The Industrialist

Kranian Industries, Northern Sector, Axe Central City

***

Saner minds prevailed.

Flanegan had no choice but to cascade everything on the list. However, his snobbish treatment towards Lance had made it more difficult for the former to elucidate the details.

"co-TOR? What the heck! Is there such a thing?" Flanegan continued to protest.

"Have you been to any factories before?" The Electrical Tier 3 Scientist took him to an elevator. He placed his palm on the scanner and the elevator took them three levels down.

"Underground?" Lance asked.

"Can't you read? It's Level negative 3…" Flanegan cursed indistinctly, "…of course, we are going underground."

Lance let it slide, maintaining a composed and calm professional demeanor.

'He might be testing me of some sort. Testing my patience. Or maybe such an act was directed by Doctor Zee, observing if I am fit to handle such a specialized position,' He convinced himself.

As the elevator hissed open, unkempt high-technology factory equipment and disorganized operators despite the cleanliness of the environment greeted them.

'Far from what I witnessed from other production lines,' Lance thought.

"This is your production line of your invention, RoFlo," Flanegan started sauntering inside the disorder. The people inside still setting up the equipment and production had not started yet.

"If this is your first time and you haven't had any pre-masters degree yet, I will enlighten you a bit of the functions of TOR," Flanegan said as he checked on the first item in the checklist in his digital tablet that he carried with him.

Lance nodded.

"Braise yourself, Mr. Berkley, being a TOR is not easy. And Doctor Zee is not always present to rescue you." Flanegan teased, bringing his face near to Lance's and uttered the words almost to a whisper.

"Firstly," he retracted and raised his voice, "a TOR or the Toll Operations Representative is the overseer of the product specs compliance."

"Why Toll?" Lance asked, just testing Flanegan's seemingly self-declared expertise.

"Toll? You don't know?" he chuckled with the menacing smile of a bully. "Well, Kranian is the Toller and the Corporation is the owner of the product. It means that Kranian Industries will only produce the product but the Corporation will pay for the raw materials and will buy out all output that the Toller produced.

Well, I represent Kranian and its production team, on the other hand, you, represent the Corporation."

"This right here, are they ready to go production?" Lance asked.

Seeing the operators still connecting cables, modifying settings, and calibrating devices, had made Lance worry.

"Yeah, they are good to go. TOR, it is time for work," Flanegan tapped his shoulder hard.

"Wait! Is that it? What about the checklist?" Lance asked, his voice emanating annoyance.

"Now, lookie here! Demanding, aren't you?" Flanegan's stare held onto Lance's eyes, the unblinking stare and a curt smile that meant that what he was doing at that moment was a waste of time. "You must keep up, Mr. Berkley. I am supervising ten production lines here. And I can't babysit someone like you.

You must study on your own!"

"Thank you, Mr. Flanegan. I will let Doctor Zee know your hard work here in Kranian and also, your warm welcome orientation of a new TOR," Lance said. He retaliated with a teasing smile too.

"Ugh, you little brat, you are!" Flanegan released a frustrated sigh. "Ok. Ok. I will cascade the tasks of a TOR but I am not going to repeat them. I will not entertain questions and I will not entertain any sort of intervention while I talk. Understood?"

Lance nodded. 'It's better this way than to guess my tasks."

"First. You inspect the quality of raw materials produced by other industries. Such as your case moldings, and the tentacles."

"Second," Flanegan continued without explaining. But Lance needed no explanation. He already knew the concept of it. Kranian had no capability of fabricating the case moldings and the tentacles. Kranian's expertise was only in the production of internal circuitries and assembly. "Then, the assembly.

You have to verify the process compliance of each component. This is the tricky part but it demands your time. You must conduct random testing of the produced Integrated Circuits for your device's boards."

"Aren't your team going to conduct quality testing before endorsement to assembly?" Lance asked.

He knew assembly lines should conduct the testing themselves. It was their responsibility and the TOR should only verify the effectiveness of the testing.

