Готовый перевод Житие Мое / Life of Mine: Глава 4

Chapter 4

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As it turned out, it took me a week to get out of the factory and back to the office. I hoped to ask Johan a few questions, but the white mage's desk was empty.

"He took a leave of absence," Polak tried not to look at me, "to improve his health. In the meantime, I'd have to get our affairs in order..."

This white mage was beginning to inspire my respect - he decided to ask for help himself! Let's face it: these guys don't always have the guts to recognize their problems. That's a good reason to do my best.

"Can I take the test records?"

Polak poked his finger into a cabinet full of files. I wonder if their records are as messy as their blueprints.

The thick-bound journals contained a chronicle of the deeds of the Biokin. Two years ago, it all began very cheerfully: a team of three mages and four alchemists assembled to put together a whole heap of charts and patterns that governed the existence of improved bacteria. A standard fermenting vat and four of the most promising strains were taken as the basis. At the test-tube level, the process worked amazingly, but as soon as they moved on to full-scale tests, the breakdowns came one after another. To be specific: the period of uninterrupted operation of the generator was one month. The first to desert were the alchemists, who quickly realized that there would be no freebies, followed by the mages, one of whom was Johan's apprentice. For the past six months, Biokin had been working with a reduced staff, working out what seemed to be the final nuances of the design. And here was the result...

It was time to quit. But I had squandered the money Ron had given me in advance, and there was nothing to pay it back. If this thing can't work, I should at least explain why.

In three weeks, I had time to work out the problem in my mind and to consider it from all angles, guided not mainly by the charts proposed by the bacteria developers but by the actions of people who managed to manage the fermenting vats. The latter was greatly aided by the beginning of the vacations - now I could sit in the factory at all hours of the day. I felt that the machines were astonishingly dumb. In this sense, it took several minutes or even a quarter of an hour from the start of the manipulation to the response.

Judging by the records of the tests (and I had no desire to arrange something like that again), introducing the improved culture into the fermentation vat was tantamount to trying to start the tractor engine on nitroglycerin. Dibs on that! Can you imagine what would happen if something exploded in the shit factory? The fact that Biokin managed to keep the machine stable for a month was a masterpiece of alchemical thought, akin to balancing on a jet stream. In order to substantiate my feelings, I went through all of Johan's articles and lecture notes on control theory, and the conclusion was disappointing: it was simply impossible to use Biokin products in the sludge factories, at least without significantly changing the design of the vat.

This was the idea I expressed at another coffee meeting, which now took place regularly (Johan, fat and rosy, come back to work).

"What do you think a perfect vat should look like?" Polak smiled encouragingly.

"Like a long, small in diameter tube."

Carl snorted:

"It will cool down too fast!"

"It can be insulated from the outside," I snapped.

"Use a warming culture!" Johan suddenly supported me.

"And the cleaning?" Carl wouldn't let up.

"You could combine several tubes into a stack and clean one at a time." In Polak's eyes, there were already swirling strings of numbers and diagrams of designs. "Smaller volume, easier to handle!"

"And use diverse cultures," Johan argued.

The team perked up, and work began to boil over. The first result was that Carl kicked me out of my favorite drawing board. Can't you drag yours over to the window? I began to fret, but I realized that he would do all the hard work for me in a wave of enthusiasm, so I quietly backed off and went back to the leisurely sorting of the drafts.

Polak got the customer to pay for a model (a simple, single-tube model), a feat worthy of note in the annals. After two years of steep failures, getting the customer to shell out money for another unit... Polak had a phenomenal gift for persuasion, though Ron also contributed to his success. It was hoped that the new gas generator would be tested by the end of the summer.

But here's the question: should I quit my job before they try to run this thing, or should I wait for the results? No, I was sure the machine would work, but I didn't want to have to explain myself to the factory foreman.

And just when the blueprints were delivered to the shop, and it was clear there would be no problems with the new gas generator before testing began, Ron called me over to the Three Students' Bar to celebrate. I didn't mind, and I hoped that the drinks on the table would be stronger than the coffee-the whole creative mess was even more exhausting than the encounter with the otherworldly.

"Dance!" Quarter announced.

"What about the teeth punch?"

He even took offense:

"Why are you getting so angry?"

I could have told him why, but I didn't want to start all over again. Ron couldn't stand it after all:

"Our patent was bought..."

"Mm..."

"...for twenty-five thousand!"

"!!!"

"And a crown from each unit it will be installed on. Do you have any idea how many diesels they make a year?!"

"But our thing won't be on everyone: black magic is expensive."

Quarter squinted his eyes:

"Man, have you shown this amulet to anyone?"

"Well... Rakshat, for example."

"Did he tell you that your circuit is a transmaster?

"No,"

"So I tell you! It doesn't use the Source, which means any mage can set it up. Black magic is only needed to create a reverse matrix, and then any white oaf can bake these amulets. That's it!"

I was dumbfounded. That must have been how a cat feels when he's had a bowl of sour cream poured on him.

"Aren't we a cheapskate?"

"Are you kidding? We only sold the principle; we don't have to develop matrices and set up production."

Since I already knew what it cost to implement the idea in the material, I realized that we were almost golden for free.

"And when the money?"

Quarter solemnly handed me a check, a large multi-colored paper with gold embossing and a metallic cast. Money. A lot of money. Practically without strain. How I love it!

"What are you going to spend it on?" Ron wondered.

I just brushed it off. For now, I just wanted to watch it, carry it around, and show it to everyone.

"And the interest goes to your educational account."

"Ron, you're a genius!"

"Oh, come on," Quarter was embarrassed. "If you invent anything else, come to me!"

And then I noticed a curious detail:

"Look, he was signed out two weeks ago."

"So what? It's not a fish. It won't go rotten."

"So why didn't you give it to me right away?"

"To give you an incentive to work!"

When I got the meaning of what was said, I almost lost the power of speech:

"You..."

Kill him! Wipe the bastard off the face of the earth, and leave no offspring!

"Easy, easy, easy! Why are you getting so worked up?! Everything worked out fine!"

"Ugh!!!"

I chased Ron around the place unsuccessfully for a few minutes, but Ron refused to face the angry black mage in a fair fight and locked himself in the bathroom. It was embarrassing to break in in front of everyone, so I went back to the table and decided, out of spite, to finish my snack without him.

Such a rascal... God forbid you end up anywhere under him!

After ten minutes, Quarter became bolder and came out of his hiding place.

"You shouldn't have done that, Tom!" He announced with a heartfelt voice (there were no more pig ears left on the plate). "I meant well."

"Damn, you! All because of some girl?!"

"Are you kidding me?" Ron was offended. "I bet my uncle that I'd make it! For thirty percent of the stock."

What can I say? It's a talent, for sure! A kind of black magic, only it gives more profit.

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