33
The rifle barrel was broader and longer than the one Milo had used before. And the components, while similar, were clearly very different.
The Mana Ejection Unit, for example, which handled how the mana was ejected via the barrel, was much more complex in the dwarven version. It even had a small core which provided power to the unit whereas the human version was much more mechanical.
The longer Milo worked on the Mana Ejection Unit, the more he was convinced the reason it should provide greater power was that it wasn’t just shunting raw mana from the Mana Collection Unit to the Mana Ejection Unit and then out the barrel.
It was compressing it first.
Something Milo thought should be impossible.
However, a small set of dwarven glass spheres inside the unit seemed to back up his suspicion by becoming smaller as though the mana should train from one to the next. The glass was getting thicker as though needing to contain greater pressure.
Tania leaned against the workbench and watched him assemble the unit.
She seemed fascinated by what he was doing.
“You’re a real crack hand, Milo,” she said, as he finished screwing down a few gears a quarter the size of his pinkie fingernail. “It’s real neat watching you work.”
“Thanks.” He looked up at her through the goggles, which magnified her eyes.
They were incredibly realistic, he thought.
It was hard to believe they were a thin layer of dwarven glass colored like that.
That beneath those mock eyes was a crystal which worked to translate light into something her Intelligence Matrix could understand.
“I thought you were attending Master Haddrow’s class today. ”
“I decided to skip it,” she said. “Listening to that old coot bang on about how great the new gal is just fires me up.”
“New girl?” He blinked. Then remembered. “Ah, Fulka.”
“Every time I see her, she makes my shoulders itch. It’s like that Fergus creep gave her cooties or something.”
“Cooties?”
“Yeah, you know. Cooties.”
He didn’t know. “Right.”
“Where’s Selma, then?”
“She’s stuck in Master Finklestern’s class. He thinks she’s the whizziest Tank ever.” Tania pursed her lips. “I think he’s just trying to get under her little bikini, ya know?”
Milo shook his head. If anyone tried getting under Selma’s chainmail bikini, he had a feeling they’d end up very bloody. “Should I be worried?”
“Nah. She’s a steady dame. She’ll only break his fingers.”
“Right.” He turned back to the Mana Ejection Unit and stretched his neck.
Felt something pop.
Reaching for a small wafer of silicon wrapped by a frame of dwarven bronze, he slotted it in place before plucking out a few screws to screw it down with.
On a nearby screen, Master Garmstooth was going over strategies for the next dungeon. It was a jungle scenario and its purpose was to test the reaction times of students and their abilities to counter the unexpected.
He emphasized that enemies wouldn’t be so easy to detect.
That it was also the first dungeon to have a random component, so there was a possibility of more elite enemies spawning. Surprise, he announced cheerfully, was a mage’s weakness.
A mage needed to be ready to counter any danger, but because mages specialised by magic type, such as fire or ice, it was easy to be surprised in combat when an enemy is resistant to your magic.
Also, with limited mana and resources, it was more important to be cautious.
Milo’s lips curled slightly at that. He knew Master Garmstooth had aimed that at students who had begun pushing themselves to go faster through the dungeons as they tried to imitate Milo’s success.
They never would, however. How could they hope to compete with golems?
He picked up his iron and started soldering a joint. Blowing on the smoke, he let his mind follow Master Garmstooth’s lecture while sinking lower into that realm which let him work without feeling frustration or impatience when dealing with intricate and delicate components.
Garmstooth was already talking about the dungeon after the jungle one.
It would require a team of four.
And soon, a team of five.
Five was the maximum for dungeon training.
Blowing more smoke out of his eyes, Milo wondered what his fourth golem team member should be. The Workshop only had a few humanoid golems available, and of those he felt only the 11-B and 61-F models were good enough to use.
Should he build another 61-F like Selma?
That seemed a waste.
While so far, Selma and Tania had been able to pretty much cruise through dungeons, they would soon need to start working more consciously in their role as Tank and Scout.
One of his weaknesses was magic.
Not just personally, but as a team. Eventually, they’d have to link with other teams and might end up assigned to missions outside dungeons with other mages. If they got a reputation for never using any magic at all, it could be troublesome to explain.
Fergus was proof of that.
