Only a single lamp burned in Iron's workshop. The only sounds were the scratching of a pencil against paper and the engineer's quiet breathing.
He was tracing the outline of yet another component for the rotary mechanism when a familiar voice suddenly spoke up.
"Attention. Regeneration complete. Energy channels fully restored and stabilized."
"Finally," Iron muttered quietly. "Why did that take so long? Doesn't matter. Lumon, are we ready to create the pocket dimension?"
"Yes," he replied instantly.
"I hope you realize you'll have to pull raw aether directly from hyperspace?"
"Raw aether from the hyperspatial folds is fully prepped for extraction and safe integration. The pocket storage will be stable," Lumon reported.
Iron grunted, but the thought of the spatial pocket had to be pushed aside for now.
"That's excellent. But let's hold off on that for a bit," the engineer replied mentally. "My theory has just been fully confirmed. With Olgerd's visit, it's become completely clear. We need to protect Dornheim."
He shifted his gaze to the blueprint of the new defensive turret.
"Right now, we are throwing all our resources into the weaponry. On my command, you will need to take them under your direct tactical control."
"Synchronization protocols have already been embedded into the logic blocks on the turrets. I will take control of the weapons the exact millisecond your signal is received," Lumon confirmed evenly.
"All the better." Iron grabbed his cane, leaned on it heavily, and rose from his chair. "One less problem to deal with."
Iron slowly headed for the exit. The moment he opened the door, the sharp air of Dornheim hit him in the face.
At the edge of a deep trench, where the installation of the second defensive turret was underway, Marek and Darwin were arguing fiercely. They were trying to manually center the gun's rotary platform. Metal scraped against steel guide rails, stubbornly refusing to slide into place. Darwin, all lathered in sweat and smeared with soot, was throwing his entire weight shoulder-first against the steel rim, while Marek was trying to pry the structure up with a crowbar.
"It's not fitting, Marek!" the young man yelled, breathing heavily. "It's skewed! If we force it again, we'll just strip the thread on the main shaft!"
"Push harder, we don't have a choice!" Marek boomed, leaning his entire weight on the crowbar. "We need to get it secured before the sun comes up!"
Iron unhurriedly walked to the edge of the pit. He stopped silently at the top, resting his hands on the pommel of his cane, and began watching their futile efforts.
"And how long do you plan on breaking what took me weeks to design?" the engineer inquired, making them flinch and turn around. "Who distributes leverage load like that? You're not just going to jam it, you're going to bend the guide rails."
"Iron!" Darwin exhaled in relief and wiped his forehead with a dirty sleeve. "It won't sit in the grooves! It's like it's a couple of millimeters wider than it should be."
Iron pointed the tip of his cane at the left support beam. "Darwin, get down there and loosen the locking bolt by a quarter turn. And you, Marek, put your crowbar away. Just push the platform up from the bottom when I tell you."
Darwin quickly adjusted the necessary part with a wrench.
"Now, Marek, do it," the engineer commanded.
Marek braced his hands against the base of the platform and pushed it upward. A quiet click echoed, and the steel structure slid perfectly into the grooves of the guide rails. The gun turret spun smoothly in a circle, confirming perfect alignment.
Marek shook his head in astonishment, wiping the sweat from his forehead:
"Man, you never cease to amaze, Iron... You know absolutely everything about this thing."
"Synchronization with the turret's control node is complete. The device is connected to the shared network," Lumon reported in Iron's mind.
"Well, because I built it," Iron answered calmly.
While Marek and Darwin were tightening the mounting nuts, Iron took a few steps back, carefully inspecting the entire sector. Before his mind's eye, adjusting to the movement of his pupils, lines began to flicker—Lumon was projecting a three-dimensional grid of ballistic trajectories directly onto the engineer's retina.
"Test launch of the hydraulic drives completed successfully," he commented in his consciousness. "The field of fire covers the eastern clearing by one hundred percent. The overall readiness of Dornheim's defensive perimeter has increased to seventy-four percent."
"That's not enough," Iron replied mentally, giving a barely noticeable shake of his head. "What about the camouflage plates?"
"The concealment mechanism is ready for integration. The platform's retraction drives are synchronized with the lifting circuit. Visual detection of the turret in an inactive state from a distance of more than five meters will be impossible," Lumon replied.
A metallic clank echoed from below, out of the pit—Marek had finished securing the base armor plates.
The sun rose higher. The workers were gradually heading off to their posts, taking their tools with them, but Iron remained standing at the edge of the pit, staring at the weapon now hidden beneath the plates.
"Something's still missing," he muttered quietly.
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