am-books 339 Winnowing
339 Winnowing
Contractors, agents of the private sector generally employed by entities lacking the budget or industrial expertise to maintain a department for some specialized task. Typically they are associated with construction or utility installation given the large sums of up-front capital and maintenance that are required for those tasks, however surveying, data collection, and design are also quite common. Expertise for money, a product for business, adherence to instructions and codes in exchange for payment. If there is a job that needs doing, chances are someone, somewhere, is willing to take money to do it."The fuck are you doing?" Unfortunately, that drive for profit and early project completion tends to mean corner cutting and scope creep.
"Uh, welding?"
"Without your equipment?"
"It's too hot with it on. I'd faint within an hour!"
"Better to faint than die." Donovan slapped the emergency stop button on the supply unit, cutting off power to the gun. "There's enough electricity flowing through that thing to melt metal in an instant. You think it won't stop your heart?"
"I'll be fine so long as I don't complete the circuit, right?"
"Oh? You won't complete the circuit?" Donovan took a few steps towards the man, shoving him backwards once in range. Surprised but collected, he stopped himself from tumbling by grabbing on to the pipe section he'd been working on. "Congrats, dipshit. One fault in the insulation and your ass fried."
Holding back on escalating this harassment into assault, Donovan inspected the rest of the four man crew. None of the groups he'd been seen were up to spec on their equipment, and it was starting to piss him off.
"Look motherfuckers, I'm paying you to work, not spend time in an infirmary. We haven't the manpower for that, so wear your equipment. " Donovan made sure eye contact was made with each man. "That means your earplugs stay in, your gloves and padding stay on, and the eye protection stays down while welding. Understood?"
"Understood, sir." Only one person responded, the one in the least worst situation, however the other two at least nodded. "Good. Now go get your gear sorted and take a half hour break."
""Yes sir!""
Shaking his head in disgust as they shuffled away, Donovan bent down to look at the pipes. This was part of the calcination feed system for the cement plant, pipes intended to ferry hydrogen from the electrolytic converter to the burners. Though they were to be welded to minimize the chance of gas leaking through the joints, they were first bolted in place to apply pressure and keep the structure in place for welding. Was it the best method? Not really. Having a flange for the bolts meant more welding and a higher chance of failure, but these pipes weren't expected to have particularly high pressure or purity of the substance in question.
The goal was to get a small cement production facility capable of producing about 100 metric tons of clinker per hour, which would be expected to yield about 1000 metric tons of concrete with variations depending on mix design. Assuming approximately four megajoules of thermal energy was necessary for every ton of clinker produced after radiation and excess absorption losses, 400 megajoules of fuel would need to be supplied every hour, or roughly 110 kilojoules per second - 110 kilowatts. A singular mole of hydrogen gas fully reacting with oxygen would be expected to yield around 140 kilojoules, about thirty kilojoules more than needed to maintain a sufficient temperature. That being the case, Donovan and Arc treated that excess of capacity as necessary to facilitate rapid heating and a lower than anticipated efficiency, as well as enabling expansion of the facility in the future. A hydrogen supply of 2 moles per second was agreed upon.
If they kept the hydrogen pure they would need to supply around 45 liters of gas at 1 atmosphere of pressure every second, a rather small volume considering the application, however the volatility of pure hydrogen would make those pipes no better than bombs, so they'd need to be watered down with inert gasses like nitrogen - which could be supplied in bulk by tuning a MAID to allow only Nitrogen through it's field. A concentration in the range of ten percent would satisfy their requirements, meaning a volume expansion of ten times. They'd need to supply 450 liters of gas per second, which Donovan rounded up to 500 for the sake of an extra factor of safety. Anticipating poor build quality and environmental wear, Arc also enforced a design limit of five atmospheres of internal pressure to stave off a catastrophic failure, bringing down the volume of gas to a tenth of a cubic meter.
Hydrogen gas burned hot and without a visible flame, and was prone to exploding if a sufficient supply of oxygen was introduced in a short period of time. Even if their operating concentration was somewhat low and smothered by an otherwise inert gas, it was not to be fucked with.
