Day Six, early morning…
After another brutal day and night of work, the two wings were nearly complete.
When Wyatt entered the workshop, Dorian and two engineering robots were finishing the last skin panels. Big Blue led more than a dozen Firecallers, grinding down weld seams around the wing roots.
“These wings are huge,” Wyatt said, genuinely impressed.
“We don’t have time for complex flaps,” Dorian replied, hurrying over. “So we had to increase the span. Only the final steps remain. We start on the propellers this afternoon—everything should be finished by tonight.”
“Good work,” Wyatt said. “Then we leave tomorrow.”
He spotted Starling and Linneya nearby and walked over.
“Starling. Get ready tonight. We depart at dawn.”
Starling flashed him an OK gesture.
Linneya tilted her head. “Wyatt… where’s our plane?”
“This is it,” Wyatt said, pointing to the shuttle fuselage parked in the center.
“Uh…” Linneya stared. “It doesn’t look like one.”
At the moment, the shuttle’s original wings had been removed, leaving only a bare cylinder of a cabin. Without the wings, it did look wrong—like a peeled seedpod.
“Once we assemble it, it’ll look the part,” Dorian said, gesturing at the wings. “We converted its original winglets into tail surfaces, and we built a new pair of big wings.”
“But…” Linneya frowned. “Even then, it can’t fit all of us.”
Wyatt blinked, then realized what she meant.
“They aren’t coming,” he said. “Only seven of us take the plane. And Pinecone.”
Linneya’s eyes went wide. “What? Why? We’re leaving them behind?”
“Yes,” Wyatt said carefully. “They… don’t have self-awareness. They’ve limited intelligence, that’s all.”
“But they’re really obedient,” Linneya protested. “I don’t feel like they’re that different from Big Blue and the others.”
Wyatt glanced around, spotted Big Blue working nearby, and called out, “Big Blue! Come here.”
“What is it?” Big Blue asked, walking over with a grinder still in hand.
“Shoot me once,” Wyatt said.
Big Blue stared at him like his processors had glitched. “Did you short-circuit? I’m busy. I don’t have time to play.”
He tossed the words over his shoulder and went right back to work.
Wyatt didn’t argue. Instead he pulled out his counterphase shield and walked to the nearest Destroyer.
“Hey,” he ordered. “Shoot me.”
The Destroyer was grinding a weld seam as well. It didn’t hesitate for even a fraction of a second. It raised its arm and fired a laser bolt straight at Wyatt.
Wyatt lifted his shield and took the hit. Sparks sprayed.
Starling gasped.
Wyatt told the Destroyer to keep working, then turned to Linneya. “See? Big difference.”
Linneya pouted. “Fine.”
“I’ll still bring a few units for support on the road,” Wyatt said. “But don’t joke around with them. They’re dangerous. They can’t interpret what you really mean, understood?”
“Okay,” Linneya mumbled.
…
Wyatt walked toward the workshop exit. Along the way, four additional carriages sat in a row: the water-storage cabin, the photosynthesis cabin, the plant-growing cabin, and the living cabin.
They’d been assembled from whatever hulls Dorian could salvage—boarding cars, cargo shuttles, partial shuttle frames—but the seams were tight. The structures looked solid and reliable.
Everything felt… normal.
None of the eleven Hyenas stationed around the area had sent a warning signal—including the one watching the “turtle-shell nest.”
Wyatt conducted his patrol anyway, just as he had every day.
Last day. Please let it be quiet.
Minutes crawled. By late afternoon, he finally began to relax.
Then the Shadow Falcon, circling above, caught a signal on a distant ridge to the northeast—rapid flashes of light.
A Hyena’s emergency code.
Wyatt’s worst fear arrived right on time.
He equipped his flight gear and launched.
He hadn’t even flown halfway before he spotted it on the horizon: a Sothoth-class medium mothership, escorted by four Ithaqua-class frigates, moving slowly through the sky.
Wyatt dropped lower and switched to stealth.
The Hyena waiting on the ridgeline reported that a ground unit—six to seven hundred strong—was moving in sync with the mothership, advancing in a zigzag pattern.
Under the Hyena’s guidance, Wyatt shifted about a kilometer forward and saw the team with his own optics.
