Jason's grand strategy relied on a massive influx of labor. His planned factories—for paper, printing, canning, iron, and military goods—would all be built around manual production. Without electricity, the highly automated machinery of his world was useless here. Even so, these factories, while primitive by modern standards, represented a monumental leap in efficiency compared to the medieval methods of Westeros.
With great interest, Jason toured the new paper mill, Qyburn and his young officers in tow. They watched, fascinated, as logs were broken down, ground into pulp, and then pressed and dried into clean sheets of paper. The sheer speed and volume of the process left Kent, Jon, McCann, and Bud speechless.
"Qyburn, what of the books we tasked the printers with?" Jason asked, picking up a freshly dried sheet of paper. He inspected it carefully, satisfied that its quality was nearly identical to paper from his own world.
Qyburn, a man reborn in the service of new knowledge, reached into the wide sleeve of his scholar's robe and produced a thin booklet. "My lord, the printing house sent this sample. It is the first book they have produced."
Jason took the thin, thirty-page volume and opened it, examining the neatly printed text inside. Jon and the others, less interested in books, glanced at it briefly before their attention returned to the bustling factory floor. Hundreds of workers, men and women, moved with orderly purpose. While men handled the heavy work of grinding the pulp, women performed the more delicate task of forming the sheets. The sight of so many people working in such a coordinated and efficient manner was something the natives of Westeros had never witnessed.
Jason, however, was unfazed. Any small factory from his time was more efficient than this. He looked at the book in his hand—a simple textbook for teaching children to read. "Good," he declared. "Tell the printing factory to begin mass production of these. The school in Starfire City is finished, and we can't delay the children's education any longer."
He handed the book back to Qyburn.
"Yes, my lord," Qyburn said with a nod and a smile. "I will see to it personally."
Jason trusted him completely. Over the past six months, he had handed over nearly all the administrative duties of Starfire City to Qyburn and his assistants. The tedious tasks of governance gave Jason a headache, and he was happy to delegate them. He knew from the histories of his own world that Qyburn was exceptionally capable; the man had eventually become Hand of the King to Cersei, with a talent for governance rivaling even Tyrion Lannister's. With Jason about to march south with Robb, he knew Starfire City would be in good hands.
After inspecting the paper factory, the group traveled to the military factory, a fortress-like structure built on a high hill dozens of miles from the city. Stepping out of their carriages onto the flat concrete ground, they entered the compound, which was heavily guarded by Jason's soldiers.
Here, parts for flintlock pistols, manufactured by IronForge Props in Jason's world, were being assembled. The parts were all standardized, and with the help of detailed drawings, the workers had already assembled nearly five hundred guns in less than a week.
Jon and his fellow officers stared at the dozen flintlock pistols laid out on a table. Each picked one up, turning the strange weapon over in his hands.
"My lord, is this thing... this flintlock... really more dangerous than a sword?" Rubin asked, fiddling with the unfamiliar mechanism. He couldn't see how. "Do you just hit someone with it?"
Qyburn leaned over, stroking the smooth surface of a pistol with his rough hands. His eyes narrowed in appreciation. "The parts fit together perfectly," he mused. "The dimensions must be incredibly precise to produce so many identical items."
Jason instructed Marbu, the man in charge of the factory, to bring paper cartridges of gunpowder and lead shot. He then led the group to a stretch of wasteland behind the factory where Marbu's men had set up targets.
"Watch carefully," Jason said. "This is how you use it."
As he explained, he tore open a paper cartridge, pouring a small amount of the granular gunpowder into the flintlock's priming pan. He then loaded the rest of the powder and the lead ball down the muzzle, tamping it all down with a ramrod.
Qyburn, Jon, Bud, Kent, McCann, and Marbu watched his every move. Jason raised the pistol, taking aim at a target 50 meters away.
BOOM!
He pulled the trigger. A muffled roar erupted from the pistol, and the air was instantly filled with the sharp, acrid smell of burnt gunpowder.
Jason lowered the weapon and glanced at his men, who had all been startled by the loud report. He walked happily toward the target. "Come, let's see. I think I hit it."
They crowded around the target, a thick wooden wheel. On its edge was a new hole, the size of a man's thumb. Jon and the others pushed in for a closer look, touching the splintered wood in shock.
"To make a hole that big in wood this thick... from so far away!"
"Where did the shot go?"
"If that hit a man, it would tear a bloody hole right through him."
As soldiers, they immediately grasped the weapon's lethal potential. Imagine if their men were armed with such power!
Without needing an order from Jason, Jon, Marbu, McCann, Bud, Kent, Rubin, and Chris each grabbed a flintlock. Under Jason's guidance, they loaded their weapons.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
A volley of shots thundered across the field, shrouding them in a cloud of gunpowder smoke. When it cleared, a few new holes had appeared on targets set up a hundred meters away. Their aim was terrible, but the raw power of the flintlocks left every man's heart pounding with excitement.
They all turned to Jason, their eyes alight, asking to equip their soldiers with the new weapons.
Jason, however, shook his head. "There are not enough flintlocks yet," he said calmly. "It's impossible to equip all five thousand of our soldiers for the time being."
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