". . . at least the welds are good."
Perhaps the biggest point of contention between the two had been on the size of pipe. Donovan wanted two smaller pipes to make the inevitable maintenance less of a pain to work through, while Arc championed a single larger pipe anticipating this plant to be in operation for a decade at most. In the end Donovan came around to Arc's view - no point in having two potential bombs on site when a single explosive canister will suffice.
"How far will you get by the end of the day?" The question had been addressed to one of the contractor's managers, who was escorting Donovan through the project site.
"The boys should have the pipe structure in place within a few hours, but welding will probably take a week."
"Slower than expected, but it shouldn't matter much." Seeing as assembly of the main plant machinery was still three weeks out, Donovan wasn't dissatisfied with this pace. He'd rather they learn to do it safely first, speed would come later. "What of the electrolysis assembly?"
"That's another group."
"Right, separate contracts." Sighing, he stepped back from the pipeline. Overall the contractors had been making good progress, but they were behind schedule if Donovan wanted to see the facilities active before returning to the Sanctum. "Is there anything you need to get moving faster?"
"If you let us train the Nekh later we could get a few more hands on the job."
"Rejected. I won't slow down future projects for a few days in the moment." He didn't even need to spare a thought to that one. Whatever desire he had to see his designs in operation paled against the need for industrial capacity. "Make sure your guys are wearing their equipment. Those rules I keep ragging on about were written in blood."
"I'll keep an eye on them."
Donovan took one last look at the vehicle carrying the supply unit before he walked off. It was a standard pattern truck of Arc's making, a rugged design intended to require minimal maintenance, though this one had been fitted with a portable welding supply module. This fed power, wire, and shielding gas to the torches, sure, but it also accumulated the gas being used.
On Earth, Argon was about one percent of the atmosphere at ground level, the result of millions of years of radioactive decay. On Nectar, this share was closer to two percent, indicative of either a much older planet or a much greater volume of radioactive material in the crust. While the latter possibility was mildly concerning, it made it much easier for the MAID and pump setup to collect enough Argon to facilitate continuous operations. He'd honestly prefer a centralized bottling system to save gasoline given how materially expensive the MAID's were, but without the infrastructure to efficiently distribute the canisters he didn't have much of a choice. Three welding utility vehicles were signed off on, with more in consideration if project expansion required it.
- - - - -
"So you want me to find someone who can serve as an inspector in your absence?" Seppard pinched the bridge of his nose. "You do realize nobody knows how your stuff operates, right? And even if they do, certainly not well enough to notice something off."
"Not asking you for a genius, just somebody to take pictures of the work and ensure instructions are being followed."
"Am I not enough for that?"
"I'm not sending you or your staff out to a construction site to sit there and ensure everything gets installed properly. You guys are swamped as is."
"Then what do you want?"
"Another contractor." The wince suggested he didn't appreciate that suggestion. Not surprising if one considered all the paperwork it took to hire one. "Or maybe some municipal inspector with experience in capital projects. Someone who can look at a set of specs, read a set of plans, and then make sure the contractor doesn't fuck it up or kill somebody."
Seppard let loose a heavy sigh, tapping his foot beneath the desk. His workload had increased considerably during Donovan's time here, having to issue requests for materiel and then coordinate their arrival with minimal assistance from outside. A solution would be coming once facility to house the recursive split generator was complete but that would take time.
"Look, as much as I want to stay here and keep an eye on things, I'm gonna have to leave soon. The last thing I want is an interruption in production because someone thought a strut wasn't needed somewhere." Donovan did not envy Seppard. He knew he was going to assume a similar role at some point in the future, but he would have the benefit of Arc to aid in administration. "Look, once the ground terminal is online you'll have Arc's help with all of this, but we need to make sure it's installed properly."
"I will see what I can do, but I can't promise the response will be quick."
"That's fine. Just get them here before I leave." Donovan got up to leave once he received an affirmative answer, eager to free the man of his presence so productive work may resume.
