Zyx's definition of a "surge" was, predictably, non-standard.
The next cycle began not with a pounding on the door, but with a flicker. Every light in Berth 42 dimmed for a fraction of a second, and the soft hum of the environmental systems stuttered. Kaelen's tablet screen scrambled with static before righting itself, displaying a single line of text from an unknown source.
[SURGE PROTOCOL ACKNOWLEDGED. TIMING SYNCHRONIZED TO VERSITY DIAGNOSTIC CYCLE. DURATION: 0.051 SECONDS. MAGNITUDE: +300% STANDARD FLUX. TARGET CONDUIT: AUXILIARY FEED G-7. GLITCH-SPRITE ZYX SIGNING OFF. HAPPY... WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING!]
A timer appeared at the top of Kaelen's screen, counting down from 1:47:22. That was when the mag-lock's capacitor would run its diagnostic, when the lag would occur, when Zyx's surge would hit the conduit. A window of 0.051 seconds to overload a specific component.
He spent the next hour and forty-seven minutes preparing. He studied the mag-lock schematic until he could see it with his eyes closed. He memorized the route from his door to the access panel three doors down. The map showed a brief, three-second blind spot in the hallway's security scan at the point where a maintenance drone's patrol path overlapped with a data-stream refresh. He had to move then.
He also studied the ration synthesizer's internal port. It was a simple physical connector. He needed a cable. Salvage.
When the countdown hit ten minutes, he left his berth. The hallway was empty, lit by the same efficient, soulless orbs. He walked casually toward the reclamation lift, as if heading for another duty assignment. Instead, he ducked into a side-alcove housing a waste dissolution unit—a marked blind spot on Zyx's map.
He waited, heart thudding against his ribs. The security scan was a palpable pressure, like a searchlight sweeping past. He felt it pass over the alcove, linger for a millisecond, and move on. The data-stream refresh indicator on his tablet screen turned green for three seconds.
Go.
He moved, silent in his soft-soled bunker shoes. Three doors down. The access panel was a one-foot-square plate with no visible seams, but his tablet's overlay showed its outline in pulsing yellow. Above it, the mag-lock was a small, dark box.
The countdown on his tablet hit 0:00.
Nothing happened.
Had Zyx failed? Had the timing been off? A cold knot formed in his stomach.
Then, a sound like a distant, muffled thump came from within the wall. The mag-lock box emitted a sharp crackle and a wisp of acrid smoke. With a soft, defeated click, the access panel popped open a quarter of an inch.
Kaelen didn't hesitate. He grabbed the edge and pulled. The panel swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. Inside was a narrow vertical shaft, crisscrossed with conduits and fiber-optic bundles. The target, Auxiliary Feed G-7, was a thick, humming cable wrapped in shimmering insulation. And there, clipped to a bracket next to it, was a maintenance kit. A small, magnetized case.
He snatched it. As he did, his tablet, pointed into the shaft, flashed.
[WARNING: Mag-lock failure has triggered Level-1 anomaly alert in Quarter Maintenance AI. Diagnostic drone dispatched. ETA: 78 seconds.]
Seventy-eight seconds. He shoved the maintenance kit inside his jumpsuit, snapped the access panel shut—it wouldn't lock, but it would stay closed—and sprinted back the way he came. He slid into the waste alcove just as a low, spherical drone with multiple sensor-arms floated around the far corner of the hallway, emitting soft, inquisitive pings.
He held his breath, pressing against the cold wall. The drone hovered by the access panel, extended a probe, and scanned the mag-lock. It beeped twice, then a synthetic voice echoed softly. "[Mag-lock capacitor failure. Cause: power surge in Auxiliary Feed G-7. Diagnosis: Conduit instability. Logging for repair schedule. Priority: Low.]"
The drone retracted its probe and floated away, continuing its patrol.
Kaelen waited a full minute after it disappeared before slipping out and returning to Berth 42. The door hissed shut behind him, and he let out a long, shaky breath. He had the kit.
Sitting on his sleeping pad, he opened the small case. Inside were treasures: a multi-tool with adaptable heads, a spool of superconductive filament, a laser-scalpel, a set of micro-pry tools, and several blank data-chips. And most importantly, a universal interface cable with a dozen different, morphing connectors.
He immediately turned to the ration synthesizer. The front panel was seamless, but his tablet's overlay showed the fastener points. Using the micro-pry tool, he carefully popped the panel off. Inside was a compact maze of resequencing chambers and nutrient reservoirs. And there, near the primary logic board, was the modification port—a small, eight-pin socket.
