Chapter 36
Alex set the phone on the workbench between them. Ziya and Borin stared at it like it might bite.
"She wants me to build Zoids for Veridia," Alex said. "Or hand over the technology. Preferably both."
Borin grunted, leaning back against a crate of flux-metal conduits. "And what did you tell her?"
"That the Arosaurer isn't a production model. That Zoids aren't just weapons." Alex rubbed the back of his neck. "She told me Thornback Ridge lost two hundred civilians because they didn't have a Zoid. Then she told me Solara and Aethelgard will come for me with spies and assassins if I keep playing lone wolf."
Ziya picked up the chip, turning it over with her fingertips. "She's not wrong about the geopolitics. You know that, right?"
"I know that. I just —" Alex stopped. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet."
Borin let out a long breath through his nose. "Well, you've got two problems wrapped in a third. Share the tech, and someone builds Zoids you can't control. Don't share it, and every nation on Terrax decides you're either a prize or a threat." He cracked his knuckles. "And the third problem is you're terrible at asking for help."
"I'm not terrible at it. I'm selectively efficient."
"That's the same thing, lad."
Ziya set the chip down. "Here's what I think. You don't have to choose between 'give them everything' and 'tell them to get lost.' There's a middle ground. You build what you want, how you want — but you let Veridia benefit from it. On your terms."
Alex looked at her. "That sounds like exactly what she wants."
"It's not. She wants your blueprints. I'm talking about results." Ziya crossed her arms. "You already saved the city. You already proved the concept. Now you decide what the next step looks like — not her, not the guild. You."
Borin pointed a thick finger at his daughter. "Listen to her. She's smarter than both of us, and she's been watching you spend five years turning scrap into miracles." He paused. "Also, if you get yourself killed by assassins, who's going to pay off your tab?"
Alex almost smiled. "There's the Borin I know."
"I'm serious! You owe me fourteen thousand Sols. Dead men don't settle accounts." The old man's eyes softened, just slightly. "But for what it's worth — whatever you decide, you've got this workshop. And you've got people in it who aren't going anywhere."
Ziya's cheeks colored. She busied herself with a component tray that didn't need organizing.
Alex looked at the phone again. The weight of it hadn't changed. But the room felt less like a cage and more like a workshop — a place where problems got solved, one bolt at a time.
"I'll think about it," he said.
"That's all anyone can ask," Borin said. "Now get back to work. That Arosaurer isn't going to maintain itself, and I didn't give you free use of my crane so you could sit around having an existential crisis."
Alex pocketed the chip and turned back to the Zoid. His hands found the familiar grip of the diagnostic tools.
One bolt at a time.
* * *
Alex walked home through Veridia's quieter streets. The evening air carried the smell of cooking fires and damp stone. Most of the city's repairs were still underway — scaffolding on the eastern wall, fresh timber stacked near the guild district — but the streets had a settled quality now. People were sleeping behind their own walls again.
He turned the problem over in his mind. Elara wanted Zoids. Borin wanted his debt paid. Ziya wanted — well. He wasn't sure what Ziya wanted, and that was its own kind of problem.
"You look like you're trying to solve a differential equation in your head."
Rhian appeared from a side path, her satchel bouncing against her hip. She fell into step beside him without asking where he was going, which was typical.
"Just thinking," Alex said.
"About the foreman woman?"
He glanced at her. "How did you —"
"Because you've got your thinking face on. It's the one where you look like you want to disassemble something with your bare hands." Rhian skipped a step to keep pace. "What did she want?"
Alex exhaled through his nose. "She wants me to build Zoids for Veridia. Or give her the technology. She says if I don't, other nations will come after me."
Rhian was quiet for a moment. "That sounds like a lot of pressure."
"It is."
"I'm sorry, Alex."
He shrugged, but the weight didn't shift. "It's not your fault. It's just — I built the Arosaurer to survive. I didn't think about what happens after everyone finds out it exists."
Rhian reached over and tugged his sleeve. "Hey. You saved the city. That counts for something."
Before Alex could respond, a voice called from behind them.
"Rhian! And — is that Alex?"
Rhian's shoulders dropped. She turned with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Hi, Mama. Papa."
Rhian's parents approached from the direction of the market. Her mother carried a basket of root vegetables. Her father had a coil of rope over his shoulder — he'd been helping with the wall repairs. Both of them stopped short when they got a clear look at Alex.
