A Cost-Benefit Analysis of the Proposed Trade-Offs for the Overhaul of the Barricade Read Free

right?”
    â€œWell, people’s minds aren’t libraries, of course. You’ve sensed that yourself. Otherwise, we’d just restructure our shelves, fill ourselves with books and to hell with the academy.” Deck set the library book on Ritter’s lap. “Minds are far more complicated, but a few archivists can— No, Junior.”
    â€œBut you can do it. Destroy the parts of my mind that read everyone around me.”
    Deck stared at Ritter for a minute. A frown spread across his face.
    â€œIt’s a terrible idea. The shelves of a mind are more interconnected than those in any library. Much of your time at the academy would become an impenetrable blur. I don’t know who you’d be—”
    â€œBut they’re not so interconnected yet that you can’t disentangle and destroy them but leave the rest of me intact.”
    â€œJunior.” Deck glared down, taking full advantage of his height. “That you can pull that out of my mind is a reason not to do this.”
    Deck strode back around, jumped into the driver’s seat, then pulled the cart back onto the road. “Take some time to think about my offer. Given how much of this cart you’ve imagined, I’ll be visiting your father for a while.”
    The mechanics at Camp Terminus would replace what Ritter had imagined with physical parts so that he could spend his capacity on the barricade. They’d compare his work to Father’s and then, like the professors at the academy, find it wanting. He knew it’d be good to do something where he couldn’t be compared to Father. Actually meeting Father’s expectations, though, seemed so much better. He could do that if, like any other engineer, the only mind he sensed was his own.
    As usual, engineers approached Ritter with open arms and big smiles as he entered the canteen, only to mutter awkward greetings when they realized he was, not the father, but the son. Conversation had now resumed its usual simmer. Everyone laughed at their own jokes a little too hard and enjoyed each other’s company a little too desperately. One way or another, Camp Terminus broke engineers.
    When Ritter was six, Father burnt offerings at Mother’s grave, then brought Ritter with him to his new posting. Camp Terminus was always located where Turbulence was the most violent and consequently where the barricade was in the worst shape. This wasn’t the location where Ritter spent his childhood, but this was still the place where he spent it.
    Ritter took his post-shift meal alone in the corner. Steam rising from a bowl of rice always carried with it the smell of home. Bits of garlic and hot pepper flavored his plate of thinly sliced pig’s ears. Salty, metallic cubes of congealed pig’s blood floated in a light but gingery broth. His appointment with Father at sunrise, however, had stolen his appetite. The hour left until the meeting could not have been passing more slowly.
    A long shadow spilled over Ritter. Deck lurched over the table, his hands clasped behind his back.
    Ritter narrowed his gaze. “Father can’t meet this morning. You have … a box of papers you’re supposed to give me instead.”
    â€œVery good.” Deck tossed the box onto the table. The bowls and plate clattered as the box landed with a thud. “Open it.”
    The box had a flap tied shut with a string. Ritter pulled out a thick stack of paper. A piece of cardboard jutted out from near the top of the stack. The analysis Father had ordered stared back at him. Ritter flipped through his own work. The pages had empty white margins where Ritter had expected a torrent of words in Father’s sharp, precise hand. The only notation Father had made was a check mark at the top of the first page. Ritter hated the surge of joy rushing through his body. This was the most praise he’d ever received from Father.
    The piece of cardboard separated his analysis from