He plugged one end of the universal cable into it. The other end he plugged directly into his tablet.
The screen lit up.
[New hardware connected: Nutrient Resequencer Model NR-5.]
[Access Level: Root (via legacy maintenance protocol).]
[Available functions: Template Selection, Nutrient Ratio Adjustment, Flavor/Texture Synthesis, Matter Source Prioritization.]
A slow smile spread across Kaelen's face. He navigated to the template library. The standard Null Quarter templates were what he'd been eating: [Nutrient Paste - Basic], [Hydration Gel], [Caloric Supplement - Unflavored]. But the system contained thousands of other templates, locked behind higher authorization or paywalls using Versity Credits.
His tablet, however, with its "ambiguous" root access, didn't seem to recognize those locks. He could see them all. [Filet of Solar-Whale - Tier 5], [Ambrosia of the First Bloom - Tier 8], [Crystalized Starlight Beverage - Tier 12]. The energy and nutritional yields on those were astronomical, but synthesizing them would require exotic base matter his unit couldn't access and would definitely flag the system.
He needed something subtle. Useful. He scrolled. [Stimulant Gel - Tier 1 (Standard Issue - Cadet Corps)]. That required basic organic compounds and trace electrolytes. His synthesizer could manage that. It would provide alertness, combat fatigue. He copied the template data onto a blank chip.
Next: [Trauma Pad - Biocompatible (Medical - Basic)]. A gel-pad that could staunch bleeding and accelerate cellular repair in most humanoid species. Also Tier 1. Another chip.
He wasn't greedy. He copied five low-tier, practical templates onto chips: the stimulant, the trauma pad, a high-density protein bar, a water-purification tablet template, and a simple adhesive sealant.
He then created a custom, hidden menu on his synthesizer's root directory, labeling it [MAINTENANCE DIAGNOSTIC - IGNORE], and uploaded the template chips there. Now, by entering a specific code sequence on the synthesizer's hidden keypad (which he revealed by removing another small panel), he could call up these "diagnostic routines" that would, coincidentally, produce useful items instead of nutrient paste.
He was reassembling the front panel when his door chimed—a softer sound than Brog's pounding. It was Vik'nar.
The logic-bound stood in the hallway, his sensor-bar scanning the room. "Your duty assignment for this cycle is postponed. You are required for an off-site assessment."
"Assessment?" Kaelen asked, trying to keep his voice level. Had they found out about the mag-lock? The synthesizer?
"The Apex Versity operates on resource allocation," Vik'nar stated. "Your anomalous performance in the Anomalous Materials cell has been noted by a higher-tier department. They have requested a transfer of your labor contract for a temporary, specialized task. It is more efficient than having me investigate the low-probability events of the last cycle."
This was worse. Being moved out of the Null Quarter's relative obscurity.
"What department?" Kaelen asked.
"The Celestial Peak's Garden of the Weeping Jade," Vik'nar said, as if it were obvious. "They require… delicate hands for weeding."
Weeding. They wanted a Null-Type to do gardening for the cultivators. It was a step up from sorting garbage, perhaps, but it was also a move into a much more dangerous arena. The cultivators were among the most powerful and volatile students in the Versity.
"I'm to report to the Celestial Peak?" Kaelen asked, a sense of dread coiling in his gut.
"A transport is waiting at the Quarter's hub. You will be given a temporary pass. Your performance will be evaluated by Overseer Li of the Jade Garden. Do not embarrass the Null Quarter." The last sentence held no pride, only a warning about reflected inefficiency.
Vik'nar handed him a small, jade-colored token that felt warm and hummed softly. "This will allow you passage to the Garden and back. Lose it, and you will be stranded. The transport leaves in ten minutes."
The logic-bound turned and left.
Kaelen stared at the token. This was unexpected. Dangerous. But also… an opportunity. The Celestial Peak was one of the great centers of power. Its energy was different. Its rules would be different. His tablet might see entirely new kinds of flaws, new systems to understand.
He quickly used his newly modified synthesizer. He entered the code. With a soft hum, it produced two pea-sized orbs of amber gel (stimulant) and two flat, white pads (trauma). He pocketed them, along with a standard nutrient bar and his tablet. He left the maintenance kit hidden behind a loose wall panel he'd discovered using the structural map.