Besides the standard Hyenas, Destroyers, and Firecallers, there were at least a hundred Punishers hovering fifteen to thirty meters above the ground, drifting with the ground troops.
At fifty to sixty meters, a dozen Razorwhale fighters looped and circled overhead.
The ground force also included plenty of medium units—Rampagers, Bloodthirsters, Bigfoots—nearly a third of the total.
There were roughly forty Nether units mixed in as well, but Wyatt knew the truth: before CBGs removed their helmets, they were nearly indistinguishable from Nethers at a glance.
After watching for a moment, he noticed something else: every ground unit kept roughly fifteen meters of spacing from the next. Weapons were hot. Heads turned constantly, scanning.
This formation wasn’t wandering.
It was hunting.
Based on the team’s trajectory, Wyatt didn’t even need to guess where they were headed.
They were walking straight toward the valley that held the Sunflower.
If Wyatt did nothing, the ship would be discovered within two hours. Even TBMs couldn’t hide them from that kind of close-range sweep.
He retreated without being seen.
He didn’t panic.
He’d walked the edge between life and death too many times to waste energy on fear. Calm arrived like an old tool—cold, immediate. He started thinking.
…
Ten minutes later, Wyatt returned to the Sunflower and shared what he’d seen.
Starling, Minks, and the others reacted exactly as he’d expected.
Panic. Questions. Half-formed suggestions.
“What do we do?”
“Hide first?”
“Send someone to lure them away!”
…
“I’ve decided,” Wyatt cut in, raising his voice.
“We leave. Now.”
Dorian’s mandibles tightened. “But the propellers aren’t finished. The carriages aren’t linked. We haven’t even hauled them out. Two hours—there’s no way.”
“One and a half,” Wyatt corrected. “Can you build the propellers on the road?”
Dorian hesitated, calculating. “Yes… but it’ll be much harder.”
“Then that’s fine,” Wyatt said. “You’ll have plenty of time on the road. You can even stop somewhere else if you’ve to. But we move now.”
Dorian swallowed the argument. “Understood. But even if we ignore the propellers, everything else still takes at least an hour. How far can we get in the remaining time? And you said they’ve carriers. We’ll still be spotted.”
“I’ve a plan,” Wyatt said. “You go first. I’ll lure them away and buy you time.”
Starling stared at him. “You’re not coming with us?”
“I’ll catch up,” Wyatt said.
Linneya smacked her forehead. “Oh. Again.”
Minks pointed at the robots still working. “Why not send those units to lure them instead?”
“They can’t adapt,” Wyatt said. “If they get captured, they’ll hand Phantom Forge our trail on a silver plate.”
Big Blue stepped forward. “Then I’ll go with you.”
“No,” Wyatt said. “You protect the convoy.”
Eisen’s voice came tight. “Wyatt… it’s not that I don’t trust you. But this force is huge, and it’s coming for you. Let Big Blue and me—”
“No.” Wyatt cut him off. “Enough. I’ve already decided.”
His gaze swept the group. “Every minute we waste here lowers our chances. Time is short. Everyone moves. We leave within one hour.”
That settled it.
The group scattered, racing through their final preparations.
As Starling turned to go, Wyatt called after her. “Starling—earlier, didn’t you mention the ship still has a few unstable nuclear batteries?”
Starling paused, confused by the timing. “Yes. Lord Julian was worried they might explode. He taught me how to shut them down.”
Wyatt nodded. “Show me where.”
…
Five minutes later, Wyatt stepped out of the Sunflower fully geared.
Everyone else moved fast. When Wyatt emerged, the first carriage was already being hauled out under Dorian’s direction.
By then the sky was completely dark.
Night added a layer of cover to their escape—but it also meant the convoy would have to travel blind.
Dorian saw Wyatt preparing to leave and hurried over.
“Lord Wyatt!”
“You need something?”
“Please… you’ve to catch up quickly this time,” Dorian said, voice small. “If you don’t, we’ll all be… unsettled.”
“I’ll,” Wyatt promised.
Then he remembered something, rummaged in his storage compartment, and produced a small object.
“Look,” he said. “I’ve kept it with me.”
Dorian’s eyes lit up. “The lucky shell!”
He lifted his crablike claw-hands in delight. “Then I’m not worried anymore.”
“See you soon,” Wyatt said.
He patted Dorian on the shoulder and vanished into the darkness.