Rubbing his tired eyes, he whispered to the papers, "This isn't going to work... At least, not with the administration trying to control everything with an iron fist."
The strong aroma of his now-cold tea filled the air. He pushed it aside, and a new thought ignited in his eyes.
"Our money now comes from steel... and our price is competitive. Why do I keep meddling in the price of every nail and loaf of bread?" He softly pounded his fist on the table, decided. "That's it. That's the solution."
Without wasting time, he stood up and called out, "Aqua! Can you come here a moment?"
His finance minister appeared at the door, with dark circles under her eyes and a pile of papers in her arms.
"Carlos, for heaven's sake, I'm buried in work. What is it?"
"That's precisely what I want to talk about. Come, sit." He pulled out a chair for her. "I want to lighten your workload."
A slight smile, a mixture of hope and skepticism, appeared on Aqua's face. "Uh-huh. And how do you plan to work that magic?"
Carlos pointed to a diagram on his desk. "We're going to focus only on the essentials: industry and heavy construction. The service sector—the little shops, the bars, the stores—we won't set prices anymore. We'll let the free market handle that!"
Aqua shook her head, more interested in the promise of relief than the economic concept. "Free market... well, if that means fewer spreadsheets for me, I support it. But what about the administration's stores? Who will take care of them?"
"Simple," Carlos explained, animated. "We'll sell them to anyone who wants to buy them. Since not everyone has money, we'll sell them with low interest. Furthermore, when we finish building the new masonry buildings for the shops, the store will move there at no additional cost."
Aqua picked up the papers, examining the numbers. The smell of fresh ink and aged paper was strong. "I see..." she murmured, thoughtfully. "This would really simplify a lot of things. Alright, we'll do it."
She got up to leave, but Carlos's voice stopped her. "Wait, there's one more thing. We need to create some taxes. Just to ensure that if steel exports ever fall, we don't go bankrupt."
He handed her another sheet. "I only want progressive taxes. They affect those who have more. Right now, we don't have anyone truly rich here, but if the plan works, we will in the future."
Aqua read the listed items:
- Progressive Income Tax;
- Wealth and Asset Tax;
- Inheritance Tax;
- Corporate Profit Tax;
"I don't know much about these things," Carlos thought, watching her read. "I didn't have any books on the subject, I had to pull it all from memory. But one thing I know: it won't be like in my old Brazil, where in the end it was always the poorest who paid the bill. Here, there will be no consumption tax."
Aqua bit her lip, pondering whether this would actually simplify or complicate her life. But the memory of the hell it was to recalculate the price of soap and cheese every week made her relent. "Alright, Chief. I'll implement this right away!"
She took the papers and headed for the door, but Carlos's voice reached her once more. "I almost forgot! With so many changes, new problems will arise. That's why I'm creating a new ministry. Can you send me some of your assistants? Not too many. I'll be the minister, I just need some help."
"You're taking my most precious assistants?" she complained, but without real rancor. "Fine, I'll send a few to you."
Minutes later, Carlos, now with a steaming hot cup of tea in his hands, watched as his office was invaded by a small group of assistants. Among them stood out a recent arrival to the quilombo: Fernanda. Her eyes were alert and eager, and her face still carried the lean shadow of the hunger she had escaped with her daughter.
"Please, sit down," Carlos said, indicating the chairs. "Everyone, we are creating the Ministry of Labor. Its function is simple, but vital: to prevent crimes against workers from being committed. We will create the laws, and we will listen to anonymous reports about bosses who don't comply."
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He made a dramatic pause, letting his words echo in the stuffy room.
"And whoever excels in this work... could become the next Minister of Labor."
Everyone's eyes shone, but Fernanda's eyes blazed. Aqua had sent her precisely because she was hardworking and showed fierce potential. This was her chance to secure a safe future for her daughter.
Carlos showed a sheet with the main points:
- "Minimum Wage of 5,000 réis - No one can work for less than this.
- Work schedule of 36 hours per week; with overtime paid up to a limit of 44 hours.
- Total Prohibition of Child Labor."
"Another thing I want to change," he thought, looking at the group. "I don't want anyone working themselves to death on a 6x1 schedule, with overtime that sucks your soul dry. I've lived that, and I don't recommend it to anyone. That's why, in this new Brazil we're building, the standard schedule will be 36 hours!"
