of kids and show them how fun it is to be a creative person. 

I don't really play with duct tape anymore, but sometimes I'll look at the stuff and be taken back to my childhood in a wave of nostalgia. 

One way or another, kids will find out a way to be creative. 

What I learned about the process of storytelling after writing fourteen books.

Being on the inside of an art gives you a different perspective when you look at from the outside. When you have spent many months working to create the same kind of art that you look at every day, you tend to gain insights into many aspects of how that art works.

Writing is a special kind of craft, both limiting and limitless. Unlike with visual media, it is hard to innovate and move past other newer storytelling mediums. Whereas painting took an abstract bent after the creation of photography, you can't write a good book without the same structures that have been with us ever since widespread literacy. 

In other words, writing is difficult to innovate with. And, in the same way, writing hides a lot of its internal workings behind its composition. 

Each author who creates a world or a story does so at great expense. It takes a lot of work to imagine things in enough detail to write stories about them that are good enough for other people to truly enjoy. 

When I read a book, I am in the same position as a car mechanic looking at the engine of a car. Whereas a normal person would just accept that it works without understanding how, my viewpoint on the matter has eternally been changed because I've worked with all the pieces and know how they fit together. 

How does this affect my enjoyment of the written word? It makes me simultaneously more critical and more allowing of mistakes. Some things I can't let slide when I see them, where other people would not even notice. On the other hand, sometimes the problems other people have with books are moot because I realize what the author was trying to do. In any case, I have a view on writing that very few other people have--one influenced by my own exercise of my craft. 

I think, in the end, we learn more when we do more, and that's a good thing. 

What I learned from walking everywhere for over a year

I have no doubt in my mind about one simple fact: I have put more miles onto my feet in the past year than anyone I know. Every day, I walk to at least two separate destinations. While this may be a normal thing in a crowded metropolis, like Tokyo or Beijing or New York, but here in a small suburban town it's remarkably rare for people to have to commute via foot. 

Ever since I graduated from college--and even before--I have had the unique circumstance (at least in America) of no car and places to go. I understand, probably more than anyone else who lives in these places, that American suburbia is not built for pedestrians. Sometimes it gets freaky, especially when I cross highway bridges. Most people don't realize this--because they haven't had to walk across a highway bridge--but the engineers of those bridges were a little bit forward thinking and left just enough room between the rushing cars and the abyss for someone of reasonable width to walk past. Just enough room to make me think: "if I take a step too far to the right, I get run over. If I take a step too far to the left, I fall onto the interstate and also get run over."

See, suburbia and small town America is about ninety-five percent built for vehicles. Four more percent is made for bikes. Very little consideration has been given to people whose only mode of transportation is their feet. 

Walking is a part of my life. I happen to do it enough that I enjoy it, if only enough to keep me from losing my mind at the inefficiency of it. It builds character. And it keeps me fit. My shoes are my most valuable asset in this case. 

I get to see an aspect of city design that most people only glimpse out the window of a moving vehicle. While walking everywhere, I look at places and know the landscape in a more intimate, close fashion. And, though I would like to eventually speed up my mode of transportation, I do believe that there is an upside to my current situation. 

These legs are made for walking, and that's just what I'll do. 

Chewing your Intellectual Cud: my thoughts about how some people know more than others.

Almost every moment that I am not concentrated on something external, I am concentrated on something internal. Every minute or so when I am not utilizing my brain power to do something, I am thinking about a random fact, thought, or insight that needs processing in some form or another. I call this action "intellectual cud chewing."

Cows actually regurgitate half-digested food into their mouths which makes it easier to digest in their many stomachs. I liken my method of thinking and learning to this action because it's almost identical--only, in my case, I am metaphorically chewing information. 

An example: whenever I read a non-fiction book (or a thought-provoking fiction book), I pick pieces of information that I picked up raw and digest them through several days of mental cud chewing. I make connections, remind myself of big technical words, and think about what the things I learned meant in the greater context of my entire knowledge base. 

I do not have insight into the heads of anyone other than myself. What I want to know is: how many other people do this? And to what extent? Is it as widespread as I hope it is?

Sometimes, the best synthesis of ideas comes when you are slightly bored. You take little tidbits of interesting information and smash them together like you're running an idea-based particle collider. Some of my best insights have come through this method. 

See, most of the time, when I spout off some tidbit of information about a subject in conversation, I have, at some point in the past, chewed that idea. It could have been months or even years ago. I am constantly renewing the spring of ideas that I contemplate. 

It takes work to produce insight--and most of that work is a habitual mental motion that takes place almost constantly, like a background process on my PC. 

Anyways, my question is: does anyone else chew their intellectual cud? If so, how often? 

I'd like to know the answer.

I wanted to be a mathematician.

If I were to be reborn into another life, I would want to be a mathematician. It's much too difficult for me at this point--I've never been the best at math--but I can see, past the things you learn in school, that there are some crazy beautiful mathematical paradigms that only open themselves to the people who deal with its highest levels.

I suppose I realize that it takes intensive work to become a Ph.D in math. And in this life I'm just not suited for it. 

I want to see the beautiful things that can only be seen by those with deep understanding of the field. The way I see it, math is like art in how it can manifest in amazing ways. You just have to look at a picture of a fractal or any video game to realize what math can do. 

Like I said, in this life I don't have the brain power to become a mathematician, let alone one who breaks new ground. But sometimes I wish that I was born with a bit more analytical ability or the conscientiousness to put in the huge amount of study required for such a path. 

In this life my wish is to become a professional author. In the next, I want to become a mathematician. 

I have this notion, I don't know where I got it, that when you die, before you are reincarnated or go to heaven or whatever, you get a set amount of points to spend on your next life. You can choose where those points go, be it intelligence, attractiveness, wisdom, or strength. In my next life I would dump all my points into what it takes to be either a professional mathematician or professional Go player. 

Go is, as far as I can tell, the perfect game. And, I've learned, playing it is somewhat similar to working with higher level mathematics. 

Either a pro mathematician or a pro go player. That's what I would have chosen for myself if I had the option. 

But this life is doing fine for me. I don't really dislike it, and I think I'm going to do well with it. 

I think everyone wishes to be something they can't. At this point my path is set for me and I have to take it. But sometimes, I can dream about this kind of thing.