The Null Quarter hub was a slightly larger chamber where the lifts met. A small, floating platform, like a polished stone leaf, hovered there. On it stood a young woman. She looked human, but her eyes were the color of polished jade, and faint, glowing green lines traced patterns under her skin like submerged veins of light. She wore simple grey and green robes, and her expression was one of mild distaste as she surveyed the dismal hub.
"You are the null assigned to the Garden?" she asked, her voice like wind chimes.
"Kaelen."
"I am Anya, Initiate of the Third Circle. Step on. Do not touch the guidance runes."
Kaelen stepped onto the platform. It was perfectly stable. As soon as he was on, it rose smoothly and shot out of an opening in the ceiling, leaving the grim greys of the Null Quarter behind.
They soared through a breathtaking vertical shaft that connected the districts. Above, the Celestial Peak wasn't a single mountain, but a range of floating landmasses shrouded in mist, connected by shimmering bridges of light. Waterfalls poured from some islands into nothingness, only to reappear as mist below. The air grew thick with energy—a clean, sharp, vibrant force that made Kaelen's skin tingle and his lungs feel like they were breathing something more substantial than air. Spiritual energy. Qi.
His tablet, in his pocket, buzzed incessantly, overwhelmed with data.
They landed on a wide, mossy path on one of the lower floating islands. The Garden of the Weeping Jade was not what he expected. It wasn't rows of plants. It was a wild, fantastical jungle. Trees with bark like carved jade wept glowing sap that pooled into iridescent streams. Flowers the size of shields pulsed with inner light. Vines hung heavy with fruit that looked like captured nebulae. The air hummed with life and potent, structured energy.
But among the wonders, Kaelen saw the "weeds." They were insidious things. Patches of grey, creeping moss that sucked the color and light from the air around them. Thorned, black vines that strangled the jade trees. Clusters of fungi that emitted a dissonant, silent vibration that made the healthy plants wilt.
Anya led him to a clearing where an older man sat on a stone, meditating. He had a long, grey beard and wore simple hemp robes. His eyes opened as they approached, and Kaelen felt a pressure, as if the very air was weighing him, assessing his worth. The pressure found nothing of note and receded, leaving behind a faint disappointment.
"Overseer Li," Anya said, bowing. "The null from the lower quarters."
Li's gaze was impassive. "The creeping gloom-moss in the Western Glade. It stifles the song of the Whispering Willows. Your task is to remove it. You will use this." He gestured to a wicker basket and a small, wooden-handled tool that looked like a blunt spatula. "The moss is attached to the spiritual ley-lines of the garden. Pulling it directly is impossible for you. You must slide the tool beneath it, at the exact plane where its roots tap into the ley-line, and lift. It requires patience, a delicate touch, and spiritual sensitivity. Which you lack. But your hands are reportedly steady. Begin. Anya will monitor."
Anya handed him the basket and tool, her jade eyes cool.
The Western Glade was a darker place. The majestic Whispering Willows here hung listless, their leaves barely shimmering. The ground was covered in the grey gloom-moss, which seemed to absorb sound and light. It felt… hungry.
Kaelen knelt. He tried to slide the tool under a patch. It met resistance—not physical, but a sort of viscous, energetic glue. The moss pulsed faintly, and a wave of dull despair washed over him. He pulled harder. The tool slipped, scraping off a layer of moss that instantly dissolved into foul-smelling smoke, but the main patch remained, rooted deep.
He tried again and again. Each failure brought a soft sigh from Anya, who watched from a respectful distance. This was impossible. The tool required "spiritual sensitivity" to find the exact plane. He had none.
Frustrated, he pulled out his tablet, pretending to examine the tool. He angled it towards the moss.
The screen fritzed, then resolved.
[Organism: "Ley-Line Parasite - Gloom Moss Variant."]
[Energy Source: Siphons ambient spiritual energy (Qi) from low-grade ley-lines.]
[Root Structure: Phased partially into spiritual substrate. Physical detachment requires simultaneous disruption of anchor points in both material and energetic planes.]
[Analysis: Tool provided is a "Spiritual Wedge" designed to vibrate at a specific frequency to loosen energetic roots. Current tool frequency: OFFLINE (requires Qi activation).]
The tool wasn't just a spatula. It was a device. It needed to be powered by Qi, which he didn't have. They'd given him a dead tool and expected him to fail.
Anger, cold and sharp, cut through his despair. This wasn't a test of his ability; it was a demonstration of his null-status. He was here to be shown his place.
