Chapter 128: Out Standing In His Field

Chapter 128: Out Standing In His Field

***Natalie****

Grampa Collins wiped some dirt off his hands before he nudged Nat’s shoulder. “Check it out, Perry’s outstanding in his field.” He murmured, pointing at where Perry was standing in the center of the north field, still as a statue, his eyes closed.

It took a moment for the dad joke to register, before it wrenched out a strangled chuckle and snort out of her.

Nat covered her face, embarrassed at the odd sound she’d just made.

“So what are you two doing out here?” Grampa Collins asked, motioning to where Heather had gone nature-feral, turning her arms into scythes which she was using to violently mow the kill zone between the turrets and the forest. She was covered in grass stains, sap, and dirt. Her hair was matted, eyes blazing with manic enjoyment as she unleashed raw violence on unsuspecting plants.

Despite her protests to the contrary, once Heather got started getting messy, she had a tendency to wild.

“Perry said his new spell could be dangerous until he gets the hang of it.” Nat said with a shrug. “So we’re staying out of the danger zone until it’s done.”

“Magic stuff, huh?” Grampa Collins grunted, resting his forearms on the four-wheeler’s handlebars and peering out into the distance.

In between Perry’s outstretched hands, a sphere flickered into life. Inside the sphere was a riot of color and rapid changes. It was too far For Nat to make out any specifics, but she could see the world around Perry begin to shimmer like the heat waves above a hot road.

“You know, when Darryl first told me he was going for Hexen, I said to him, ‘Darryl, I’ve been your father for thirty-some odd years, and if there’s one thing I’ve taught you, it’s that no woman is worth losing your pride. Now you’re gonna have to forget all that shit, because Hexen is absolutely the exception to that rule.’”

“So he took her last name, and now I’m a grampa.” Grampa Collins said, leaning his chin on his palm. “And I’ve got a magic grandson warping reality in my backyard. Life is funny sometimes.”

The flickering of the sphere between Perry’s fingers finally stabilized.

Perry opened his eyes, and the sky went dark.

“Shit!” Grampa Collins leapt off his four-wheeler and grabbed Nat, tucking both of them under the trailer as steel and glass began to rain down from the sky in a deafening cacophony.

Once the sound of falling steel, breaking glass and small explosions died down, Gramp Collins let go of Nat, and the two of them crawled out from under the four-wheeler’s trailer.

The north field was covered in disjointed segments of a massive industrial building that had strange creases in it, as well as parts where the walls were seemingly eroded through, or simply far too narrow to support themselves. Beams of steel had jagged veins of odd materials, and the occasional full-on crack, causing structural failure.

It was a strange mixture of flat architectural design mixed with biologic swooping and frailties.

Perry was somewhere in the center of the massive pile of concrete, steel and glass, buried under the massive mess of heavy steel and sharp glass.

Badump

Nat’s heart thumped hard in her chest as she prayed that Perry was okay. He has to be okay, right?

Grampa Collins bent his knees and took a deep breath, and Nat prepared to climb over the rubble to help the old man dig Perry out.

“PERRY, YOU BETTER CLEAN THIS MESS UP BEFORE LUNCH!” Grampa collins barked at the top of his lungs.

“...okay!” a distant voice rose from the general direction of the collapsed building.

“He’ll be fine.” Grampa Collins said with a shrug. “You wanna help with lunch? It’s gotta be easier than digging that fool out of this mess.”

“What’s for lunch?” Natalie asked.

“Mashed potatoes and gravy with peas and tea.”

“Ooh, gravy!” Natalie had real gravy...maybe once before, and not a lot of it, either.

“Yeah, I traded George from down the road for some turret-kill he’d got his hands on last month. Megafauna are generally rendered into a tattered mess by the machines, but you can still simmer it down into a nice gravy.”

“I’ll help with lunch, lemme just give Perry a head start.” Nat put on her magnetic gloves and reached out, using the invisible magnetic hands to tear the collapsed pile of rubble in half right where Perry had been standing, exposing him to sunlight.

“Thanks!” Perry’s voice echoed from the center of the rubble.

“Okay,” Natalie said, hopping on the trailer. “Let’s go make lunch. Do you have any meat scraps?” Nat hadn’t had real meat before she’d met Perry and quite frankly, she might be addicted.

“You can’t make a good megabadger gravy without meat scraps.” Grampa Collins said, firing up the four-wheeler and turning it back towards the farmhouse.

***Perry****

Well, that could’ve gone better. Perry thought, studying his creation from uncomfortably close.

HP:6

“Unicorn shit,” Perry said. “Typically the cost of unicorn crap is vastly higher than the expected profit, but I can drastically dilute the reaction, which should help control the expense.”

“You’re using unicorn shit as fertilizer?” Grampa asked his eyebrows rising. A wry smile took over his face.

“Yep.”

“That bag you brought is actual unicorn shit?” Grampa asked, chuckling.

“Yep.”

“Well, where’s the rest of it?”

“That’s all of it.” Perry said with a shrug

“I guess when you’ve established a proof of concept, you can start producing unicorn-shit potatoes on a large scale. I might be interested myself. How much does a bag run ya?” Grampa asked, taking a drink.

“A hundred grand.”

Grampa spent the next couple minutes coughing the inhaled water out of his lungs while Perry explained his expected profit margin.

50 lbs of unicorn dung, = 100 thousand dollars.

50 lbs = 800 ounces

1 ounce = 20 potato plants grown to maturity.

Average of 8 pounds per plant.

So, 8 X 20 X 800 = an expected yield of 128,000 pounds of potatoes per bag.

In order to help ease wild price fluctuation, Perry was going to provide them at typical wholesale price to stores, which would be thirty about cents per pound, netting Perry a profit margin of...

(128,000 X.3) -100,000

Net loss of $61,600 per bag of unicorn shit...

That was all assuming normal use of the growth spell.

Thankfully, the Spendthrift perk allowed Perry to dilute the unicorn dung down to... 1/(3X1.05^42)

Approximately one twenty-third of its original concentration, while still achieving full effect.

So the new outcome is...

((128,000 X .3) X 23) -100,000

Or $783,200 profit.

Approximately. The math wasn’t going to be perfect because Perry didn’t know for sure exactly how many pounds of potatoes he’d be getting, but the margin of safety provided by Spendthrift was huge, so Perry was willing to risk it.

“You can’t just...What about the costs for the building, the energy to provide light to that many plants, the temperature control system for the building? The transport costs? The seed potatoes?” Grampa asked.

“In theory, the building should be free, along with energy and transportation. I own my own fleet of dump trucks, and I just made a spell that should allow me to create the building and all its accessories from nothing, as soon as I get the hang of it.” Perry said. “And yeah, I guess I should keep about an eighth of the potential profit as retained seed potatoes. Nice catch.”

Grampa itched his head, staring down at the sheet of paper he’d been doodling figures on. A sheen of sweat rose on his forehead.

“You’ve rendered my life’s work meaningless.” He muttered.

“...Sorry? It’s only for the next three months or so.” Perry said.

Grampa gave a strained giggle. “Only for the next three months, he says. Hey Perry, you wanna inherit the farm?”

It didn’t sound too bad. Perry could picture himself making a modest living, raising a couple brats outside the concrete jungle of Franklin City, distancing himself from conflict in order to slow his stat growth enough to enjoy a natural death.

“...Maybe?” Perry said. “I gotta conquer a planet and establish a dynasty before I can settle down on the farm, though.”

“That’s a metaphor right?” Grampa asked.

Perry tapped his fingers together. “Sure.”

“What damn fool ideas did your grandmother put in your head?” Grampa demanded.