The Automated Hunt
Negotiations with the Pure Milk Association, a dairy cooperative comprised of farmers from Northern Illinois and surrounding states, went a bit more smoothly.
"Regardless of whether the milk is sold, we will guarantee the purchase of a fixed quantity every day. We’ll also pay a higher price for raw milk than other distributors."
"I-is that really true?"
"In exchange, to maintain milk quality, you will need to pay a portion of the maintenance fees for the pasteurization and packaging facilities operated by our company, as well as the usage fees for the refrigerated trucks that transport the raw milk from each farm to the factory. You can see the details regarding these fees on page five there..."
Unlike the milk delivery union friends whom I could keep on a leash by holding the refrigeration facilities and trucks hostage, controlling thousands of farmers who supplied raw milk directly was difficult even with the organization's muscle. Therefore, I had to choose the method of dangling the carrot of guaranteed purchases and high buying prices in front of them.
It wasn't a big problem, as the losses would be easily recouped through the fees disguised as service charges anyway.
"Hmph, who says so? We already have a place we trade with!"
Of course, not all the union executives participating in the meeting wanted the benevolent benefits of our SMC.
"Well, it seems you don't understand yet."
Click!
"You aren't leaving this room until you sign here."
However, Murray "Camel" Humphreys, the organization's capable negotiator whom I'd brought along for such occasions, succeeded in reaching a smooth agreement with the customers using a few tools.
With the milk supply chain to Chicago secured, I immediately placed advertisements on the front page of every newspaper in Chicago, including the Chicago Daily Tribune.
[Protect your family with proper milk, Al's Milk!]
I had a muscular character—a milkman who looked suspiciously like someone I knew—drawn below the ad copy and on the glass bottles.
"Honey, this milk is fresh and delicious, but... doesn't the character look like someone we've seen before? It looks familiar somehow..."
"I did refer to Popeye a bit. Look at this smile, doesn't it look like something children would like?"
"Is that so...?"
In truth, it was modeled after my father-in-law, name and all, but if word got out, it wouldn't be good for the milk's image, so it was better to play dumb.
"Yes, yes. I'm thinking of hiring an artist later to draw a comic strip in the newspaper, too. Then the kids will love it."
Ha, it's a shame. If I had started just one year earlier, I would have come out before Popeye. Still, since there's no gimmick about eating spinach yet, I'll have to beat him to that.
"Well, I'm off to work, so take good care of yourself."
"Have a safe trip! Oh, wait a second."
Smooch!
"Hehe, now you can really go."
"Uh, yeah."
Leaving behind Rita, who was still waving goodbye affectionately while wearing a question mark on her face, I headed to my main base, SCC. While Ralph, a member of our family, would handle the SMC and the milk business well enough now that the path was paved, SCC was a company that wouldn't go a single day without an accident if I didn't keep an eye on it.
The biggest problem among them was the fact that the sturdy American men who had returned from the battlefield had all become "Alpha Males."
"Adding the cyanide!"
"Watch out! If that leaks, we're all dead!"
The PMMA manufacturing process itself had been optimized for this era by applying several pieces of know-how from the future, but the lack of safety awareness among these 1929 Alpha Males was beyond imagination. They would take off the protective gear provided to shield them from chemicals, complaining it was too hot, or turn off the ventilation fans meant to exhaust toxic gases because they were too noisy.
Thanks to that, it was half-routine for the canaries I’d bought and placed as leak detectors to die in droves.
Anyone watching would think they were from the Sichuan Tang Clan, seriously.
"Oops, my hand slipped!"
"What, you crazy bastard!"
"Just kidding, just kidding. Heh heh."
On top of that, the boldness of risking their lives to test their "Alpha Male" status even while working. A weak 21st-century beta male like me couldn't possibly understand the worldview of these Alpha Males.
"Tell that guy not to come in starting tomorrow."
"Yes, boss."
After sending another Tang Clan-esque disciple who had passed the Alpha Male test back to the mundane world, I went into my office and continued the paperwork needed to keep the factory running with my few employees. Among them, the most urgent matter was the military supply contract with the War Department.
It was only an experimental order for enough canopies to cover a single fighter squadron, but government contracts are hard to break into the first time; once you do, the second time is easy. The performance would naturally be proven, and then it might be possible to replace not only aircraft but also army vehicles, building windows, and even the syringes used in medical units.
The value of a material that could replace glass wherever it was used was that great, and it was indeed great in reality.
"So, by now, there should be some reaction..."
"Boss? Did you call for me?"
"No, no. Keep doing what you were doing."
It was then that I waved my hand at the human computer—the calculator—who had reacted to my muttering.
"Boss!"
My secretary, who had gone to pick up the mail, came in and handed me a thick envelope.
"It's mail from Delaware. It looks like it's from another company?"
Delaware... isn't that near New Jersey in the East? What company is there...
The answer was written on the front of the envelope.
E. I. du Pont de Nemours and Company
"Ah."
DuPont. As soon as I confirmed it was mail sent by America's largest chemical company, I tore open the envelope without hesitation and checked the contents. Among the lines of text densely packed on the thick paper inside the envelope, there was only one sentence I needed to know.
