The silence after the geothermal collapse was a different creature than the one after the gate fell. That had been the quiet of exhaustion and ruin. This was the silence of a held breath, of a world listening. The constant, sub-auditory hum of the tap was gone, leaving a void filled by the Bastion's own lesser sounds: the whir of fans, the click of a relay, the soft tread of a Militia on patrol.
Isaac stood in the Core Chamber, the System map his only view of the outside world. The Major Gloom Convergence still pulsed, but its activity had changed. The probing tendrils had withdrawn. The mass was not surging forward in rage, but… contracting. Coiling. It was a predator that had swiped at a porcupine and gotten a nose full of quills. Now it was circling, reassessing.
The Sergeant processed the same data, its new Command Subroutine analyzing patterns. "Enemy behavior indicates a shift from attritional assault to strategic reconnaissance. Probability of targeted, high-intensity strike on a perceived weakness: 84%. Current projected weaknesses: Damaged Western Wall, or the new structural instability above Sub-Level 1."
Isaac agreed. The enemy had learned the cost of a frontal charge. It would try a scalpel next. But to do that, it needed information. Better information than its creatures could provide by shambling in the open.
He had the sensor net from the Nexus and the Bastion's own damaged external pickups. It was a blurry picture. He needed to see what the Gloom was doing, not just sense its energy.
He had one perfect tool for the job: S-001, the Scout. Its cloaking field and enhanced sensors were designed for this. But sending it out alone into a landscape he knew was being actively scoured by a cunning enemy was a huge risk. Losing S-001 would be a critical blow.
He needed to give it an edge. An escort that wasn't an escort.
"Manufactorum," he called. "Recall the design schematic for the Skitter Scout Drone. Create a variant. Designate: 'Cicada.' Remove all sensors beyond basic collision avoidance. Maximize power output to the locomotor system and audio-emitter array. Primary function: generate extreme, distracting noise across a wide spectrum. It must be fast, agile, and incredibly, stupidly loud."
Design: 'Cicada' Noise Drone. Cost: 10 Essence, 5 Salvage (S/M).
It was a cheap, disposable noisemaker. A jester to draw the eye while the assassin slipped past.
While it built, he briefed S-001. "You will take a Cicada drone. You will move to Survey Point Theta, here." He marked a rise three kilometers east, with a good vantage of the Convergence's main approach. "You will release the Cicada on a pre-set, erratic course south, away from your position. It will make a spectacle of itself. You will go to ground, cloak, and observe the Convergence's response for twelve hours. Record everything: patrol patterns, creature composition, any new structures or anomalies. Do not engage. Your mission is eyes only."
S-001 gave a silent nod of understanding.
An hour later, the Cicada was ready. It looked like a deranged metal grasshopper, all powerful leg actuators and a bulbous sonic projector where its head should be. S-001 cradled it under one arm, its cloaking field shimmering as it slipped out through the same ventilation shaft used to seed the mines.
Isaac and the Sergeant watched the map. S-001's icon moved with ghostly speed, a dash of blue through the grey terrain. It reached Survey Point Theta. A minute later, the Cicada's icon split off, a second blue dot darting south at high speed.
Then, the Cicada began its performance.
Even from kilometers away, through the Bastion's external microphones, Isaac heard it. A rising, oscillating SCREEEEE-WHOOOOOP-BANG-CLANG that echoed across the plain—a nonsensical, deafening cacophony of industrial noise, random sonic booms, and shrieking feedback. It was utterly alien and impossible to ignore.
The reaction from the Convergence was immediate and violent. A swarm of Stalkers broke from the main mass, streaking after the noise. A volley of crystalline spines arced from hidden positions, seeking the source. The Cicada, following its chaotic programming, jinked and bounded, leading the hunters on a merry, raucous chase further and further from S-001's hiding spot.
S-001's icon vanished from the tactical map, its cloak now at maximum efficacy. Only a passive, encrypted data stream confirmed it was still alive, observing.
The hours ticked by. The Cicada's noise finally ceased abruptly—destroyed or deactivated. The Stalkers returned to the Convergence, their patrols visibly intensified, frustrated.
Then, S-001's first data packet arrived. Not imagery, but raw sensor logs. The Sergeant compiled it, creating a new, detailed overlay on the map.
Isaac leaned forward. The Convergence wasn't just a camp. It was becoming a fortress. The outer perimeter was now dotted with semi-organic Spiker Nests—stationary, spine-launching growths. He saw Drudge-Tenders, smaller versions of the magma creature, slowly moving earth to create berms and channels. And in the very center, where the energy signature was densest, something new was being constructed. A lattice of pulsating black crystal and biosteel was rising, a grotesque parody of a command spire or an artillery platform.
But more chilling were the scouts they were sending out. Not Stalkers. Smaller, lower-profile creatures the System tagged as Shroud-Stalkers. They moved with uncanny silence, their forms blurring at the edges, hugging shadows and terrain. Two of them were within five hundred meters of the Bastion's rubble-choked gate, motionless, observing. They had been there for hours, undetected by his broader scans.
The walls had ears. And eyes.
"Sergeant," Isaac said, his voice cold. "The enemy is building a battery. They are fortifying for a siege they intend to win with ranged bombardment, not frontal assault. And they are watching us."
"Correct. The Spiker Nests are area-denial. The central structure is likely a heavy bio-artillery piece or a command node. Their reconnaissance posture indicates they are gathering data for a first-strike."
Isaac couldn't allow that structure to be completed. But a direct assault was what they expected. He needed to hit the project, not the perimeter. He needed a precision strike on the spire before it became operational.
He looked at the Longstrike rifle leaning against the Core. Its range was long, but not that long. And a single rifle shot wouldn't bring down a fortified structure.
He needed his own artillery. But the Thumper was broken. He needed something with more reach, more punch, and the ability to fire from behind his walls.
An idea, audacious and dangerous, formed. The Ram-Spear Launcher that had killed the Drudge was a single-use, magnetically accelerated cannon. The principle was sound. Could he scale it down? Make it reusable? Create a coilgun?
"Sergeant, access the Ram-Spear schematics and all data on the Bastion's point-defense systems. Cross-reference. I want a design for a man-portable, magnetically accelerated projectile weapon. Something a Grenadier or a specialized team can operate. Call it… the Javelin."
The Sergeant's eyes flickered with internal processing. "Working. Utilizing principles from the point-defense 'Stormneedle' turrets and the Ram-Spear capacitor bank. Design constraints: power supply, heat dissipation, projectile stability."
While the Sergeant worked, Isaac sent a secure, low-power pulse to S-001. "Priority shift. Identify the most vulnerable structural point on the enemy spire. Focus on energy conduits or load-bearing crystalline joints. Then withdraw. Do not risk detection."
The Scout acknowledged.
The war had entered a new, silent phase. The clash of armies was over for now. It was a duel of spies and engineers, of hidden watchers and the relentless, hidden construction of the weapon that would break the stalemate. Isaac had sealed his gate and killed the internal threat. Now, the true test began: a race to see who could build the better cannon.