I stayed up all night, tinkering with the Rube Goldberg device and trying to get just a few more seconds per conversation out of it. Adjust a wire here, tweak how the Charge entered the fuses there, tighten a bolt or loosen a screw—whatever I could think of to increase its efficiency and decrease its likelihood of melting down, I tried.

  And after every tweak, when the projector had cooled down enough, I’d start it back up again for a question or two.

  “What does life force actually do for higher-tier planets? Why do they need more of it?”

  Life force is a stabilizing element. The Universal Order needs it to balance out their worlds. Tier One and Tier Two worlds have an imbalance in favor of Uplift-path people. The face had shifted. It wasn’t Leana Collins anymore—at least not as often. Right now, it was an alien I didn’t recognize, but I did recognize the energy in his eyes. He was a Voltsmith. Because their societies operate with so many Uplift-path people and so few Advance-path people, they require a source of additional life force.

  “But why?” I asked. The machine was heating up again. It wouldn’t be long before I had to shut down for a while again.

  Why does Integration favor the path of Advancement?

  “Huh. I hadn’t thought about that.” I reached over, disconnected the machine, and pondered that question while I removed a wire and replaced it with a conduit and a massive, full-size Runner heart. Hopefully, converting Charge into its fluid form would increase the speed I could pull it away from the projector.

  The path of Advancement. There’d been a choice to make, way back in Phase One. It hadn’t been official. Advance or Uplift. I’d chosen to advance, and my path since then had been gaining experience, going up in levels and ranks, and, most commonly, fighting. But people like Calvin and Jessica had chosen the other option. Calvin had a huge pile of skills he could draw on, but he was almost useless in a fight—especially compared to Tori, Zane, or Carol.

  Integration was built to favor Advancement, but not completely discourage Uplifting. That had to be intentional. It had to be the harvesting process.

  I waited until the machine was cooled down, then fired itup again.

  “What’s the reasoning behind slow-rolled Integration?” I asked as soon as Leana’s face appeared.

  Unknown.

  Damn. I scratched my head for a moment. “Is Integration so violent specifically to harvest life force?”

  Yes. The process of intense, planet-wide violence increases the amount of Charge available. The alien’s face appeared on the projector again. That Charge, however, is worthless.

  “And how does the Universal Order benefit from that Charge, then?”

  Unknown.

  That was a lie. It had to be. The world engine knew how the Universal Order benefited from the increased Charge.

  “Is Charge natural?”

  Life force is natural. Charge is artificially excited life force.

  “What about resonance? How does that relate to what you just said?”

  Resonance is critical. As Charge resonance grows, it starts to enter an excited state. From there, the World Engine can be instructed to begin harvesting operations.

  An excited state. Fluid Charge, maybe? “How?”

  Before the world engine, or whatever I was talking to, could answer, the machine started to overheat, and I shut it down. This time, I reversed the second fuse, then aligned the wires to accommodate that reversal. It was a long shot, but maybe a longer path would slow down the overheating. It worked in some machines, and heat sinks were always a good idea. Big radiators would be my next addition, but those would take more work than I wanted to do.

  The machine finally turned on again after ten minutes of fiddling with the wires and then twiddling my thumbs. I was on the cusp of something important.

  “You said earlier that the Waypoint Beacon was part of the process for harvesting a world. How does that work?”

  The Waypoint Beacons are a long-improved creation. The Universal Order and its various constituent parts are all in a constant struggle to make it more efficient, less reliant on its precise location, and easier to activate. The current iteration is a result of my work just after my own Integration. They are control systems for the World Engine.

  A chill ran down my spine. What the alien had just said confirmed everything I’d thought about the Waypoint Beacons. This was the tool I’d use to rewrite the rules of Integration. This was the weapon I’d wield against the Consortium and Universal Order.

  “How do I use it?”

  To activate the Waypoint Beacon from a planet’s surface, it must be connected to the World Engine manually. The sheer amount of time and resources required to accomplish that would be impossible to deploy during Integration itself. However, the Consortium and other entities like it have the ability to activate Waypoint Beacons remotely and give the World Engine commands.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  I believe a manual activation would override the remote ones, but this has never been tested.

  “One more question. What do you know about Tier Six dungeons?” I asked, holding my breath.

  This World Engine has never encountered a Tier Six dungeon. However, they go deep. Very deep.

  “Thank you. I’ll work on the projector, see if I can improve it any more, and contact you again soon.” I took a deep breath and unplugged the machine for the last time.

  I had a lot to think about.

  I finally had a clear plan.

  Mostly.

  In a good machine, there were no unnecessary components—and conversely, everything in it was necessary. Right now, I had no parts I knew I didn’t need, but I was missing a few key pieces I did.

  What I had was pretty solid, though.

  Get a Tier Six dungeon. Clear it. Exit from a different location than I’d entered using principles of Voltsmithing. Bring the Waypoint Beacon into contact with the World Engine on the other side of the Tier Six dungeon. Manually override the World Engine and change the rules of Integration for Earth.

  Easy.

  Just a few minor problems.