"Alex," Rhian's father said. His voice had a different quality than the last time they'd spoken. Warmer. "We were hoping we'd run into you."
"Really?" Rhian said flatly. "Because last month you told me to stop spending time with 'that odd man on the hill.'"
Her father's ears reddened. "That was — circumstances have changed, Rhian."
"Drastically," her mother added, stepping forward. She set her basket down and clasped Alex's hands. Her grip was firm and calloused. "We owe you a debt we can't repay. You saved our daughter. You saved all of us."
Alex stood very still, unsure what to do with his hands. "I just — the Arosaurer was there. I did what needed doing."
"Nonsense," Rhian's father said. "You fought a B-rank Titan in the middle of our streets. That's not 'what needs doing.' That's heroism." He cleared his throat. "We'd like to invite you to our home. For a meal. As a small token of our gratitude."
Rhian made a small noise. "You're inviting him to dinner? The same person you called 'a scavenger with no prospects'?"
"Rhian," her mother said, with a warning edge.
"I'm just noting the inconsistency."
Alex looked between them. Rhian's father was studying the ground. Her mother had the determined expression of someone who had decided this was happening and would not be deterred by awkwardness.
"I appreciate the offer," Alex said carefully. "But I don't want to impose."
"It's not an imposition," Rhian's mother said. "It's the least we can do. Please."
Rhian caught his eye and gave a tiny shrug that said: Just go with it. It's easier.
"Alright," Alex said. "Thank you."
Rhian's home was small and warm, the walls lined with dried herbs and hand-stitched hangings. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting orange light across the wooden table. Rhian's mother set down a bowl of root stew and a plate of dark bread, and Alex found himself sitting between Rhian and her father with a spoon in his hand before he'd fully processed how he'd gotten there.
"So," Rhian's father said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "This machine of yours. The Arosaurer. How fast does it actually go?"
"About a hundred and seventy kilometers per hour on open ground," Alex said. "Less in dense terrain. The legs need time to cycle."
"A hundred and seventy." Rhian's mother shook her head slowly. "And you built that. In that workshop on the hill."
"Five years," Rhian said, tearing her bread with more force than necessary. "Five years of eating nutrient paste and forgetting to sleep. You're welcome, by the way, for the part where I kept him alive."
"We're grateful, Rhian," her father said. "We're just trying to understand the scope of what Alex accomplished."
Alex took a bite of stew. It was good — better than anything he'd cooked for himself in years. "It wasn't just the speed that mattered. The Arosaurer's frame had to absorb the recoil from twin autocannons while maintaining balance at full sprint. The joint housings alone took me eight months to get right."
Rhian's mother set down her spoon. "And you did all this alone? No team, no university backing?"
"No team," Alex said. "No backing. Just parts I could scavenge and a lot of trial and error."
Rhian's father let out a low whistle. "The guild must be losing their minds trying to figure out how you did it."
"They're not the only ones," Rhian muttered.
Alex chewed slowly, his mind drifting. The guild. Elara. He needed a way forward that didn't end with him handing over everything he'd built or running from people who wanted to take it by force.
"What if," he said slowly, "someone wanted to build more of them?"
Rhian's parents exchanged a glance.
"More Zoids?" her father asked.
"For the city's defense. A dedicated production line, properly funded. Veridia could have its own squadron."
Rhian's mother tilted her head. "Would that even be possible? You said it took you five years."
Alex set down his spoon. "It took me five years because I was working alone with salvaged parts and no budget. With proper resources — a real workshop, dedicated materials, a development fund — the timeline changes dramatically."
He could feel the shape of it forming now. A proposal. A budget request large enough to build the Liger Zero and the Lanstag for himself, while producing simpler defensive models for the city. Models that would protect Veridia without handing anyone the keys to something they couldn't control. By the time anyone figured out how to reverse-engineer his work, he'd be three generations ahead.
Rhian was watching him with narrowed eyes. "You're planning something."
"I'm eating stew," Alex said.
"You've got your scheming face on. It's worse than your thinking face."
Rhian's father laughed. "She's not wrong. You get a look."
Alex picked his spoon back up. "I'm just considering options."
"Well," Rhian's mother said, refilling his bowl without asking, "whatever you decide, you'll have a full stomach while you do it. Eat."
He ate. And the plan sharpened with every bite.
Advance chapters on my p@tR$0n/Najicablitz.