Alloy Cooperative: Dialectics of Geos, #1

By K. J. Noakes

Gram is angry at work, and not just because of his bad back. The forge he works at sits atop the biggest Mythril Meteorite ever to fall on Thelre – or perhaps on all of Geos – and the riches it brings in are squandered by the grandson of the late owner. When Gram stumbles on an ancient Geomancer Fossil Tome, it shows him that another way of running the world is possible. Alloy Cooperative is an Anarcho-Syndicalist Fantasy novella, about a blacksmith unionizing his forge to overthrow their nepotist boss and turn it into a worker-owned cooperative.

Geos is a world where it no longer rains, and powerful magic meteorites fall from the sky – bringing riches to the few, and destruction to the many. Wars are fought over well water, and get even more vicious when magic metals such as healing gold are on the line. The peninsular Republic of Thelre thinks itself above such conflicts, with its Republican Democracy and Open Courts system, yet all too often it is wealth that guides the decisions of the Prime Minister and the Judges. But one group of forge workers is going to show the destitute working classes of Geos the true power and value of their labour.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K. J. Noakes
• Release date: Feb 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9781778260209

K. J. Noakes

I print sustainable Hempcover Books with Sugar Cane pages, and write Science Fantasy fiction. Also Communalist, Social Ecologist, Existentialist, etc. From Mohkinstsis, Great Plains of Turtle Island.

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The feature which distinguishes Syndicalism from most philosophies is that it represents the revolutionary philosophy of labour conceived and born in the actual struggle and experience of the workers themselves – not in universities, colleges, libraries, or in the brain of some scientists. The revolutionary philosophy of labour, that is the true and vital meaning of Syndicalism.

–Syndicalism: The Modern Menace to Capitalism, Emma Goldman, 1913

ONE

Revolution begins at work!

—Syndicalism, Fossil Tome, Author and Date Unknown,

Discovered 687 After Weeping,

Restored by the Grand Thelre Museum in 721 AW

at the height of the Syndicalist Revolution

Gram looked down at the work order and sighed. Who even needs a sword made of Gold?

It wasn’t even a regular Steel sword enchanted with Gold inlays, either; the order specified a blade cast entirely of Gold. So that was what that shipment of Gold ingots was for – a sword that heals as it cuts, no doubt a showpiece for some rich landowner. It sure would bring in plenty of Talc for the forge. Gram had never seen that much money all in one place, let alone on a single order.

But Gram didn’t expect to see any of that money, not even a bonus for all the extra work it’d take. It was Shash’s Talc – just like this was Shash’s forge, Shash’s Blacksmith and Enchantery, just like these were Shash’s tools and workbenches, just like they sat on top of Shash’s Mythril meteorite, and just like Gram was Shash’s worker, Shash’s Gram, not Gram’s Gram.

Gram put down the invoice on the workbench in front of him and stretched his tensing back. He wished, for a moment, to go home early today, start up the work on this custom blade tomorrow morning, refreshed for once. He put the thought aside to not tempt him; the back orders on basic equipment were piling up, and ever since Xed had been laid off, Gram had to get them done himself. And, although he hadn’t been in all day, Shash was liable to show up at any time in the day, even near closing. Gram and Xed used to cover for each other, alternating days to give the other some much needed time off. Now it all depended on Shash’s whim, and Gram didn’t trust Shash’s whim with his livelihood, even though in a lot of cases he had no choice but to do just that.

The front service bell clanged. Gram had his hands full, about to push through setting as many moulds as he could until clock-out. Shash was supposed to watch the front, manage sales – except when he chose not to. Out being entrepreneurial, was his usual excuse. Gram called out to the back of the shop, to the enchanters, Can one of you two get that? I really gotta start on this backlog.

One voice, raspy from repeated fume exposure, struggled back to him: I’m in the middle of pouring out the metal for these inlays – can’t leave it.

Where’d Vess go, Bab?

Went out for a smoke break when the metals were heating, hasn’t come back, Bab replied, sorry pal, you know how volatile this stuff is.

Craving a smoke break himself, Gram let out a groan just loud enough for Bab to hear, without questioning why Bab let Vess go out to smoke when they were supposed to set the metals together. It was the kind of reprimand Shash would make. Gram was letting the envy of having a work partner to cover his back get the better of him.

He pushed through the door to the front showroom, reluctant to smile for a customer. He did it anyway. But the customer didn’t see him; equipped in full armour, helm, closed face-plate included, the customer perused the far wall rack of specialty enchanted swords and spears. He looked with intent at the Aluminum hammer Gram forged years ago, sticking his face right up to it to get a clear view through the face-plate. Gram cleared his throat, What kind of equipment are you looking for? I can recommend the best sellers for adventurers, if you’d like. Gram found it easy to tell who was what kind of warrior, most of the time. Soldiers bought the cheapest, most basic items right away; private mercenaries always knew exactly what they wanted, right down to the length specifications; and adventurers browsed, looking for unique weapons with style, seeing a store like it was a Geomancer’s ruin to pillage.

The face-plate pointed right at him. No, that’s alright. The heavy voice echoed through the plate. I’m looking for something special, just came into a bulk of treasure. Then Gram noticed the chest dragging behind the armoured man, strapped to his leg like a prisoner’s chain ball. The man pulled it, seemingly, without effort as it screeched along the floor. What’s the most expensive item you have?

Gram’s mouth hung open. He was about to say the Gold sword he got the order for today, then remembered there was something else, a weapon Shash made explicitly clear to not sell without him present – a weapon that Gram had wanted to get out of the show floor for years. Come with me, he said, circling around the counter, walking past display cases for all kinds of Mythril daggers, swords, and polearms, to a standalone glass case.

The adventurer whistled once he angled his face-plate to get a good look. At first glance the sword looked more style than function, but this adventurer knew what he was looking at. The wavy, purple blade was a nice visual flair, but any half-way experienced swordsman would know it wouldn’t balance properly; however, a master swordsman, who this adventurer must be, would notice that it’s made of pure Mythril – light as a feather and indestructible. How’d you forge it into that shape? the face-plate muffled voice asked.

I didn’t, Gram answered, honestly. The old man who used to own this place pulled a vein of Mythril just that shape outta our meteorite. I only sharpened it and made the hilt. This sword only ever reminded Gram of Shash senior, and the bad decisions Gram had helped him make.

The adventurer whistled again. Sword of the stars, forged by the cosmos, fit for a Comet Seer.

Something of the sort.

It’s not for sale, though? There’s no price.

Shash’ll only take offers on it, highest bidder kind of deal.

The adventurer bent over, straining against the clanking metal of his armour. He undid the clasp around his ankle and dropped it to the floor. The chest for the sword. To be honest, I never even got the chance to count how much is in this chest, but it’ll be worth a lot. Found it in a Geomancer ruin.

You don’t have any Talc, huh? No money? When the adventurer shook his head, Gram threw open the lid to reveal heaps of shining Silver. It might’ve been worth even more than the Gold sword. This was enough money to keep the forge operating at a loss for years – maybe even until their Mythril meteorite ran out. Gram hesitated: he was supposed to go get Shash to approve this sale, but Shash could be anywhere in Thelre, and asking this adventurer to wait was tantamount to asking him to bring all this Silver to a different forge. There was no way Shash would turn this offer down; Gram was sure of it.

He pulled the key from his overalls and unlocked the case. His hands shook, either from the anxiety of going over Shash’s head, the excitement from all the money, or both. Bracing his back as if he were picking up a normal sword, he overestimated the strength he needed to pick it up. It was made of Mythril, after all. He should’ve known better.

He held out the sword to the adventurer, beaming a genuine smile. With