Building Zoids in a World of Titans

Even though Team Celestia was planning to hunt for the Arosaurer, Alex kept his focus steady. He had a simple plan. Stay unseen. Move quietly. Don’t give them a trail to follow.

They might be looking, but he wasn’t planning on giving them a target. For the next few days, he had no reason to take out the Arosaurer. His time would be spent inside his workshop, not out in the open.

The upgrade was the priority. New parts meant new capabilities, and the beam weapon assembly was the first step. Today was the day the components arrived.

Today, he would be working with Ziya.

(Stonehand’s Supply & Salvage)

The bell above the shop door chimed with a familiar, worn sound. Borin’s usual booming greeting was absent. Only Ziya stood behind the counter, her gaze already fixed on the door.

“You’re on time.”

“The parts are here?”

“In the back. Follow me.”

Alex fell into step behind her, his focus narrowing to the task ahead. The main shop’s clutter of components and tools gave way to a narrower hallway, then a heavy, reinforced door.

“Where’s Borin?”

“Behind closed doors,” Ziya said, not looking back as she produced a key. “Negotiating a bulk mineral shipment from the Sunscorched Dominion. He’ll be shouting at ledgers for hours. We won’t be disturbed.”

The door swung open on a smaller, immaculate workroom. A single, powerful lamp illuminated a central steel table. On it, arranged with geometric precision, lay the components for his weapon.

Alex moved past Ziya, his eyes cataloging each piece. The crystalline focus lens, polished to a flawless clarity, caught the light and fractured it into a dozen rainbows. The high-capacity flux-metal conduits, their surfaces etched with heat-dissipation patterns. The titanium-alloy housing, machined to the exact dimensions of his schematic.

He picked up the lens, holding it to the light. No impurities. No microfractures. The internal lattice was perfect.

“Everything’s in order.”

“Of course it is,” Ziya said, pulling on a pair of reinforced work gloves. She handed a second pair to him. “I sourced them. Now. You have the housing schematic. I have the thermal cycling protocols. Let’s begin.”

Alex pulled on the gloves, the leather cool and stiff. He looked from the pristine components to the focused intensity on Ziya’s face. For the next several hours, the world outside this room—Celestia, contracts, Ligers—didn’t exist. There was only the weapon, and the problem of building it right.

He nodded.

“Let’s begin.”

The work began in silence, broken only by the clink of tools and the low hum of the bench-top power supply. Ziya’s instructions were precise, delivered in a steady, clinical tone.

“The flux conduit must seat flush with the housing’s primary channel. Any gap larger than point-two millimeters will cause a cascade failure under full charge.”

Alex aligned the component, checking the fit with a feeler gauge. “Like this?”

“Yes. Now apply the conductive sealant. A thin bead. Not a flood.”

He followed her direction exactly. After a moment, he asked, “The heat-sink array’s passive dissipation rate… will it be enough for a sustained three-second burst?”

“It will if you follow the thermal paste application diagram I provided. You tend to overapply. It insulates instead of conducts.”

“Right.”

They worked in tandem, her hands occasionally guiding his to demonstrate pressure or angle. As they began wiring the trigger assembly, her voice softened, just a degree.

“Your crimping technique has improved.”

Alex looked at the cable termination he’d just finished. The metal sleeve was smooth, uniform. “It’s a matter of precision.”

“It used to be a mess of frayed ends and uneven pressure.” Ziya leaned in to inspect his work. “Remember when Father made us re-splice that entire length of power cabling? Ten times. Until our fingers bled.”

“I remember.” Alex attached the connector to the housing. “You finished first.”

“I always finished first.” A small, almost smug smile touched her lips. “But you kept going. Even when you were three splices behind, you didn’t rush. You just… kept doing it. Steady. I admired that.”

Alex paused, his hands stilling on the housing. He hadn’t thought of those days as something worthy of admiration. They were just lessons. Borin’s booming voice, the heat of the forge, the smell of hot metal and sweat. Ziya, always a step ahead, her work clean and fast. Him, slower, methodical, determined to match her standard.

“It’s a good memory,” Ziya said softly, her gaze not on the weapon, but on him. “Looking at you now… you’ve become a great craftsman.”

The compliment landed awkwardly in the quiet room. Alex didn’t know how to hold it. He focused on the next component, the crystalline lens mount.

“You’ve gotten better, too.”

“Of course I have.” Her tone shifted back to that confident, business-like edge. “I have to become better than my father. This shop is my legacy. I need to know every component, every process, better than he does. I need to run it better.”

Her want was clear in the words—not just to manage, but to master. To surpass.

“You’ll succeed the shop,” Alex said, the statement simple and factual. He believed it.

Ziya’s smile returned, warmer this time. “You say that with such certainty. It’s… nice.” She reached over, her hand briefly covering his on the housing, guiding the alignment of a delicate internal bracket. Her touch was quick, professional, but lingered a fraction longer than necessary. “The alignment is perfect. See?”

Alex saw the perfect alignment. He also saw the way her eyes stayed on his face after she pulled her hand back, a soft, expectant look in them that he couldn’t quite decipher.

He nodded. “Perfect.”

They returned to the work, the silence between them now filled with a different kind of weight—not just the focus of construction, but the unspoken history of their shared past, and the quiet, persistent hope Ziya carried for a shared future.

The final housing bolt clicked into place with a satisfying finality. The weapon lay on the table, a sleek, dangerous assembly of metal and crystal.

Ziya wiped her hands on a rag. "It's done. But I have to ask… what are you mounting this on? This isn't a sidearm. It's not even a crew-served weapon. This is turret-grade."

"You'll find out," Alex said, running a diagnostic check on the power coupling. "Might even get to see it."

A genuine smile lit up her face. "I'd like that."

He straightened up, the question awkward but necessary. "The labor. What do I owe you for the work?"

Ziya waved a hand, her expression softening. "Don't be silly. Consider it a favor. For an old friend." She leaned against the workbench, her tone casual but her eyes holding his. "You can just… take me to dinner sometime instead."

Alex blinked. Dinner? Friends? The concepts tangled in his mind, technical and social wires crossing. He’d catalogued their history as shared apprenticeships, not friendship. And dinner… that was a different category entirely.

"…Dinner?"

Ziya’s smile widened. “Dinner. Yes. Is that… alright with you?”

“It’s okay,” Alex said, the words feeling foreign. “Dinner is okay.”

Her eyes brightened, the professional coolness melting away. “Good. I’ll look forward to it.”

She walked him to the shop door, her steps lighter. “Come back soon. For the mounting bracket.”

“I will.”

She watched him go, the heavy components in his arms, a quiet warmth in her expression that hadn’t been there when he arrived.