I handed Isara the reins of my "business"—collecting orders for goods that pulsated at the heart of the population's needs, like the bicycle craze. There, on the other side, I was introduced to businessmen as distant from me as heaven is from earth—to trust them in my alien essence would have been madness, but just enough to fill my warehouses with the treasures of the material world. Essentially, I was merely a puppeteer of logistics, a conductor of a commodity orchestra, whispering what was currently calling for demand. Maintaining these earthly wonders of technology became a heavy cross, giving rise to a thirst for my own production.
Take bicycles, for example: their steel skeletons and rubber veins came from overseas, but having tasted their grace, local artisans began sculpting their own wooden chariots, albeit crude but no less swift. This was only the first shoot, breaking through the thicket of difficulties, a harbinger of the coming industrial spring. The only thing that remained an insurmountable rock was synthetic rubber, the core of rubber. However, the market, like an awakened beast, smelled the scent of demand. It was enough to toss a few crumbs of knowledge to artisans or merchants, and let them rack their brains to sate this thirst.
An industrial class has not yet existed on this planet. On the one hand, it's a blessing, allowing this world to be molded into the desired image; on the other, it's a lost march of progress. But this grants illusory control over the birth of these quiet titans, the opportunity to protect the people from their future embrace. Galactic enslavers who desire "workers' rights"? Ironic. The reality is far more prosaic: the worker—who is also the consumer—divides their day into three eights: sleep, labor, and what is called free time. And during this time, one can even spur future magnates by handing them a gold subsidy for every literate apprentice.
"Forgive me for placing more and more pressure on your shoulders, but a breakthrough is necessary," my voice sounded like a plea, "at least to the point where the planet can defend itself. Essentially, at the most basic level, the weapon that protects the planet is not much more than a simple crossbow. To create a crossbow of gigantic proportions, you need a bowstring that won't break under pressure, transferring all its energy to the arrow. It's the same here, only instead of a bowstring, there's electricity."
"Electricity is the basis of everything?" Isara's eyes lit with curiosity.
"Without a doubt. Although, I hasten to reassure you, technologically even Earth hasn't given up on a bowl of water. Essentially, any generation of electricity is, with one fuel or another, the construction of a water mill. Only the Goa'uld, like greedy thieves, stole the secret of directly converting fuel into light, while I discovered a way to tame lightning. So you have nothing to be ashamed of before other stellar civilizations."
— My ancestors and I have no reason to be ashamed.
- That's wonderful. How long do you think it will take to lay the railroad lines?
"It will take time, but in six months we will be able to talk about starting full-scale construction."
"By that time, I'll have accumulated mountains of rails. And what will the financial tigers of six cities say about this? Forgive me, I don't remember their names, but I'm sure they'll be thrilled by the prospect of moving their goods back and forth in a whopping 24 hours."
— They are incredibly interested, especially because you are giving them free use of construction technologies.
"But you're responsible for making sure everything goes according to plan, so that uniform standards are strictly observed. And, by the way, it's time to introduce uniform time zones."
"Time zones?" Isara's interest revived. I grabbed a cup of star-gazing coffee and pulled the computer terminal closer, revealing a dizzying dance of the heavens before her.
"Look, the light from this star," I pointed at the swift rays, "dances across your planet. But it rotates, like an eternal wanderer, and thus is born the alternation of day and night. Technically, even over a distance of a hundred kilometers, minute discrepancies are already hidden. On Earth, this led to chaos: each city adjusted its clocks to its own midday sun. For another city, this could mean 12:10 or 11:45. Synchronizing the arrival of trains was like trying to catch the wind. And this led to a series of tragedies, until people decided to divide the planet into 24 time zones, allocating vast tracts of land to each. The difference of minutes became insignificant—all for the sake of safety. Now, over a space of thousands of kilometers, a single time reigns. You, of course, will not have such problems, for mechanical clocks have not yet set foot on this earth, they are only just beginning. Synchronizing time will become a matter of radio waves.