What he needed was a golem which could function as a nexus point for anyone judging the team for their magical abilities.
But how could he do that?
He thought of the golems in the carvings on the walls leading to the Workshop. While many had exotic weapons like sawblades, some were shooting fire from their mouths or what he now took to be bolts of lightning from their arms.
If he could equip a golem with weapons which used lightning or fire, it might fool most mages into thinking they were using magic.
The only problem with that was Milo wasn’t yet confident enough in dwarven technology to consider modifying it with his ideas. And Fed had explained more than once that more complex and military technology such as what was on the wall required access to The Prime.
Lately, everything Milo wanted to do was limited by him not having access to the mysterious Prime.
Fergus had referred to a thing called The Primal Core.
It sounded very coincidental for two things to be named so similarly. But so far, Milo hadn’t discovered what the Primal Core was.
The Paddstone family, though, was a long line of strong mages.
Fergus’ father was an icon of his generation.
Rumor was he would one day rise to take a seat in the Mage Court.
So, if there was a secret thing called the Primal Core, then Milo felt like Fergus and his father would know about it.
Grunting, he set the iron aside and tested the mechanism he’d just installed. Pushing a level made the gears roll against each other with a satisfying smooth series of clicks.
It felt robust, yet efficient.
“Is it finished?” Tania asked.
Milo glanced up, surprised to see Master Garmstooth’s lecture had finished, too.
“I think so.” He lifted the heavy unit in his hands and turned it over, checking his work. Checking the joints. “It feels fine.”
“But will it explode in your face?”
“I hope not.” He set the unit down and reached for a thick tube of dwarven bronze. “I think I’ve got time to finish the muzzle.”
“You should eat first,” she said. “I made you sandwiches.”
He lifted the goggles off his eyes and yawned. “You might be right.”
“Milo, I’m a lady. I’m always right.”
“I don’t think that’s the way it works,” he said with a snort.
“Well, I say it does. And, because I’m a lady, it must be true.”
He reached for one of the sandwiches, his mind ticking over in his head.
Tania really thought of herself as a lady, he thought. And so did Selma. They both acted like they were completely unaware of the fact they were constructs.
Even when they were fighting and they were doing things no human could hope to do, they never forgot to think of themselves as living breathing women.
He wondered at the marvel that was their Intelligence Matrix.
How had the dwarves created such a thing?
He’d tried to see the mechanism himself, but all he could see was a crystal embedded in a wafer of silicon. There were no switches or gears to translate thought into action.
Was it magic?
If it was, why couldn’t mages replicate it? Why had there been no human version? Was it possible that when mages first discovered dwarven technology that they truly didn’t understand or try to understand it at all?
Had they picked up a core, seen the effect it had on their mana capacity, and then just left it at that?
It was hard to believe the mages hadn’t tried to pull them apart to replicate the technology themselves.
What had they discovered?
So far, the mage library had no clue that they’d even bothered.
It didn’t seem likely to Milo, so he assumed they must have studied them in secret. Perhaps there were shadowy groups within the Mage Court dedicated to such study.
The problem with that was something his old master, Fed Sunderland, had said. Once, when a customer was shouting at Milo for something out of his control, Master Sunderland had stepped in and eased the customer’s rage.
Nothing had been resolved. It couldn’t be resolved.
But the customer had walked away with a smug look on his face as though he’d achieved something.
“You need to understand, Milo,” Master Sunderland had said in his kindly way. “People are all selfish and stupid. When you realize this, everything becomes very clear.”
Milo worked one of the bolts on the muzzle, his mind sinking into his work.
He hoped there was a shadowy organization working behind the Mage Court, controlling everything and keeping the world peaceful. Controlling technology so it didn’t fall into the wrong hands.
Because if there wasn’t, then people really were selfish and stupid.
And that was a terrifying thought.
He twirled the little spanner in his hand and tossed it over his shoulder like a bone. With a chitter and clatter of limbs, Clack leapt out of the overhead duct to snatch the spanner out of the air with his front limbs.
Scurrying to the wall, it put the spanner where it belonged.
“Good job,” Milo called softly, causing the spider golem to shiver.
Gears purring, it skittered back into the duct.
Waiting for its next treat.