Dusk settled over Mount Clear Sky in layers of blue and violet. Long shadows stretched across the granite switchbacks.
Above the lodge, the three-hundred-foot second sun hung in perfect balance. Its wild flares were gone. It was now a smooth amber sphere, spreading steady warmth across fifty thousand square miles of the southern provinces.
On the porch, Austin rocked slowly in his oak chair with his boots resting on an empty nail keg.
A mug of jasmine tea steamed on the side table. Beside it sat a plate with two solar eggs, fried crisp at the edges and dressed with black vinegar and sesame oil.
Under the porch, Cerberus Pug slept on his greasy moving blanket.
Snore-whistle... Snore-puff... Snore-snort.
Three Golden Sun-Crows preened on the copper lightning rods above the lodge. Their beaks snapped with tiny sparks as they drew power from the second sun. One by one, they tucked their heads beneath their wings.
In the valley depot, the silver Sunset Express glided into its bay. Its magnetic drive faded to a quiet purr.
Hummmm-click.
Austin sipped his tea.
“End of shift,” he said. “Job’s in the dry.”
He opened the master system console.
Austin reviewed the site with the quiet satisfaction of a contractor finishing a punch list.
On Floor 1, automated ore sorters ran their night cycle. Copper, quartz flux, and iron scrap dropped into separate hoppers while the control board showed a row of green lights.
On Floor 2, the fifty-ton forging press cooled in standby. Stacks of treaty silver-steel waited beside it.
On Floor 3, coolant moved through the heat exchangers, and the aquifer dynamos helped hold the battery bank at ninety-eight percent. Floors 4 and 5 remained on standby. Below them, survey markers already outlined the future Floors 6 through 9.
“One exawatt of steady power. Thirty-G local gravity, still balanced with lead ballast. A two-thousand-mile railway. Twelve warships converted into cranes. Monthly supplies guaranteed by treaty.”
The lead straps had left red marks across his shoulders. Austin rubbed one through his shirt and made a note for the next project: Replace temporary ballast with a permanent gravity support. Stable did not mean painless.
He ate a forkful of egg.
“Zero cave-ins. Zero lost-time injuries. Zero electrical fires. That’s how you close out a project.”
Before he could reach his tea, an arcade jingle sounded behind his eyes.
BA-DA-BING!
A gold prompt replaced the status sheet.
Austin stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth.
He removed his glasses, cleaned them on his cuff, and read the prompt again.
Thousands of wealthy, high-level cultivators were preparing to cross ten thousand leagues at their own expense. The system wanted to sell them tickets and manage their raid parties.
Austin lowered his fork. A wide grin spread across his face.
“Automated ticketing? You’re telling me thousands of proud old experts will form ten-man parties, travel here on their own dime, and pay admission to walk through my basement?”
He slapped his knee.
“That’s not an invading holy army. That’s paying foot traffic!”
He jumped up and began pacing.
“Five hundred spirit stones for general admission. Twelve hundred for expedited entry. Five-stone locker fee for spatial rings, so they can’t sneak outside food into the queue. Concession stands with roasted corn, iced jasmine tea, and sausages on a stick. Then a gift shop at the exit with plastic hard hats and foam pipe wrenches!”
He leaned over the rail toward the freight elevators.
“And the maintenance savings! The Floor 1 conveyor has three weeks of quartz buildup on its transfer chutes. Route a raid party through Maintenance Tunnel 4-B and tell them it’s an earth-element courage trial. They’ll chip it clean for free and pay me five thousand stones for the privilege!”
He opened the loot-table settings.
“Ninety-eight percent crushed granite. One point nine percent scrap copper fittings. Point one percent autographed safety glasses. Some elder will frame a brass compression nut and hang it in his ancestral shrine.”
Austin called down to the staging yard, where Tie Kuang and Jiang Taixu were putting away tools.
“Tie Kuang! Jiang! Get up here!”
The two men hurried up the porch steps. Tie Kuang still held a grease meter, and Jiang carried a framing square.
“Master Chu, did another fleet cross the border?” Tie Kuang asked.
“Better. We’re entering the hospitality business. Start the Floor 1 printing presses. We’re rezoning the underground complex as a commercial raid dungeon.”
Austin pointed with his pencil.
“Jiang, I want three brass turnstiles at the valley entrance by sunrise. Set up queue rails and a sign that says, ‘Average Wait from This Point: 45 Minutes.’ Tie Kuang, clear the old receiving office on Floor 1 and turn it into a souvenir shop. Sunset Peak mugs, model trains, and hard-hat keychains. Stock the shelves before the first crusaders arrive.”
He tapped the brim of his Sovereign Hard Hat.
“Great Yan is connected. The second sun is stable. And the boss dungeon is open for business.”