Chapter One Hundred and Sixty: Weaver's Promise (Patreon)

STATUS EFFECT REMOVED: UNCONSCIOUS.

QUEST COMPLETED: WEAVER’S PROMISE. +500,000 XP.

Voices swirled around me as I struggled to return to consciousness.

“... how do we know if he’s even alive?” Gideon.

“If he wasn’t, trust me, we’d know,” Paul’s voice was soothing. “His armor is capable of sustaining him indefinitely.”

“You don’t know that for sure. You’ve known him for less time than we have.”

“And if you try to open up that armor, you might trigger some failsafe that will blow you up.”

“We should listen to him,” Sarah was saying. “It makes sense.”

“You have as little idea of what to do as we do.”

“I’m awake,” I said groggily, sitting up.

“Belessar,” Gideon sounded concerned. “What happened?”

“Turns out using mentacapacitors - especially a lot of them - can knock me unconscious. I didn’t know that. What happened after I passed out?”

Gideon and Sarah exchanged glances.

“You collapsed,” Paul said. “The armor hit the ground with a pretty big thunk. Thank goodness you weren’t in the Greyhound, or we wouldn’t have been able to carry you to the bed.”

“Paul picked you up,” added Clegg. “He was very organized. Told us all exactly what to do.” The ex-Army sergeant nodded at my father in appreciation. “Also said you’d wake up on your own, which was a pretty good guess.”

“I’ve worked construction a while,” replied Paul. “You get to recognize the signs of exhaustion. And how to deal with people who’ve fainted.”

“They teach that in the Army, too; I never saw it happen in real life. Good call, Paul.”

“I’m sorry if we’ve been pushing you too hard,” said Gideon. “I wouldn’t have insisted on it if I’d known …”

“No apologies necessary, Gideon. I didn’t know it could happen either. You live and you learn, right?”

“There is that.”

“What about the furnace? Is it working?”

“Oh, it’s working. Humming along. We need to connect up the different arrays and, well, press the button.” Gideon smiled. “We wanted to wait until you were okay before we started.”

“Good point. Also you need the MP fueling it for the furnace to actually spin out weave.”

“That, too.”

“Then shall we do the honours?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

It was three-thirty in the morning on Tuesday, February 3rd, 2082, when the first ever nanofibre weave fabricator activated.

Spools of cloth began to pile up in the extrusion bay, glimmering in the dark. I smiled.

“It’s running at lower than projected efficiency,” said Sarah, “but still impressive. Sixty-five metres per second.” Her eyes shone. “At this rate, we’ll have enough weave for the entire contract in… twenty-one hours.”

“Which means we can start working on the actual suits tomorrow,” I said. “After tomorrow, switch to fullersteel production and let’s fill up the warehouses.”

“What do you have in mind, Belessar?”

“So many things, Dr. Palmer. So very many things.”

------------------------------------------------------------

The next day - February 4th, 2082 - I started on making the suits required for the contract.

Assembly line style, of course. Helmets first.

At first, the others had watched in rapt fascination as I forged helmet after helmet. Fascination which soon turned to boredom. Watching me forge is exciting the first time, the novelty wears off after the tenth, and by the time I had completed a hundred helmets, the others had found reasons to excuse themselves and get back to other work.

It’s about as exciting as watching paint dry.

The routine of the repetition, however, has a calming effect on me. I hummed as I worked, and by evening five-and-a-half thousand helmets were finished.

The next day, I started on the greaves and the boots. I’d do the bodyplate last.

I was finishing up boot set three thousand and fifty-five when a buzzing sound interrupted.

The SURGE pager sat next to my table, displaying a message:

ALIEN ASSAULT ON SINGAPORE. ETA 20 MINUTES.

… Crap.