"That's amazing. So how is the Galactic Empire governed then? After all, time flows differently on different planets."
"Even the number of hours in a day varies; on one planet there are 36, and a year lasts 380 orbits. In our understanding, a year is one and a half times longer. Hence the misleading age figures. A girl, already in her prime, might claim to be 12. (If you think about it, technically, Jackson was a pedophile when he met Share. At least, from Earth's perspective.) How is the Empire run? Here you go. I don't care if I'm asleep or not, I'll just come running. That's how the Empire is run."
- It sounds ineffective.
"Usually, the central planets of the System Lords last 24-27 hours. However, this doesn't prevent situations from arising: one has night, another has day, and a third has dawn. You would encounter this too if your kingdom spread across the entire planet. On Earth, such situations are commonplace."
— There is no need for colonization of other continents yet.
"That's true. The logistics would be a nightmare. From a technological standpoint, using an antigravity platform with a crane to lay rails is absurd."
— Why is it impossible to start production of these antigravity platforms?
— Naquadah consumption. I'm trying to reduce it. Of course, in 20-25 years, technology will make it possible to abandon the railroad, but it will become a springboard, and the springboard for it is an antigravity platform. At the same time, energy production may simply not keep up. Lightning is certainly not bad, but it's not the most efficient method. Eventually, I'll build nuclear power plants. I'll tell you later how that works. This will provide more energy for using naquadah in construction. After all, naquadah is both fuel and building material.
"I like your classical music—Beethoven," Isara decided to answer my previously unasked question. Naturally, I brought a gramophone with vinyl records.
"Then I'll buy more," I nodded to her; it wasn't difficult. Apparently, I needed someone from whom I could buy not only records, but musical instruments as well. There were harps here, for example.
I was currently converting a lot of Earth technology to use electric motors, like airplanes that could be built from plywood. I needed to train a lot of pilots. This could be done following the example of Nazi Germany or the USSR. At the moment, I had 30 pilots. Of course, these Jaffa were trained to fly gliders and Teltaks, but they were familiar with the general principles of flight. They could become instructors and found an Aeronautics Academy. The average training time for a light aircraft pilot is three months, with 45 flight hours, including the instructor. If you divide 30 people into groups of ten, you can get 1,200 pilots in a year. Of course, they won't be combat pilots, but it's necessary to create a sufficient number of flying aces. To keep people interested (and flying is always exciting), graduates can found their own circuses and schools. And from there, cargo transportation through the Gate and the construction of airfields are just a stone's throw away. The most difficult thing about building biplanes is the engine, especially the electric one.
Mine saves a significant amount of fuel-free space. The number of pilots is a key factor in the development of my nation. During the two years I spent flying to Urvashi, I developed a modification to the gliders: the wings fold up instead of down, and they are collapsible—the wings can be quickly removed and reattached. Lacking access to the blueprints for the threaders and unwilling to bother with gate entry, I simply sped up deployment in other ways. Two tractors enter the gate: one with the cabin, the other with the two wings. Then workers connect them. The wings have mounts for bomb racks. The Jaffa prefer a frontal assault, and I had supernapalm with a burning temperature of 1600 degrees, capable of covering a square 90 by 45 meters. A single drop could destroy up to a hundred Jaffa! This is much better than the outdated guidance systems. I still work with the bombs, and even recovered some from US Army depots. Of course, these aren't modern weapons, but they're a good start. I'm currently working on rockets launched from space, but there are challenges, primarily related to atmospheric reentry accuracy.
At the same time, a glider on another planet would help with its exploration. I'm not a homeless person on the level of the KZV, after all. Although I am, I'm not so homeless that I can't dedicate one glider to research.
"I see you're tired. It's been a tiring day. You can go to bed, I'll work a little more."
Isara nodded. It seemed like we were starting to develop a friendship, but she'd hardly forgive being dragged to me in just a nightgown.