"Smarty, aren't yah. I know this is your first time, so do as I told ya!"

They paced around the production line in between the gaps of disorganized factory equipment. However, they were only passing by. Flanegan should supposedly introduce the use of equipment at least.

"After its assembly, you will then oversee the verification procedures of the product. You will spearhead the test."

Flanegan pointed towards a large water tank sitting in the corner of the room. "That would be your testing tank."

"Aren't you gonna set up here first to proceed with production?" Lance asked.

"Nope! Oh look," Flanegan pointed at a large door that slid open and came in a pallet of boxed products carried by a robotic forklift. "the casings arrived. You better go to work, Mr. Berkley."

Flanegan turned and walked back to where they came, towards the elevator and leaving Lance in the production floor, alone.

'Can't believe this prick!' Lance cursed inwardly. 'Concentrate, Lance!'

Without direction and hints, Lance gawked at the working operators doing their tasks.

Near him, Lance tapped the shoulder of one operator who plugged the cables into one piece of equipment. The operators sometimes were factory workers who only earned a minimum wage.

"Hey. Is he always like that?" Lance asked.

The man only smiled at him and scratched his head. "That douche? Yeah, what do you expect from a high-classer? You know better, you are a mid-classer!"

"Nope. I am just promoted to Mech Tier 1 but classifications meant shit to me."

"Really, now. You are a TOR, right? So we are working under you and under that ass Flanegan? You don't say you don't believe in classifications."

"Hey, this is my first time, and never handled a team before. Cut me some slack, will yah." Lance retorted.

"How old are ya? Nineteen?" The man asked.

"Nope, sixteen."

"Even worse. But, it's good for ya, kid. You are a TOR now even with that age. Wow! That's something."

"Yeah. It would surprise you that I live in Steelpoint," Lance said.

"Wait, what? You are a commoner too? I live in BrassLot, near the Eastwall. Near Eastern Scrapyards. Marcus right there, lived in Steelpoint." The man pointed to his colleague pushing the large Factory Equipment to the corner.

"I don't know really what I'm doing. That prick, Flanegan, is not actually of great help. He should be the one who will put me up to speed."

"Ha! Ha! Ha!. Yeah, prick he is. Ok. I have been here for five years now and I have been with several TORs like you, but not like you, actually.

You are different. Way younger, a commoner, and a Mech Tier 1. What the hell, kid? Complete package, aren't ya? Yeah, I heard from the others, gossiping of the new TOR. I thought ya were just like them."

Lance's strategy hopefully worked – finding common ground with the rank-and-files, and achieving sympathy from them to make this production a success.

"Yeah, what the hell. I can't just slip past an opportunity like this. I need some units, too. Ya know our situation as commoners, we need the money. Hustle to the point of exhaustion." Lance said, speaking as commoners do.

"Where exactly in Steelpoint are ya?"

Now, Lance knew that the man was testing him if he declared the truth.

"Cabins for years, near Scraps 1, along storm drains. You know the smell, right?"

Commoners knew about the storm drains - wide and deep canals, and constructed a concrete riprap on both sides. The stench of those drains that came from the inland wastewater and stretched towards the external parts beyond the walls was appalling for the neighboring residential zones of Commoner sectors.

No Inlanders knew about the horrendous smell that came from the storm drains.

"Know the stench, kid? We are damn lucky. Well, am I going to call you Mister?"

Then, Lance knew that he passed the man's test.

"You can call me anything you want, Mister…?"

"Brigz. Gab Brigz."

"Mister Brigz."

They shook hands, and Lance initiated by offering his hand first. He saw Brigz's hostility had faded. High and Middle classers do not shake hands with commoners. This had solidified his roots, a Commoner.

"Ya don't need to be formal around here, boss. Just act normal, all right, you'll be fine."

"What should we do? The first raw material Transport is already at our doorstep." Lance asked.

"Don't worry, boss. I know Flanegan is setting you up for failure. But we, won't let that happen."

Brigz said as he called the crew to gather around.