Wormhole Cultivation [Book 2] - Chapter 43: Back to Verdis (Patreon)

I was sick to death of constantly recharging the combat rings with Vacuum and Gravity. On top of that, I'd run out of the batteries I'd ‘borrowed’ on Beta-Beta-Pi, though I had learned to squeeze two or three activations out of a single charge. Still, I needed to think about raising the corresponding roots. Not much time remained before the invasion. Once that hit, the batteries would become a real problem.

Of course, adding a new root to my arsenal would change me as a cultivator. It could potentially alter my aura and cause trouble at my next breakthrough. But if I were lucky enough to survive, I wouldn't be pushing for the fifth stage until after the invasion anyway. Besides, I wasn't planning to shift the balance much. I'd grow them to 50, and that would be that.

Getting hold of the right essence on a fleet base, though, seemed impossible. It wasn't stocked in the base shop, and fleet cultivators had far less freedom in choosing their own development than Lotus or Pine cultivators did. They first had to get approval from their direct commander.

The situation was saved by the commander's interest, which became my training partner. He was disappointed he wouldn't get to use such a cool concept in battle himself. Still, he discussed it with a few colleagues and his boss, the base commander, who applied military-minded logic of scale thoroughly to it: what one fighter couldn't manage alone, two, three, ten could.

Thanks to the successful test of the Finger of Death, I already had some standing among the locals, so the base commander invited me for tea and proposed scaling up the individual battle rings into a proper ship-mounted cannon.

In exchange, the base commander personally issued me a batch of Vacuum and Gravity essence, M1 grade, fifty-five ampoules each.

Honestly, the exchange was nowhere near equal. My project, in the form they were proposing, was worth billions in royalties alone, but that wasn't something to dwell on when survival was on the line. I sketched out the concept for them but refused to dive into full-scale development myself. There simply wasn't enough time left. I still had my hands full with the standard portal cannon.

Actually, the new project was, in its own way, also a portal cannon. Only the old one fired through a portal, while the new one fired through a portal after already firing the portal.

They'd need to name them somehow to tell them apart, but that could give the fleet's brass a headache instead. Knowing their inventiveness, it would end up being something like Portal Cannon of Death No. 1 and No. 2.

Speaking of No. 2, the technicians had finished building the room and assembling the array for the Point variant. The chamber itself, for the Nuclear Penetration No. 7 technique, had been dug out in the ice beyond the complex, and the incoming portal had been turned away from the base, so the torpedo dummy wouldn't punch holes through the walls if something went wrong. No wall stood behind the ring. The icy expanses of Tarassa served as a stand-in for open space.

From the start, it had been decided that launchers had no place on Earth or the moons. But whether building such launchers on ships was worth it remained an open question. Nuclear torpedoes weren't inert dummies. One warhead detonating inside a ship meant the ship's end, and the fleet hadn't had time to develop defences on the scale used on standard torpedo tubes.

From what I'd heard, they were leaning towards moving the launchers as far away from everything as possible, into a separate module with minimal protection and a solid arsenal, out in the middle of nowhere. One torpedo going off in such a box would kill the crew inside, but wouldn't touch anything else.

In this project, the crew served as expendable material, like the spike-torpedoes themselves. In the end, the team was recruited from second-stage Point cultivators who hadn't made the cull in their time, except for the operator, of course. But he was the only one, and they were prepared to sacrifice him too.

Still, perhaps no one would have to be sacrificed at all. Portal Cannon of Death No. 1, paired with Nuclear Penetration No. 7 and array version 5.58, produced extraordinarily encouraging results. Better than the Finger of Death and it’s array.

My work there was done, and I could head back to Beta-Beta-Pi. However, the base commander personally begged me to stay and finish Death Cannon No. 2. Either way, he was forced to file a report that my work was complete, and a technician was sent to collect me and wipe every record of the portal's use from the system. Before that, he told me Novak expected to see me personally the moment I arrived.

I didn't keep him waiting, just in case I'd somehow angered him. By, say, putting that lieutenant in his place.

But no, Novak was smiling.

He waved me to a seat at a tiny table in a tiny room and poured me tea. Then he raised his cup in a toast, took a sip, and asked innocently, "What exactly did you do out there that made them willing to trade their flagship for your head?

"Not in a 'kill him' sense," he clarified. "In 'we need his brain' sense."

I let out a breath.

"You could have phrased that correctly from the start!" I snapped. "I actually thought that lieutenant had turned out to be an admiral's son."

"So you did go and make a new enemy?" my master asked.

I grimaced without answering.

"Sir, with all due respect, did you call me in here to mock me?"

"To praise you," Novak laughed. "This is the first time I've seen a new invention not get the classic cold shoulder from the fleet. What sort of uber-cannon did you offer them?"

I told him the whole story, starting with the concept born out of the argument with Pascal, and showed him the ring generators.

Novak listened without much enthusiasm.

"They see an interesting weapon, and they haven't the faintest idea of your real value!"

I knew exactly what that value was, shoving me straight into the deepest arsehole of hell and making me dig us out of it.

I gave a weary smile, already picturing, in broad strokes, what was coming next.