But his tablet had analyzed the moss. It saw the anchor points. He zoomed the display. The overlay on the moss showed three specific, pulsing red nodes where its roots phased into the energetic plane. If he could disrupt those…
He had no Qi. But he had other energy. The stimulant gel was a concentrated chemical energy. The trauma pad was a patterned bio-gel designed to interact with living systems. What if…?
It was a wild, desperate idea. He took out one of the amber stimulant gel orbs and one trauma pad. Using the laser-scalpel from his stolen kit (concealed in his sleeve), he carefully cut the trauma pad into three tiny pieces. He then dabbed each piece with a speck of the stimulant gel, creating a crude, adhesive, energy-releasing patch.
According to the tablet, the moss's anchor points were vulnerable to discordant energy—anything that wasn't the smooth flow of Qi. The stimulant gel was a chaotic burst of adrenal compounds.
He placed one of his homemade patches on each of the three red nodes highlighted on his tablet. He then took the dead spiritual wedge, and before it could be seen as anything but poking, he pressed its tip against the first patch and triggered the laser-scalpel at its lowest setting, hidden in his palm against the tool's handle.
A minute, precise spark of coherent light hit the patch.
The stimulant gel and bio-gel reacted. There was a tiny pop of light and a sharp, chemical smell. The gloom-moss shuddered violently. The grey patch turned ashen and brittle.
Kaelen slid the wedge underneath. This time, it met no resistance. He lifted. The entire patch came free, crumbling into inert dust in his basket.
He repeated the process. Patch, spark, lift. It was slow, methodical. He wasn't using spiritual power. He was performing targeted, crude surgery on a spiritual organism using chemistry and optics.
From her perch, Anya's bored expression changed to one of confusion, then to open-eyed shock. She watched as patch after patch of the stubborn moss, which should have been immovable to a null, was cleanly removed.
After an hour, a significant section of the glade was clear. The Whispering Willows above let out a soft, collective sigh, and their leaves began to glow faintly once more.
Overseer Li appeared silently beside Anya. He looked at the cleared ground, then at Kaelen's basket of grey dust, then at Kaelen himself. His old eyes narrowed.
"How are you doing this?" Li's voice was low, carrying a weight that made the air still.
Kaelen held up the wooden wedge. "With the tool you provided, Overseer."
Li snatched the tool from his hand. He channeled a wisp of Qi into it. It remained inert, dead. "This tool is unactivated. It is a piece of wood. It cannot sever the moss's spiritual roots."
"I… just slide it under," Kaelen said, feigning ignorance. "It seems to work if you push at the right angle."
Li stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. The pressure returned, more intense this time, scouring Kaelen from the inside out. It felt like being x-rayed by a suspicious god. His tablet, in his pocket, grew almost painfully hot.
Finally, Li exhaled, and the pressure vanished. A strange, almost hungry look flickered in his eyes. "Interesting. A null with an… unconventional affinity. Not for energy, but for precision. Like a surgeon who can operate without knowing the name of the organs." He handed the dead wedge back. "Continue. Clear the rest of the glade. Anya, ensure he is provided with nourishment from the Garden's subsidiary synthesizer. His method, whatever it is, is effective. Efficiency must be rewarded."
As Li walked away, Anya approached, her distaste now mixed with wary curiosity. She handed Kaelen a small, green fruit that shimmered. "This will sustain you. Do not eat the moss dust."
Kaelen took the fruit. It felt warm and vibrated softly. He nodded his thanks.
As he turned back to the moss, his mind raced. Li hadn't believed him. But the cultivator hadn't exposed him either. He'd seen something he couldn't explain and categorized it as "unconventional affinity." He was now interesting. In the Apex Versity, being an interesting null was a double-edged sword sharper than any laser-scalpel.
But he'd also earned a meal from a Celestial Peak synthesizer. As he took a bite of the shimmering fruit, a burst of flavor and vitality like nothing he'd ever experienced flooded his system. His tablet, analyzing it, simply displayed: [Nutrient Density: Exceptional. Spiritual Trace Elements: Present. Analysis incomplete.]
He looked at the remaining gloom-moss, then at his crude patches, then at the glowing garden around him. He was no longer just fixing lights and sorting garbage. He was performing spiritual sabotage with stolen tools and chemical tricks.
He was learning that in a multiverse of gods and monsters, sometimes the most powerful tool was a different kind of sense. The sense to see the cracks, and the will to jam something into them.