The cavern travelers spend the week trudging back home through familiar terrain. That they don't get lost even so is something of a miracle, and the lack of food inherent in such a thing renders it even more difficult. As the week draws to a close, they sight the glow of distant worklights peeking from behind a great pillar. Another few miles, another few hours walking.
Patham continues his work on many subjects. The Observer Trainee proves to have minimal knowledge of the local thaumaturgic climate, aside from it having suddenly undergone a massive decrease in power about fifty years ago. Apparently magic users had considerably more political and militant power at the time, and those less-gifted took the opportunity to fairly thoroughly exterminate much of their establishment, leaving magic use, and knowledge of it, fairly minimal. His organization, referred to as the "Observatory", is a Mountainhome-sanctioned attempt to produce a cadre of thaumically-gifted scholars, begun only five years previously. They apparently have an installation belonging to the original magic users, along with some minimal surviving documentation. You cannot be certain of his loyalty, or abstract "Goodness", but his moral fibre seems sound.
He does not prove especially intrusive, politely asking for explanations of everything he helps with. Since having an extra worker is quite useful, he ends up being extensively helpful, though the explanations slow things down somewhat.
The Caravan proves to have brought a considerable package of various herbs considered medicinal, or helpful to a developing fortress. Poppy heads, rare mushroom spores, hemp seeds, and a considerable variety of other, less recognizable things. This particular caravan seems intended more as a resupply mission and information-retrieval group than actual trade expedition, with a full quarter of the wagons simply beginning to unload into military custody, and the remainder offering their goods effectively at cost. There are a pair of somewhat less-official-looking traders, though, likely good for obtaining less-basic goods.
Production of steel parts for the dam, and development of viable generators, continues, with slow steel production slowing the entire project down considerably. The turbine designs have been finalized, and while likely nowhere near the standards of Homeland technology, seem serviceable. The materials needed for their alloy are also in quite short supply, preventing quick production.
About half of the dam workers, those most affected by the stress, are rotated out with fresh dwarves from the upper dormitories.
Said dormitories have finished the process of being upgraded, increasing Serf morale and freeing up several more miners for iron extraction. The original dormitories have been expanded considerably, with privacy barriers erected around each block of bunks. Additionally, most of the spare single-person rooms have been expanded into whole-family apartments, ending up with about twenty all told, and getting all those with children, or newly married, into their own spaces.
Half again of the old-hat dam workers are recruited to help with the generator/motor joint research project, seeming fascinated by the almost-unbelievably advanced technology.
The dam itself is being built up, slowly and cautiously, with no new casualties. By the time all the floodgates are built, it will be ready to receive them, two weeks at the most. A prototype generator is set up in one partially completed turbine channel and, despite being far from optimal and only having two of the ideal four turbines on its shaft, manages a steady hundred watts for perhaps ten seconds before an unforseen issue with coil insulation burns it out. It is removed with equal ease, the workers, perhaps not fully understanding the nature of the thing, seeming bolstered by the flashing lights and strange sounds. This, surely, is a glorious new thing in their eyes.
Attempts by the Mayor to improve Military opinions are met at first with suspicion, then, as they realize he genuinely doesn't think of them as cavalry-fodder, grudging lack of deteriorating relations.
Moony suddenly seems to go quite mad, and is disabled and locked in a cell with the remaining maimed Siege survivor, who seems unlikely to live out the week. It would appear that he is creating a bag of some kind, horrifying as that prospect is.
The Outpost Liason seems highly impatient for a meeting with the Mayor.
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Topic: If Bay 12 was a fortress Part 3: RETURN OF THE CHAOS (Read 235008 times)