The Catapult's half-finished hull sat in the Bay, a monument to stalled ambition. The failed raid was a cold shock. The Gloom's trap wasn't just a stronger defense; it was a sign of an evolving intelligence, a hive mind learning to anticipate his logistics-driven aggression. He couldn't just take what he needed anymore. He had to outthink a consciousness that was starting to think like a commander.
The resource problem was now a tactical puzzle. He had 85 Advanced Salvage. He needed 95 more. The only source within reach was the very thing that had just outmaneuvered him. But there had to be a weakness. Every system had one.
He called up the full sensor logs from Operation Pickpocket, reviewing every moment from the Scouts' infiltration to the Colossi's coordinated movement. The Sergeant projected the data in the Core Chamber.
"They allowed us to harvest the crystallite," Isaac mused, pacing. "They didn't defend the deposits. They defended the route. They herded us. That means the deposits themselves aren't critical. They're expendable. But their response force… it was fast. Too fast. How did they know where to cut us off?"
The Sergeant highlighted a series of faint, intermittent energy pulses on the scan, emanating from the corrupted mountain of Omicron-22 itself. "Analysis suggests a wide-area psionic or vibrational sensor net. The Colossi may not have 'seen' us. They may have felt the vibrations of our harvesting through the earth, or sensed the disruption in the local Gloom-energy field."
Isaac stopped. A sensor net. If it was vibrational… you could fool it. You could create a bigger vibration somewhere else.
"What if we give them a bigger disturbance to focus on?" he asked, a plan forming from the ashes of the last one. "Not a raid. A demolition. We use the Javelin—what's left of it—or our remaining Disruptor shells. We hit a structurally weak point on the mountain's flank, far from the carrier wreck. Cause a landslide, a massive energy release. While every Colossus and guardian for kilometers is rushing to that calamity, we send a single, stealthy Wisp not to the foothills, but to the edge of the inner cordon. To the rubble at the very feet of the sleeping giants. There will be fragments, spalls from the carrier's hull, scattered in that debris field. High-grade Adamantite spalls. We grab a handful and run before they even know we were there."
It was a scavenger's plan. Not fighting the lion, but sneaking into its den while its attention was on a thunderclap outside.
"Designate this: Operation Sleight of Hand," Isaac said. "Phase One: Distraction. We identify a target on the mountain—a precariously balanced rock spire, a thin crust over a geothermal vent. We hit it with everything we have that makes noise and shakes the earth. Phase Two: The Hand. One Wisp drone, programmed for absolute radio silence, pre-positioned in a blind spot. It moves the moment the detonation occurs. Its goal: the debris field at grid coordinate Seven-Charlie, here." He pointed to a scan showing a scatter of metallic returns at the base of a toppled Colossus, near the carrier's stern. "Five minutes in and out. Maximum load. Then it exfiltrates on a passive, pre-mapped route."
It was riskier for the asset. The Wisp would be utterly on its own, with no support if discovered. But the payoff for a few chunks of Adamantite spall could be fifty or sixty Advanced Salvage.
He had one Wisp left (SD-005), the others lost to various operations. He had two Disruptor shells left. He had the damaged but functional Javelin coilgun, remounted on a fixed position on the Bastion's wall, its range just barely reaching the target mountain flank.
He spent a day in simulation with the Sergeant, mapping vibration propagation models, timing the Wisp's run to the second, accounting for the Colossi's estimated reaction speed. The margin for error was measured in heartbeats.
Dawn of the operation saw the Bastion's forces at a peculiar readiness. Not mustered for battle, but coiled like a spring. The Javelin was aimed, its last precious penetrator round loaded. The two Disruptor shells were packed into a mortar tube for a high-arcing shot to add to the chaos.
The Wisp, SD-005, was already gone, having crept out during the night to its hiding place—a deep fissure two kilometers from the target debris field. It was powered down, a grey rock among grey rocks.
"Final checks," Isaac said, his hand on the Javelin's firing relay. The Sergeant was integrated into the Bastion's sensor net, ready to track the response.
"All systems nominal. Wisp is in position, passive sensors only. Wind conditions are favorable for sound propagation."
"Fire the Javelin. Then the mortar."
He pressed the trigger.
THUMP-WHUMP. The Javelin's shot streaked away, a last gasp of the weapon that had breached his own armory.
THUMP-WHOOSH… BOOM! The Disruptor shell landed seconds later, its energy pulse not meant to kill, but to scramble and disorient any delicate sensory organs.
The mountain flank exploded. Not a fiery blast, but a cataclysmic shearing as the penetrator round struck a key pressure point in the geology. A massive section of rock the size of a building broke free and crashed down the mountainside, triggering a secondary avalanche. The sound was a rolling, continuous thunder. The ground shook for kilometers.
On the sensor net, the response was immediate and total. Every red signature in the Omicron-22 zone—Colossi, Shredderling swarms, everything—surged toward the landslide. The inner cordon around the carrier wreck emptied.
"Wisp, go." Isaac sent the pre-programmed activation signal.
SD-005 powered up. It didn't use its radio. It simply began to move, a skittering dash across the open ground, now shrouded in the dust cloud from the avalanche. It reached the debris field at Seven-Charlie. Its manipulators, delicate and precise, darted among the shattered rock and metal. It ignored large pieces it couldn't carry. It sought the glint of pure alloy—chunks of Adamantite spall, some as big as a fist, some as large as a helmet. It filled its sled with ruthless efficiency.
Cargo: 40%... 65%... 90%...
A Colossus, perhaps slower to react or stationed farther back, appeared on the edge of the sensor net, turning its massive head back toward the carrier.
"Wisp, abort! Exfiltrate now!" Isaac hissed, though the drone couldn't hear him. Its pre-programmed timer had five seconds left. It grabbed one last, gleaming chunk and turned, its sled at 98% capacity.
It scurried away as the Colossus took a ground-shaking step into the debris field, its senses clearly confused by the residual disruptive energy and dust.
The Wisp vanished into another fissure, its pre-plotted escape route taking it on a long, slow, hidden path back to the Bastion.
It returned eight hours later, creeping in through a drainage culvert, its sled heavy with dark, scintillating metal.
Resource Acquired: Adamantite Alloy Spall (High-Purity). Convertible Yield: 112 Advanced Salvage.
One hundred and twelve. More than enough.
Isaac didn't celebrate. He looked at the sensor net, where the Colossi were now milling around the landslide site and their disturbed perimeter, their movements agitated, confused. He had stolen from them not by force, but by misdirection. He had exploited their sensory dependence and predictable response to a major threat.
He had won a battle of perception.
"Feed the Bay," he told the Sergeant, his voice weary. "Finish the Catapult."
The scavenger's gambit had paid off. The King of Battle would be crowned not with a triumphant charge, but with a perfect, silent theft. The war for Omicron-22 was no longer a question of if he could breach it, but when. And now, he had the key to the gate.