The waiting was a new kind of warfare. Isaac had stormed rooms, ambushed patrols, and led assaults. This—standing in the humming stillness of the Manufactorum, watching the resource counters creep upward with geological slowness—was an attrition fought against his own patience.
SD-001, the salvage drone, was a model of dim-witted diligence. Its icon pulsed at Nexus Gamma-7, the [Harvesting…] tag a constant. The hopper percentage climbed: 22%... 23%... Each percent represented a handful of jagged, violet-black crystal shards. The trickle was maddening, but it was a trickle with direction. He had programmed the drone to prioritize the largest fragments, those with the highest energy density.
While it worked, he turned to the only other productive task: refining his plans and his tools. The mortar, the Mark-0 Launcher, sat on a rack like a museum piece. It had worked, but its inaccuracy was a liability. He pulled up its schematics.
"System, analyze the Mark-0's primary inaccuracy factors."
Analysis Complete. Primary Factors: 1) Fixed elevation/azimuth mechanism. 2) Inconsistent propellant charge due to manual essence-ignition. 3) Unstable projectile aerodynamics.
He could fix this. He had the Bastion's design logic, if not its full tech base. "Redesign. Incorporate a simple screw-gear elevation adjustment. Replace pin-pull ignition with a standardized, calibrated Essence primer charge, fabricated as part of the shell. Modify projectile fins for improved stability. Designate: Launcher, Mark-1."
The system churned. The holographic launcher grew a small wheel and calibrated markings along its barrel hinge. The projectile design simplified, its fins more defined.
Design: 'Thumper' Mortar (Mark-1). Cost: 12 Essence, 10 Salvage (S/M), 2 Crystals.
Improvements: Adjustable range (100-400m), improved accuracy (+30%), standardized ammunition.
It was more expensive. But precision was a force multiplier. He saved the design. He couldn't build it yet, but it was ready.
Next, the militia. They were durable, obedient, and utterly generic. In the close-quarters of the Bastion, they were sufficient. On the open plain, against specialized enemies, they were targets. He needed to modify them, even before the Barracks upgrade.
He couldn't change their programming, but he could change their equipment. The Manufactorum could produce gear if he designed it. He started with the simplest need: survivability.
"Design a supplemental armor plate for the Militia unit. Chest and back only. Emphasis on shrapnel and light kinetic deflection. Must not impede mobility or standard firing drill."
The system generated a curved, rectangular plate of composite alloy, with straps to fit over the standard jerkin. 'Guardian' Plate. Cost: 1 Essence, 2 Salvage per set. A small investment that could turn a fatal hit into a wounding one.
He designed a simple 'Pioneer' Pack as well—a reinforced satchel that could carry extra ammunition, a grenade, or tools, freeing their hands.
These were stopgaps, patches on a fundamental limitation. But patches kept the machine running until you could replace the part.
As he worked, a soft, unique chime echoed in the chamber. Not an alert. A completion signal he hadn't heard before.
SD-001's status changed. [Harvesting Complete. Hopper: 100%. Commencing Return Transit.]
The drone's icon began moving slowly along the golden line back toward the Bastion. It would take hours. But it was coming. Payload inbound.
The anticipation was a physical itch. He used the time to drill his garrison. M-002 led the four units in rotating firing drills, maintenance routines, and simulated response to attacks from different vectors. They performed flawlessly, but Isaac saw the gaps. Their reactions were binary: shoot, reload, advance, retreat. There was no initiative, no ability to adapt to a novel threat like the Effigy's seismic spikes.
Finally, as the twin green moons reached their zenith in the hazy sky, SD-001 scuttled through the postern gate. It moved with a labored, heavy gait, its central hopper bulging with dark, glowing fragments.
Isaac directed it to the Manufactorum's raw material intake. A port dilated, and the drone extended a chute, dumping its haul with a cacophonous rattle of crystalline shards.
Resource Acquired: Volatile Crystal Fragments (Grade B): x84 Units.
Eighty-four. Not a hundred. Not a thousand. But it was a stockpile. A tangible mass of potential energy.
The Manufactorum's scanners immediately began analyzing the fragments, sorting them by size and stability. The System provided a breakdown. Most were suitable for raw refinement into Conductive Crystal dust. About twenty, however, were flagged as 'Reactive-Nucleus' fragments—unstable, prone to cascading energy release. Perfect for his Disruptor shells.
