"Relocate?" Clio uttered that word as if it were a phrase from some dead, foreign tongue. He took a heavy bite of a ripe plum-pear, the thick silver juice bursting from the skin and running down his blond beard to join the sticky remnants of the oranges.
The King nodded "Namely in a few months' time, we will begin the effort to move our manufacturing production center. All of it, Clio. Ranging from the machines to the very operators who run them."
The reality of their success had become a logistical nightmare. Their current stronghold within the capital's close proximity had simply proved too small to meet the roaring demands that kept growing for their secret products. The problem in Yarzat had never been to find a buyer; it was filling the warehouses as soon as they could before they were emptied, a desperate production effort that appeared more grueling and ill-ended than any bloody war that had ever been waged against their borders.