The discussion stretched into the afternoon, with questions and ideas bubbling in the air. After dismissing the group, Carlos headed to the Ridge Burrow to meet the Specter.
The training center smelled of sweat, earth, and metal. The Specter received him with his usual posture, a stone face and firm voice. "Good morning, Carlos. What brings you to my fortress?"
"I have a theory," Carlos began, his eyes sparkling. "I think I've discovered a way for magical gem abilities to evolve beyond physical training."
Immediate interest ignited a flame behind the Specter's impassivity. "Really?" he leaned forward. "Tell me everything. Let's go to my office."
The Specter's office was a silent arsenal. Magical weapons of all kinds hung on the walls, reflecting the faint light. Carlos, sitting down with a bit of apprehension, told him how Tassi had become more powerful by learning about the needs of the soil and plants.
The Specter fell silent, his hand on his chin. "And if it was just luck? A coincidence?"
"I don't know," Carlos admitted. "That's why I came to you. So you and your warriors can test if there's any truth to this."
"But how? My soldiers are fighters, not scholars."
"It's simple: send them to night school. Even a basic knowledge of the world, of chemistry, of biology... could generate an epiphany."
It was then that Carlos himself had his epiphany. His eyes widened.
"Wait... The Popess, she used to be a man, right? And she uses the Gem of Alteration to restore limbs... but can she change them too? Alter the form? Is that why she's so obsessed with anatomy books about the human body?"
Faced with that theory, the Specter's suspicion turned into pure interest. "That... makes a perverse sense. Why call it the 'Gem of Alteration' if it apparently only restores? It almost seems like... the Popess wants someone to discover its true capability."
The conversation flowed for another hour, until Carlos, filled with contagious excitement, said goodbye and ran back to his mocambo, heading straight for the church.
"Father Ant?nio?"
The priest, who was sitting on a rough wooden bench, immersed in prayer, startled. "Carlos? Is someone hurt?"
"Nothing like that, Father," Carlos replied, still panting. "I'd just like you to send a letter to the Popess, along with your others."
After relaying the message, his stomach growling, Carlos went to the public restaurant—one of the few establishments the administration would maintain, to ensure food at a fair price for workers. The smell of beans and dried beef filled the cozy environment.
With his hunger sated, his next destination was the laboratory. Davi was already there, as usual. In the morning, the young man devoured the chemistry books Carlos printed; in the afternoon, he got his hands dirty.
"We did it, Carlos!" Davi announced proudly, pointing to a flask with a transparent liquid. "The nitric acid is ready. Now, with both acids..."
"Now we can make nitrocellulose," Carlos completed, a dangerous smile on his lips. "Smokeless powder."
With slow, precise movements, he dipped small balls of cotton into the acids, his voice low and grave. "Be careful, Davi. Any impact, any drop... and this could blow us sky-high. That's why, after dipping, we have to wash it very well with water to neutralize the residual acid."
It was meticulous, tense work that occupied the entire afternoon. When the first batch of stable nitrocellulose was confirmed, Carlos, exhausted but victorious, left Davi to clean the equipment and headed towards Nia's workshop.
The rhythmic sound of a hammer striking metal guided his steps. He found her in front of a milling machine, shaping a piece of incandescent steel with a skill that seemed like embroidering with metal. The heat in the environment was intense.
Carlos waited for her to finish, the sound of metal being tempered in water hissing in the air.
"Nia, look," he said, excitedly, extending a folder with diagrams. "The time has come! Let's make cannons! I finally have the smokeless powder. With our steel, we can manufacture quality pieces!"
Nia, her face sweaty and tired, looked at the papers and her fatigue seemed to evaporate. "Really?" her eyes shone with fierce enthusiasm. "I was just in the mood to make something that goes boom!"
She almost snatched the schematics from Carlos's hand. "I'll start working on this right away. A little variety in work does you good."
Carlos didn't stop her. After the recent attacks, a new, powerful, and visible firearm would work wonders for everyone's morale. The only problem, he knew, was the mass production of nitrocellulose. It was still a manual, dangerous, and slow process. But for the first prototype cannons... it was more than viable.