  For one thing, I still had no idea how to get a Tier Six dungeon deployed to Earth. Without the dungeon, the rest of the plan was worthless. Voril, the Integration manager I’d met briefly after we’d cleared the Seared Wilds Tower, might have a solution, but I didn’t have access to her, couldn’t beat her in a proper fight, and definitely couldn’t convince her to help me. Barring that, I was low on ideas.

  Then there was the second problem—delivering the Waypoint Beacon to the World Engine. I had no clue how to move the thing through an unknown dungeon, and until I did, I couldn’t risk even attempting it. Museumtown was better off continuing with Integration than dying because I took a wild risk.

  And finally, there was the stop. The way out.

  Everything else would be relatively easy to solve for. I didn’t have those solutions yet, but they existed. I could figure out a way to deploy a Tier Six dungeon several phases early. I could figure out a way to move a multi-ton machine through an incredibly hostile, difficult dungeon. Those were things that were possible.

  The Universal Order wasn’t a solvable problem, though. It was too big, too powerful. I couldn’t imagine building a device, even with all the Voltsmithing skills I had access to, that could protect Earth from a literally universe-spanning organization that harvested planets. It was just too big for a mechanic from Cozad, Nebraska, to solve.

  This whole thing was too big a problem for a mechanic from Cozad to solve, really. I wasn’t a genius. I was pretty good at fixing engines, and I did okay with tools back on the farm, but school and politicking hadn’t ever been my thing. I was missing too much, and too many people were counting on me. Tori, Jessica, Calvin, and the rest of Museumtown. The Rat’s Nest—I hadn’t solved their problem, just given them a possible way to delay it a little. The West Siders.

  And, even though they didn’t know it, Mom, Dad, and Beth.

  I couldn’t help but think about Beth. My relationship with my sister had turned into another problem I couldn’t solve. Even before I’d gone to Chicago, it had been bumpy. But after—and especially when I hadn’t come back for her graduation—it had gotten worse and worse. Her disappearance wasn’t something that had just happened out of the blue; she’d always been the odd child out on the farm, and she’d relied on me a lot more than I’d realized. But I couldn’t have been there for her. It hadn’t been possible. Had it?

  After pondering it for a long, long time, I shrugged and closed up the lab, climbed the ladder, and watched the sun rise over Lake Michigan. The shoreline looked wrong, with chunks of Solemnus Six covering sections of water, but the sheer number of brambles had lowered a bit. The Waypoint Beacon was doing to Chicago what it had done in Green Bay. It’d be a slow process, and it had only been running for a few days, but with time, the city might look something like what it once had.

  Maybe that was the solution. Maybe, with enough time, things would work out. I could keep on working through Phase Three—keep on pushing and gaining the levels I’d need to clear a Tier Six dungeon—and look for ways to make one happen while I waited. If it took until the end of the phase, that’d be fine.

  The sun was just about up, its light reflecting beautifully off the lake, when I stood up, yawning, and headed back toward Museumtown.

  But before I got there, a new message appeared.

  The Field Boss [Rust-Belt Wyvern] has been engaged!

  Bobby Richards had no idea what the fuck was going on in Gary, Indiana, but he hated it.

  His momma had always said never to throw away a possible ingredient. She’d been talking about baking, not…whatever Bobby was trying to do, but the principle was the same. The thing was, Bobby had been trying to follow that idea. A long-shot bet still had a shot, and of all the places Bobby had visited, the Fireborn Crusade had felt like a long-shot bet. Sure, it might’ve made it, but it was much more likely to take down other investments with it when it failed. If it had just been money, he’d have tossed a few chips down.

  But it hadn’t been money. It had been time—sweet, irreplaceable time—and hard-won influence. So, Bobby Richards had made a different bet.

  He’d bet wrong.

  Not on Hal Riley. That man had so much god damn upside that he’d have taken way worse odds on him winning. But maybe Green Bay hadn’t been the place to spend his resources.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Robert Reynold Richards,” the man sitting on the floor across a low table from him said quietly.

  “First, Robert’s my father. Bobby, please.” Bobby shifted uncomfortably. He was well and truly surrounded by men and women with burn marks on their heads, and the bearded figure in front of him was no exception. He was, however, much more dangerous to his plans than anyone Bobby had ever met.

  Chen Liu: Level Thirty-Four

  Class: Flameseeking Scryer

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Bobby said just as quietly. “I’m making the best offer I can here, and—“

  “I am aware. However, there exists no future in which your actions are a significant benefit to the Fireborn Crusade.” The old, white-haired man picked up his mug and drank deeply. Froth stuck to his mustache, and he wiped it away with a sleeve. “My nephew was many things. A dreamer. A hard worker. And, above all else, a monster. However, he built something here, and my visions have shown me the best way to help the people he was trying to save—yes, by force, but still save.”

  “Understood. Well, I’ll be on my way, then.”

  “Yes, you will. Guards, let him go free.”

  Bobby stared at the blind man. “You’re serious?”

  “Absolutely. There exists no future in which your actions are a significant problem for the Fireborn Crusade, either.”

  Bobby bowed just a little, then took the offered hand and shook it. “Pleasure doing business with you, Chen Liu.”

  “And you, too, Bobby Richards. Good luck in your quest.”

  As Bobby left the chemical tank-turned-palace on the edge of Lake Michigan and started walking north, he shivered. Oracles were always better gamblers than he was, and he hated them for it.