"Manufactorum, begin refining non-reactive fragments into Conductive Crystal resource. Begin fabrication of one 'Armadillo' Scout Drone, utilizing available salvage and Essence."
The commands triggered a flurry of activity. Crucibles glowed. The alloy plates from his depleted stock were melted down. The Essence counter dropped. The Salvage counter flatlined, then ticked slightly upward as the refining process began, yielding more efficient material from the fragments.
Refining: 64 Volatile Fragments… Yield: 9.6 Units of Conductive Crystal.
'Armadillo' Scout Drone – Production Initiated. ETA: 55 minutes.
Nine point six Crystals. Combined with his existing two, he had 11.6. The Barracks upgrade needed 10. He was close. So close.
But first, the Armadillo. And shells.
As the drone built, he queued up production. He started with three standard Projected Charges for the old Mark-0 mortar. Then, using the first of the Reactive-Nucleus fragments, he ordered two Disruptor Shells.
The Manufactorum adapted. A new assembly line engaged. The volatile fragment was carefully encased in a spherical shell of force-dampening alloy, with a shaped charge at its base designed to rupture the casing and focus the energy blast downward and outward.
Disruptor Shell Fabricated. Handle with care.
The warning was unnecessary. The shell looked innocuous, a dull grey sphere, but it hummed with a dangerous, internal vibration.
The Armadillo finished construction. It clanked out of the production bay, a low, wide beetle of dark metal. It tested its legs, stamping them in sequence; the sound was a solid thump, not a click. It was built to take a hit.
"SD-003," Isaac addressed it, using the next logical designation. "Primary Directive: Re-connoiter the Bastion Graveyard site, coordinates on file. Utilize ground-penetrating radar to map the subsurface anomaly beneath the central platform. Avoid engagement. If attacked, prioritize evasion and data preservation. Deploy seismic dampeners if targeted by terrain manipulation. Execute."
The Armadillo chirped, a deeper sound than the Skitter's. It turned and made for the gate, its pace steady, deliberate, unbothered by the rough terrain it was born for.
As it vanished into the gloom, Isaac turned to his remaining forces. The two new Militia, M-013 and M-014, were now online. He had seven functional units in the Bastion, four in the garrison. Eleven total. He assembled the Bastion units.
"We're preparing for a combat excavation," he told the seven blank faces. "The enemy uses the ground itself as a weapon. Our new tools may counter that. When the Armadillo returns with data, we will move. M-001, you will lead the assault team. M-013, M-014, you are with him. The rest of you will form the fire support team with the mortar."
They stood, waiting. They didn't ask for details. They didn't need them.
An hour later, the Armadillo's feed returned. It had reached the graveyard's edge. The Effigies were there, standing motionless once more among the crypts, their camouflage making them nearly invisible until the drone's multi-spectral sensors picked out their faint energy signatures.
SD-003 didn't approach the tower. It stopped at the edge of the crypt field, extended a probe from its undercarriage, and pressed it to the ground. A low-frequency pulse emitted.
The radar return painted a picture in Isaac's mind. The subsurface anomaly was a chamber, roughly four meters by four, three meters deep. It was lined with the same alloy as the Bastion. Inside were several boxy, regular shapes—crates. And one larger, cylindrical object. The chamber's roof was partially collapsed, but the central area, directly under the platform, was intact.
A cache. A real one.
As the Armadillo finished its scan, one of the Effigies turned its smooth face. Its seam glowed. It took a step toward the drone and stamped.
THOOM.
A seismic ripple shot out. The ground in front of SD-003 heaved, but this time, a jagged spike of rock sheared off against the drone's heavily armored frontal plate with a screech of stone on metal. The Armadillo was shoved backward, skidding, but remained operational. Its seismic dampeners had absorbed the worst of the blow.
It didn't wait for a second attack. It retracted its probe, turned, and began its steady, rolling retreat, weathering two more distant, less accurate shockwaves that cracked the earth around it but failed to penetrate its hull.
It had the data. It was returning.
Isaac looked at the map, at the graveyard, at the subsurface chamber glowing with promise. He looked at his newly built Disruptor Shells, designed to disrupt exactly the kind of energy that powered those stone guardians.
He had the target. He had the counter. He had the anvil of the Manufactorum, which had forged his tools.
Now he needed to bring down the hammer. The waiting was over. The planning was done.
All that remained was the violence.