"Just a second!" Only to be stopped once he reached the door. "If it isn't too much, would I be able to make a request?"
"That depends on what you need." This wasn't the first time Seppard had asked something of Donovan, but he'd never appeared so nervous about it before. "It might be difficult to give you a vacation at the moment."
"I, no, having my family here is relief enough. My request is more to do with the morale of the people, or rather my men."
"Morale?" Donovan thought everybody was in relatively high spirits, if a bit tired. That said, it wasn't unheard of for such a mood to break in an instant, and someone more familiar with his people would have a better idea of how precarious the situation really was. As it stood, the Holifanians were a precious resource for the simple fact they could read. Losing them would be crippling. "Is there even something I can do?"
"Yes, actually, though I think you'd be more convinced of the logistical benefits."
"Then go ahead with it." If there were logistical benefits alongside a reinforcement of their morale, Donovan had no problems with whatever Seppard's plan was.
"Are you sure? I mean, you didn't even hear my proposal."
"Is it going to cause a problem elsewhere?"
"Not if everyone can behave themselves." Donovan frowned at the comment. Was he setting up a boxing ring or something? "I'd like your permission to expand the brewery. What we have right now just isn't enough, and with the population needing more and more goods like clothes and cushions we won't be able to keep up a steady import of alcohol. I understand you aren't particularly fond of alcohol but would it be alright if we dedicate a few buildings to the cause?"
"Yeah, go ahead. Why'd you think I have something against alcohol?"
"Well, no one has ever seen you drink any, so I assumed there might be some cultural taboo."
"I don't drink because I don't think it tastes good. You guys can drink all you want so long as it doesn't affect your work."
- - - - -
As a total ignoramus in the field of agriculture Diana was unfamiliar in the harvest process, annoying the laborers working on the first harvest of the season with a litany of questions. How did they know it was ready? What was the most optimal method of harvesting? Where would they leave the stalks and husks? Did the grain need cleaning? What about pests? How much grain would feed a person for a day? How long did it take to harvest that grain? What about animals? How much grain would they need for the next harvest? How would they plant it? Did weeds present a significant problem, or were there workarounds? Did anyone need water?
Eventually the farmers had enough of her pestering and politely asked her to wait off to the side.
"How pretty." A chair and umbrella had been arranged for her to beat the summer sun, though until the workers told her off she hadn't been making much use of them.
"It's just chaff, milady. Nothing special." Miya, a handmaiden assigned to her in recognition of her status as Donovan's queen, stood at attention just beyond the shade of the umbrella. She was a protege of Petunia's, one of the cadre of young maids meant to be the next generation of castle-keepers on Nekh, but without a castle to maintain there wasn't much her skills could be used for. "The grain that falls to the ground is infinitely more interesting."
"It's called winnowing, right?" For all her ignorance, Diana was still dedicated to learning the process. "Would you like me to spell it for you?"
"May I make an attempt?" Given how little care Diana needed, most of their time together was instead used to teach her English.
"Go ahead." Diana made it a point to do little spelling bees like this every now and again.
"W-I-N-N-O-I-N-G. Winnowing."
"Close, you missed a second 'w' between the 'o' and 'i'."
"Hrmm." Whether or not it was a competitive spirit or a simple desire to be correct, this method was an incredibly effective motivator for the girl. "Next, let's do 'chaff'."
"Mhm?"
"C-H-A-P-H. Chaff."
"Ah, double 'f' this time, not the Greek 'phi'."
"Dammit!"
"You'll get a feel for it in time. We haven't gone into the etymology of certain families of words either, so don't beat yourself up too bad." Diana giggled at the frustration of the little lady sweating in the sun. As much as Diana wanted Miya to join her in the shade, she was acutely aware of how her status suggested she act. "I wonder how much better bread from this grain will taste."
"It certainly looks much healthier than what I'm used to." Diana needn't look at Miya to tell she wore a forlorn expression. Her conversations with the Nekh about their home always had the same result. "Would you like me to bake you a loaf for breakfast?"
"Of course I would!"