The transition from a frontier mining camp to an economic power required more than just reinforced concrete and steam; it required a break from the Imperial crown. For weeks, Auditor Thorne had remained in Oakhaven like a parasitic shadow, his quill scratching incessantly against parchment as he tallied every crate of radishes and every ingot of pig iron. The ten percent production tax was a slow bleed, one designed to ensure that while Oakhaven might thrive, it would never accumulate the capital necessary for true independence.
Deacon sat in the command center, looking at a pile of Imperial Scrip—the paper currency issued by the Southern Mint. In the high humidity of the Northern spring, the paper felt limp and damp, its value fluctuating wildly based on the latest rumors from the southern front.
"The Scrip is worth twenty percent less in Oryn-West than it is in Solstice," Deacon said, tossing a bundle onto the table. "Our workers are being paid in a currency that devalues before they can even spend it at the company store. We are effectively subsidizing the Emperor's inflation with our labor."
"The Mint won't allow us to trade in raw gold or silver," Julian noted, looking over Thorne's latest requisition list. "And the Auditor will flag any attempt to barter as 'tax evasion.' He wants a paper trail he can tax at the source."
"Then we'll give him a trail," Deacon replied. "But not in his currency. We're going to issue the Oakhaven Labor Note."
Deacon spent the next several days in the print-shop he had established for technical manuals. He didn't use the soft, vulnerable paper of the Mint. He utilized a high-cellulose hemp fiber reinforced with silk threads from the southern trade—a material that was nearly impossible to tear and resistant to the damp.
The design was not decorative; it was functional. Each note was not a "promise to pay in gold," but a Productive Asset Receipt. A ten-unit note was backed by exactly ten pounds of Oakhaven Standard Steel or one bushel of Glass-House wheat. It was a currency backed not by the whims of a throne, but by the tangible output of the valley.
"You're creating a private mint, David," Miller said, watching the first sheets roll off the press. "The Empire executed the last Duke who tried this."
"The Duke backed his coin with air and ego," Deacon said, inspecting the fine-line engraving that depicted the geothermal turbine. "We're backing ours with the very things the Empire needs to survive. If Thorne wants to tax our production, he'll have to accept our Notes. And if he accepts our Notes, the Imperial Treasury is effectively recognizing our bank."
The introduction of the Labor Note was met with immediate friction. Auditor Thorne arrived at the foundry office on payday, his scales ready. When he saw the workers receiving the crisp, silk-threaded Oakhaven notes instead of Imperial Scrip, his face turned the color of old parchment.
"This is contraband," Thorne hissed, holding a note up to the light. "This is a direct violation of the Mint Acts. I will have the Sun-Guard seize these presses by nightfall."
"On what grounds, Auditor?" Deacon asked, leaning back in his chair. "These aren't coins. They are warehouse receipts. According to the Solstice Charter, a Mining Union has the right to issue internal scrip for use within its own jurisdiction. Every man in this valley has the right to trade his labor for the wheat and iron we produce."
"The Trade Guilds in Oryn-West will never accept this 'paper,'" Thorne countered.
"They already have," Julian said, stepping in with a stack of signed agreements. "The Guilds are tired of Imperial inflation. They've agreed to accept Oakhaven Notes at a fixed exchange rate because they know they can redeem them here for steel—something the Imperial Scrip hasn't been able to buy in months."
The "Gritty Realism" of the economic war began that afternoon. Thorne didn't call the Sun-Guard—not yet. Instead, he attempted to "break" the currency. He used the Treasury's reserves to buy up every Oakhaven Note he could find in the local markets, intending to present them all at once at the Oakhaven Clearing House for immediate redemption in wheat. He wanted to empty the granaries and prove the Notes were "hollow."
For forty-eight hours, the Clearing House was a scene of controlled chaos. A line of Thorne's agents stretched out the door, clutching stacks of the new currency.
"He's trying to run the bank, David," Miller whispered, watching the wheat being loaded onto Thorne's sledges. "If we run out of grain, the Note dies before it's even a week old."
Deacon didn't panic. He adjusted the "Deep-Pulse" flow to the Glass-House, pushing the nutrient cycle to its absolute limit. He also authorized the release of the "Iron-Soup" rations they had been stockpiling for the army.
"Redeem every single note," Deacon commanded the tellers. "Don't blink. If they want the wheat, give it to them. But remind them: once the wheat is gone, the next Note is redeemable in iron. And we have plenty of iron."
Thorne's plan backfired. By fulfilling every redemption without hesitation, Deacon proved the Liquidity of the Oakhaven Note. The workers and the Oryn traders saw that the "Iron Lord's" paper was more reliable than the Emperor's gold. By the end of the week, the value of the Labor Note didn't crash—it spiked. People began hoarding them, preferring the "Silk-Thread" to the "Imperial Rag."
Thorne sat in the guest villa, his ledgers a mess of crossed-out figures. He had the ten percent tax he wanted, but he was holding a box full of Oakhaven Notes. To spend them, he had to buy Oakhaven goods, effectively reinvesting the tax back into the very valley he was supposed to be draining.
"He's trapped in our loop," Julian laughed as they watched Thorne's agents grudgingly use the Notes to buy tools for the Southern Front.
"For now," Deacon said, his eyes on the horizon. "But the Mint in Solstice will see this as a declaration of war. They'll try to demonetize us or block our trade at the Coast. We've won the ledger, but we're going to need the Oakhaven Minting Press to be portable. If we're going to expand the rail, our money has to travel faster than their laws."