Novak took out a tablet and showed me a map of the positions of Earth's natural satellites.

"If the demon fleet holds a steady speed and makes no stops, they'll arrive in forty-three days, eleven hours. By then, Drexin, Kairea, and Verdis will all lie between them and Earth. Of course, they might make a stop and wreck all our plans, but Verdis will be among their targets one way or another. However, the battle ends, wreckage and escape pods will rain down on Earth and its moons, people and demons alike."

"You're going back to Verdis to lead one of the defence units, the ones that will handle the debris. I've already picked out a team for you." He switched the display to a list and slid the tablet closer.

"Zola?" I said, not sure whether to be pleased or dismayed. She was a fairly toxic friend, professionalism notwithstanding.

I didn't recognise the rest, but they were all Stage Three, five in total.

"I still need to pick up my armour," I said. "I don't know if Alan's finished it yet."

"He's finished," Novak replied, once again demonstrating his knowledge of my personal affairs. "The armour's fully done, but the gauntlets, only two pairs out of three."

"Which ones?"

"Air and Fist. If not for that, I'd have sent you to Drexin. But you certainly won't be needing Air there."

"Thank you," I said sincerely.

An airless moon really wasn't suited to me. Not just because of the gauntlets, but because of Monkey too. Though with an oxygen tank on my back, the technique's limitations were fairly minor.

"I'll send you the third pair of gauntlets once they're ready," Novak said. "Besides that, I'd advise you to produce a few copies of your new combat rings."

"I'd been thinking about that too," I agreed.

"Then don't drag your feet. You've still got team coordination to see to."

I finished the spare set of discs by evening, and spent that night in my own comfortable flat with a real window. I hadn't even realised how much I'd missed that view of the tiny park.

In the morning, after breakfast, I looked through my team's files. Besides Zola, only one other member was from Black Lotus: the swordswoman Ilsa Kon, and a trio from Pine: Ruta Hale, Finger-Fire; Doren Voss, Earth-Lightning; Teo Mardal, Fire-Palm.

I decided to start with the simplest step; I invited all five over for tea at midday. Naturally, the invitation was mandatory in name only. Before lunch, I planned to meet with Zola and lay out the boundaries of what I'd tolerate. Friendship was friendship, but I wasn't going to let her undermine my authority.

"Keep yourself in check, and don't let your toxic shit spilling around," I ordered her, fairly sharply.

"Wow, are we in big-boss mode now?" she asked sarcastically.

"Do you allow yourself that with your medical boss? Do you talk to Bulsara like that?"

"You don't measure up to my master, Jake. You don't measure up to being a master at all."

"And you don't measure up to being a team player. For all your status," I nodded at her black jumpsuit, "for all your qualifications, they can't stand the sight of you over there; otherwise, they'd have kept you in some hospital bunker."

I'd hit the mark exactly. Zola's lips pressed into a thin, angry line.

"If we don't come to an understanding right now, I'll ask for you to be replaced. If I can't manage that, I'll leave you without a role. And if you get in the way, I'll neutralise you."

"Like Johnson?" she asked, challenging me.

"More or less. The team's morale, their willingness to follow orders, and their lives will depend heavily on how you behave. Better you get hurt in training than the rest of us get hurt in the field because of you."

"You won't find a medic better than me!" she said defiantly.

"We won't find a worse hag than you either. Still, the medic's role is yours, as long as you keep your mouth shut."

"Deal!" she said angrily.

"Watch it, or I'll complain to Diana!" I threatened.

"Diana's gone off to volunteer at some secret fleet base."

"Is Diana still Fist in this iteration?" I asked, curious.

"Yes. She's got half a century of experience carried over from a past life," Zola said. "Do you know something about that?"

"If she'd been Point, then maybe. This is clearly a different secret project."

Overall, I'd managed to reach an understanding with Zola before the others arrived. She stayed quiet, though hostility still radiated off her, so a relaxed atmosphere never really materialised. I was forced to switch on the polite, formal mode. The rest of the team took to that fairly naturally. Nobody questioned my leadership, so we sorted out roles quickly: Zola, medicine and support; Voss, group defence and quick support. The rest were attacking units for long, medium, and close range. It looked as though Novak wanted me to play aggressively, relying more on speed and attack than defence.

We sketched out a few schemes, working outward from Hale's Finger and long-range attack. It worked out that Zola should become her partner, while Mardal, an attacker, would be better off pairing with Voss's defence. Kon the swordswoman could switch between medium and close range in much the same way I could, but I couldn't make her my own partner because of the difference in stage, and consequently in firepower.

We needed a test out on the arena. We agreed on the evening, and everyone except Zola went their separate ways.

"So, was I a good girl?" she spat out, venom in her voice.

"Just the best. Keep it up!" I gave her a thumbs up. "One piece of advice: a bit more warmth. Like the others."

"You think they were warm?" she snorted.

"You think they weren't?" I asked, trying to recall if I'd missed something.

"They were scared of you!"

"Why on earth would they be? Is tea with the leader really that terrifying?"

"No, but the fact that the leader recently offed his old boss…" Zola smirked, openly and shamelessly. "You've got a reputation, Jake, of being someone it's better not to cross."