By the tenth Day of the Third Month of 37 IA there were over six hundred and fifty factories in Dalatyr. Most of them were State Industries and they ranged in size from huge operations like the main Ironworks which employed thousands to small operations with twenty workers. One of Supernovas's
regular tasks was inspecting them. The Bureaucracy and Engineering Corps had gotten skilled enough at snooting out problems, but it never hurt to check things out for herself, it was good for morale. Besides, she could process a lot of administrivia while she did the job. On that day she was inspecting a garment factory making cotton shirts. Bolts of cloth were cut into standardized lengths, given to workers (most of whom were young women) at sewing machines which hemmed seems and made tubes, who handed them off to other workers who assembled finished garments before having them tagged, stamped with logos and packed for shipping. Total output now averaged about 2,000 daily, which was respectable for the workforce. Things seemed to be going smoothly, even though she still had some recommendations for the foreman.
When she was about halfway along the central pathway of the factory floor she got a message from the embassy in Venoa. The radio systems that they had set up in the embassies were crude affairs with a low effective bit rate, but the message conveyed all that it needed to and had the proper codes. She'd wondered if and when their offensive campaign
would have yielded fruit. Now was time for a show.
She stopped in her tracks and gave an amused giggle. This was enough to get the workforce's attention and work stopped. A few seconds latter a young women by the name of Aneta responded "Is...something wrong Ma'am?"
Supernova beamed as she focused on her. "No. Everything is fine. May I ask, is anyone in your family serving?"
"My cousin Oliwa's in the Navy ma'am. She's a Machinist."
"Well with any luck she won't be in harms way for much longer. While things are not yet certain I believe we just won this war."
Next: Infrastructure: Part Two Hundred and Eighty One