Building Zoids in a World of Titans

Alex guided the Lanstag through the east gate of Fort Caldera, the massive doors groaning open just wide enough for the Zoid's antlers to clear. The caldera's interior spread out before him — a flat expanse of volcanic stone and compacted ash, ringed by sheer basalt walls that rose two hundred meters on every side. Storage crates and covered staging areas filled the central stockyard. The motor pool hummed with activity to the south.

He parked the Lanstag near the designated vehicle area and powered down the core. The machine's amber optics dimmed, and the deep hum faded into silence. Alex climbed out of the cockpit and dropped to the ground, his boots crunching on volcanic grit.

A group of Wardens had gathered at a respectful distance. Most stared at the Lanstag with undisguised awe. One young private had his mouth hanging open.

At the front of the group stood a muscular man in his forties, thick beard streaked with grey, wearing the insignia of a guildmaster on his shoulder. He stepped forward with the easy confidence of someone who had spent decades commanding remote outposts.

"Warden Alex," the man said, his voice carrying across the yard. "I'm Guildmaster Harsk. The Veridia branch sent word you'd be coming through. Said to expect a machine, not a Titan."

Harsk's eyes traveled up the Lanstag's frame — the golden antlers, the white-and-silver armor, the silver hooves still dusted with Razorjaw blood.

"I read the report," he continued. "Doesn't do it justice."

Alex wiped his hands on his pants. "It gets the job done."

"That it does." Harsk folded his arms. "Your parts are in the eastern vault. Ion Turbo Boosters, crate-marked and ready for pickup." He paused, then lowered his voice. "But before you collect them, I'd like a word. Privately, if you're willing."

Alex glanced at the Lanstag, then back at Harsk. The guildmaster's expression was open, but there was something measured behind it.

"I can spare the time," Alex said.

Harsk nodded and turned toward the command post, gesturing for Alex to follow.

Harsk led Alex through the command post and into a side room — sparse, functional, a desk covered in maps and reports, two chairs that had seen better decades. A window overlooked the stockyard where the Lanstag sat, still drawing stares from the garrison.

Harsk poured two cups of something dark from a dented pot and pushed one toward Alex. "Ration coffee. Tastes like boot leather, but it's warm."

Alex took the cup. The smell was exactly as advertised.

"You made good time from Veridia," Harsk said, settling into his chair with a grunt. "That machine of yours moves faster than anything we've got on the registry."

"It's built for speed."

"I noticed." Harsk took a long drink. "Heard about what you did on the ridge. My scouts found the carcasses this morning. Eight Razorjaws, cleaned out in one pass." He set his cup down. "That's not normal pack behavior. They've been hitting our supply lines for three weeks straight. Convoy escorts, foraging parties — doesn't matter. They probe, they harass, they disappear before we can respond."

Alex turned the cup in his hands. "They're Rank D. Annoying, not dangerous."

"For a machine like yours, sure." Harsk leaned forward. "But I've been pulling patrol reports. The pack sizes are growing. Twelve on the last convoy raid. Fifteen on the one before that. And the way they move — it's not random. Someone's coordinating them."

He pulled a map from the stack and spread it across the desk. Red marks dotted the supply routes east of the caldera, clustered in a rough arc.

"Standard Razorjaw territory is scattered. These are concentrated. Focused." He tapped a point northeast of the depot. "My tracker found a nest site here. Massive. Bones from at least forty different kills, all arranged in patterns. That's not pack behavior. That's hierarchy."

Alex studied the map. "You think there's a queen."

"I know there is." Harsk pulled another sheet — a sketch, rough but detailed. It showed a Razorjaw, but larger. Much larger. The bony ridges along its spine were pronounced, almost like a crest. "One of our scouts got close enough to see it before they had to run. Easily twice the size of the others. And the pack responds to it. Directly."

Alex looked at the sketch. A queen variant. That would explain the coordination, the growing pack sizes. It would also explain why the Razorjaws hadn't scattered after he killed eight of them on the ridge. The queen would just pull more in.

"So send a team," Alex said.

Harsk's jaw tightened. "I've got forty Wardens. Rank 6s and 7s, mostly. Good people. But a queen Razorjaw with a pack that size?" He shook his head. "I'd be sending them into a meat grinder. And the capital won't send reinforcements for three weeks minimum. By then, they'll have hit every supply route we have."

He met Alex's eyes.

"I need someone who can do what you did on the ridge. But deeper. Find the nest, kill the queen, break the pack's back."

Alex set his cup down. "I'm here for boosters. Not a contract."

"I know."

"The Razorjaws aren't my problem. They don't threaten Veridia. They don't threaten my work."

"Fair enough. But I heard you are looking for Vita-Alloys." Harsk leaned back. "What if I told you the queen's nest is sitting on top of a Vita-Alloy deposit?"

Alex went still.

"We've known about the deposit for months," Harsk continued. "Survey team flagged it before the Razorjaws moved." He paused. "I can't authorize a mining operation with that nest sitting on top of it. But if someone were to clear the nest, I wouldn't mind giving you some. How about 200 kilograms of Vita-Alloy?"

"200 kilograms…" Alex's mind was already calculating. That was enough for multiple core shells. Enough to build ten or more Zoids without touching his existing supply.

"There's also the matter of payment," Harsk said. "Standard bounty for a queen-class variant would be around forty thousand Sols. But given the circumstances — the supply lines, the risk — I can push it to sixty. Plus salvage rights on the nest. Whatever's in that deposit is yours if you clear it out."

Sixty thousand Sols. The Vita-Alloy. And the queen's components — a variant core could be valuable, depending on what properties it carried.

Alex picked up the coffee and drank. It was terrible. He drank anyway.

"You said you'd send a team," he said.

"If you want them. I've got six Wardens who volunteered. Rank 7, all of them. They're a reliable bunch."

Alex set the coffee cup down on Harsk's desk.

"Working alone would be faster."

Harsk leaned back in his chair. "Faster isn't always better. You've got a Zoid, sure. But you're not invincible. That queen's nest is deep in Razorjaw territory. If something goes wrong in there, you'll want people watching your back."

Alex considered it. The math was straightforward. A team meant coordination, communication, variables he couldn't control. But Harsk wasn't wrong about the nest. Going in blind with no fallback was how people died.

"Fine, I'll work with them," Alex said.

"Good that you are sensible."

"But I want the bounty in advance. Half now, half when the queen's dead."

"Done."

Alex stood and extended his hand. Harsk shook it, his grip firm.

"One more thing," Alex said. "That sketch your tracker made. I'll need it. And everything you know about the nest's layout."

Harsk pulled a folder from his desk and handed it over. "Already had it copied for you."

Alex took the folder and tucked it under his arm. He walked to the door, then stopped.

"Harsk."

"Yeah?"

"If your people get in my way, I'm not stopping for them."

Harsk almost smiled. "Wouldn't expect you to."