[...Our company wishes to hold an in-depth discussion regarding the patent related to the specific polymer compound that your company recently filed, and we would like to have an official meeting with your company's representative within one week...]
"Now something is finally going to happen."
The opportunity to put this on autopilot was approaching.
The DuPont delegation visited SCC exactly three days after I sent the reply.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Jun Lee, the president of SCC."
"I'm Francis DuPont, the vice president. These two are Carothers, our technical advisor, and Rafferty, our head of legal."
Francis DuPont must be from the DuPont family that owns the company, and Carothers must be Wallace Carothers, who developed nylon. In reality, it would be developed in 1935, so it must still be in the middle of development.
"Mr. Lee, may I ask a question?"
It was then that Carothers, wearing round gold-rimmed glasses, spoke up.
"Oh... yes?"
"Regarding the polymerization method of MMA mentioned in this patent. This is..."
What is it?
"And this catalyst, here you use a method of combining two substances instead of one, why is this..."
I looked at the bespectacled man, who was firing questions like a machine gun as if possessed by a ghost, with an absurd expression. No, if you're going to ask questions like this, shouldn't you have written them down in advance?
"Phew, that's all for my questions. Can you answer them?"
"Is this... some kind of test?"
"It's pure curiosity."
"Well, to answer your question first..."
But I already had an answer prepared. I put my index finger to my lips and said,
"It's a secret."
"...Yes?"
"We haven't even had a proper business talk yet, so I can't tell another company trade secrets, can I? I've written the information that can be disclosed in the patent application, so I would appreciate it if you could refer to that."
"No, even so, basic verification..."
"Instead."
Thud.
I cut off Carothers and placed a palm-sized acrylic plate I had prepared in advance on the table.
"I will provide a sample. If it's this size, I believe you can confirm that the figures written in our patent are true."
"This is..."
"PMMA...?"
Of the three people who first encountered the transparent plastic plate, it was naturally Carothers who reached out first.
"Hmm..."
He looked at it in the sunlight, scratched it, and bent it slightly. I had no choice but to watch him quietly as he fiddled with it here and there like a child who had received a toy as a gift.
"It seems the physical properties, including rigidity, are not much different from the patent. I'll have to take it to the lab and measure it for details, though."
Soon, having chewed, torn, tasted, and enjoyed the acrylic plate, he began to deliver his assessment.
"And... if the figures in the patent are true, this is an unbelievable new material. Perhaps we could replace most products that use glass with this new material."
"Hmm, anyway, that means there is business viability."
At his words, the vice president, Mr. DuPont, who had been nodding, turned his gaze to me.
"Mr. Lee, we at DuPont would like to make the potential of this technology a reality through technical cooperation with your company."
"If you mean technical cooperation, what exactly are you talking about?"
"We propose a limited license for some industrial sectors in North America, specifically the automotive industry. In return, we would like to pay a reasonable level of royalties, along with a lump-sum technical fee to support technology transfer and commercialization."
"I would appreciate it if you could tell me the specific figures."
"The royalty is 3%, and the advance technical fee is $100,000."
It's not a bad amount. The lump sum itself is small, but the fact that royalties would come in even if I did nothing and just breathed for decades was certainly an advantage that couldn't be ignored. However.
"I appreciate Mr. DuPont's proposal, but... it seems a bit different from the level we were thinking of."
Isn't the patent a bit too valuable to be satisfied with this much?
"As Mr. Carothers said a moment ago, this new material has the potential to replace glass. Assuming this new material is used in all fields that use glass, wouldn't the sales be beyond imagination?"
"But it is also true that it is an unverified technology. That is why we at DuPont would like to produce it experimentally, limited to the automotive industry, and then cooperate at a higher level once verification is complete..."
"As for verification, it's already partially complete."
With those words, I handed over a file of documents. It was a document summarizing the results of the demonstration test that had been conducted at a shooting range near D.C. last time.
"We have already received a positive response from the War Department regarding its potential for military use, and an experimental supply contract will be signed soon."
"...Is that true?"
"Since your headquarters is close to D.C., you will be able to verify the authenticity soon."
"Hmm, if it's true, it's truly surprising. Honestly, I didn't even think the business had progressed that far already. Military supply..."
Since there are few places that spend as much money as the military, supplying the military is no different from raising a cash cow that pours out money. Of course, if the Great Depression comes in a few months, the defense budget will be cut in half, but that's none of my business.
"We will subcontract the entire volume of subsequent deliveries, including this military supply contract, to your company. I think this alone will be enough investment value for this technology."
"Hmm..."
"In addition to that, we are also willing to provide an exclusive license for all industries, not just specific industries. Of course, limited to the North American region."
"...You're quite bold."
As I threw out several baits, Mr. DuPont's expression began to turn serious.
"Then the price we have to pay will also be quite large... is there something you want?"
I think I've set the stage enough with this much. Then...
"For starters, let's begin with $10 million as an advance payment."
"That's ridiculous!"
Now, it's time to play the fool.