Blin went quiet for a long moment.
“Sounds familiar,” he said at last. “Can’t place it.”
“Plando once organized a strike on Phantom Forge’s main body,” Matrixling said. “This was before the rebellion. The operation was carried out by the most famous unit of the era—the Arctic Whale Special Ops Team. It remains the only confirmed attempt to attack Phantom Forge’s true core.”
“And it failed,” Blin said.
“Yes.” Matrixling’s voice carried no surprise—only old frustration. “The team was wiped out. Only one member escaped. He was aboard the Sunflower at the time, and he tried to steal a shuttlecraft and flee to Edean.”
Blin’s optics brightened with recognition.
“Edean,” he said. “Right. The earliest shelter on this planet—and a doomsday seed vault.”
Then he turned blunt. “That Janiel. Did she tell you where Phantom Forge’s main body is?”
I’d wanted to ask the same question. Hearing Blin say it out loud, I felt a jolt of hope I hadn’t earned.
Matrixling sighed. “No. She didn’t have time to ask. If she had, I would’ve been willing to stake everything on a decapitation strike.”
Blin and I exhaled at the same time.
“But based on her description, I narrowed it down,” Matrixling continued. “The Arctic Whale team’s base was in the polar region. Phantom Forge’s mainframe should be at the North Pole—or near it.”
“Why?” Blin pressed.
“By that point, Phantom Forge controlled ninety-nine percent of Plando’s smart infrastructure,” Matrixling said. “If the team was going to strike on the same day, they couldn’t have crossed thousands of kilometers through that many ‘eyes’ to hit a target on the far side of the world. The core had to be nearby.”
“All right,” Blin said. “Even so, that’s still a big search area.”
“Better than nothing,” Matrixling replied. “At least we know Edean won’t be far from the Arctic Whale team’s staging base. Janiel fought like hell to preserve the embryo vault—but the planet can’t rebuild itself on embryos alone. We need seeds. All kinds of seeds. As many as we can get.”
There was a faint edge to his tone now—the kind that meant he’d already decided.
“I’ve assembled a squad,” Matrixling said. “They’re heading north to search for both sites. I want you with them.”
“Inside the polar circle, Phantom Forge keeps heavy forces,” Blin said. “That will be a hard infiltration.”
“Yes,” Matrixling agreed. “Bit and the others are ready, but you know how he is. He’ll always find a way to put the team in needless danger. If you can return to lead them…”
“I understand,” Blin said. “Once I top off my energy, I’m moving.”
“Good.” Matrixling sounded almost relieved. “Little White will be thrilled. We’ll rendezvous at the northernmost Boyang Base.”
He paused, then turned to me.
“And Wyatt—Phantom Forge knows about you now. It’s even pulled back forces from the front line. It’s hunting you at full tilt. I’ll stir up incidents to draw its attention, but you must be careful. Move slowly if you’ve to. Don’t expose your position.”
His signal began to stutter, syllables breaking into static.
“I’ll,” I said quickly. “Also, I picked up a capable partner—he’s—Matrixling, sir?”
The receiver flashed.
The channel died.
Blin snorted. “Doesn’t matter. The important parts got through.”
He looked at me, suddenly serious.
“Boyang Base is three days out. Once I’m recharged, I’m leaving. The rest of your route—you’ll have to handle alone.”
“I’ll,” I said. “And you should be careful too. It’s a long way back.”
We traded warnings the way soldiers do when they don’t have the luxury of comfort.
Two hours later, the Nightmare’s recharge was complete. Blin lifted off to return north.
Just before he cut the link, he tossed one last line over his shoulder.
“Stay sharp, idiot. Don’t die.”
During those two hours, Dorian had been busy inside the ruined buildings—rummaging through every corner like a treasure hunter. Every few minutes he would run out and thrust some “great discovery” at me.
Torn photographs. A high-powered pair of binoculars. Small carved statues. A hiking staff. Bottles. Slippers. A framed painting. A leather jacket.
And—somehow—even a human skull.
“I found a god’s skull!” Dorian said, thrilled. He set it on top of his head and posed like a human.
After I’d told him that humans had created Father—and that Father had created us—Dorian had started calling humans gods.
He was sharper than I’d been at his age. Without me explaining, he’d guessed the purpose of half the objects he found.
“All right,” I said once Blin was gone. “We move.”
“Wyatt, sir—can I bring these?” Dorian pointed at the pile of loot.
“No.” I didn’t soften it. “We don’t have space for useless things.”
His shoulders drooped.
I hesitated.
Then I compromised. “Pick one or two. Small.”
Dorian stared at the pile as if it were a moral trial. After a long internal debate, he chose the binoculars and the leather jacket.
Over the next five days, we pushed west through the valleys. The Shadow Falcon spotted patrols more and more often. Matrixling had been right—Phantom Forge had multiplied its patrol units tenfold.
Good thing I had the Shadow Falcon.
And the swordfin whale skull.
We slowed down. We stopped often. We moved only when the air looked clean.
Five days later, we finally cleared the Sunset Mountains. Hard ground gave way to soft sand under the bike’s wheels.
We’d reached the Kabakana Desert.
During those five days, I told Dorian everything I could—human history, basic concepts, the kind of common sense I’d once lacked myself. Dorian was even more curious than I’d been. He asked about everything. Eventually I hit questions I couldn’t answer, so I brought him into my dreamscape and let him search the Old Man’s cabin for himself.
But I never told him the true purpose of my mission.
If I failed… the Sunflower couldn’t be compromised because of what Dorian knew.
He asked twice. Then he stopped asking. All he knew was that it was important.
He stayed energized every day, and he followed orders without hesitation—except for one thing: he insisted on adding “sir” after my name.
Less than a day into the Kabakana Desert, a sandstorm hit.
Dorian’s choices turned out to be smarter than they looked. His chassis was old and full of gaps. He put on the leather jacket, sealing off enough of the openings to keep sand from flooding his joints.
And for once, I welcomed the storm.
When visibility dropped below ten meters, I could finally drive faster—confident the air couldn’t see me.
The storm lasted a full day and night. By morning, the wind began to die.
As soon as it eased, Dorian climbed up onto the whale skull with the binoculars and started scouting.
He looked for a while.
Then he shouted, voice cracking with excitement.
“Wyatt, sir! Come look—there are so many… trees!”
I launched the Shadow Falcon.
The desert spread out around us, dotted with dark green, semi-translucent shapes—like upright footballs planted in the sand. About three meters tall. From a distance, they really did resemble trees.
“They aren’t trees.”
I ran the shape through my database.
The result made even less sense.
I checked again. I ran it a third time. The conclusion didn’t change.
And when I finally spoke, I couldn’t keep the confusion out of my voice.
“Umbrella Worms,” I said. “A prehistoric species. The Kabakana Desert’s apex predators.”