Okay, fine. Not a gazillion, but it sure feels that way. Being an inventor is more frustrating than it's worth. Actually, being an inventor isn't worth jack shit if none of your inventions actually work.
That's not precisely true. Some of my inventions have worked, but ever since the Grots came to Earth and blew up most of the factories, the government has a monopoly on the rebuilt factories. Basically, that means the military can build whatever it wants to, but the rest of us ordinary inventors have no means to mass produce any of our inventions.
Not that I know of any other inventors.
But I do have a few inventions I would love to have go huge. The first is a seed gun. You input what seed you want, drop in a little bit of soil, and the gun will best determine the exact conditions the seed needs to grow, will plant the seed as far down or as close to the surface as is ideal and provide the seed with any extra nutrients that the soil lacks. It's a marvel, if I do say so myself, and getting the coding down, all of the knowledge about the soils and all of the different seeds! It would be a huge boon for farmers if I could just get the seed gun into their hands.
After all, we all need food to survive, and farmers have only had success with crops recently. The Grots came over three decades ago, but the aftereffects of the war are still reflected yet in the soil here on Earth. For the longest time, seeds wouldn’t grow. Livestock hardly thrived. Food was so very scarce.
That’s not the case anymore, thank goodness, but that isn’t due to my seed gun. Nope. The government found a way to plant and grow synthetic food, and that’s helping the livestock.
It’s just not helping me in the way I want to be helped.
And right now, this device is actively fighting me. I swear it is.
Stupid convertor. If I solder here, it might—
Sparks fly, and I mutter a curse. I’m growing so utterly frustrated that I want to build a fire and throw this chunk of metal straight into the flames.
I don't, of course, because that would negate all of my research and efforts. Trial and error sucks, though.
A throat clears behind me.
With a glower, I turn to look to see who the fool is who decided to mess with me. I’ve been harassed and hassled all my life, and I’m not about to take any crap today. I am so not in the mood.
He looks dark from all the shadows the sun is casting on him, but as I squint to try to make out his features, he steps forward enough that I can see him.
Not dark.
Blue.
An alien.
I stiffen. I’ve heard stories about the Novans, about how they’re sex-crazed, that they need to be tamed so that they can impregnate a woman from Earth. I didn’t think any of them lived here, so what the hell is he doing here near my camp?
I say camp, but I don't even have a canopy. I used to, but a storm tore a huge hole in it just last week. I have a needle but no thread to patch it back up. I suppose I could take some thread from one of the shirts that I use to wipe my hands when they're covered in grease. Anything to beat this heat.
The alien tilts his head to the side. “You seem frustrated,” he remarks in a clear, deep voice.
“What’s it to you?” I snap. “Buzz off, alien. I’m not going to treat you any different than I would a man from Earth just because you aren’t from around here. Women here don’t want to be approached by anyone.”
“Is that so?” he asks, a faint smile curling his lips. “I’ll have to remember that.”
Ignoring him, hoping he'll go away, I return to my work. If I can just get the convertor to work! And for longer than three seconds, but it keeps sparking. I'm afraid it's going to be fried soon, and I don't have another one. Does it need a coolant? But how can I deliver that without messing with the gases? All of my calculations have been precise so far, the weights all calibrated, but if I can't get the convertor to transform the gas, the device won't work as intended.
All my life, I’ve been a scavenger. I’ve survived. The last time I trusted anyone, I got burned, and that will never happen again.
But there’s only so much you can scavenge when it comes to these kinds of pieces, and it’s not like I can just go out and swipe another convertor considering I built it from scratch. It’s not as simple as making another one either. I might have borrowed a few pieces of alien tech to make this one in the first place.
Which means I’m not using electricity or anything like that. No, the aliens use plasma, plasma capacitors to be more specific, to power all of their technology. It’s more advanced, but I figured it out easily enough. Replicating it is another matter, though. They use different alloys, metals that aren’t native to Earth. Still, I can combine elements with Earth-based technology.
Or at least, that’s what I’m trying to do.
Trying. Failing. Same thing today.
Wearily, I wipe my arm across my forehead. I’m sweating.
And that alien is still standing there.
I stand up but don’t dare walk over toward him. He’s huge, built like a tank, his muscles are so huge that he practically has his own zip code. Not that we use zip codes anymore. The United States is more or less one giant state now, has been for the last twenty years. There are plenty of people who still use the state distinctions, but I doubt the next generation will.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” I say coldly.
“You aren’t very friendly.”
I
