The explosion of the Koh-I-Noor had shattered more than just an artifact—it had shattered months of planning, forcing Dr. Dew to abandon the original blueprint and pivot to an alternative strategy. If the relic's energy couldn't be controlled, then the only path forward was through technological ingenuity. Plan B. A fully upgraded human spaceship, built not with scraps and salvaged technology but with purpose, foresight, and the raw power of industry.
The solution lay in the vending machine, an anomaly in itself. It could produce items slightly larger than itself but was fundamentally limited in scale. If they were to construct a spacecraft capable of interstellar travel, they needed to modify the vending machine itself—expand it, restructure it, engineer a version capable of producing large-scale components. That meant blueprints. That meant experimentation. That meant failure after failure until success was forged in the crucible of relentless innovation.
Dr. Dew and Leonardo da Vinci immersed themselves in the process. The greatest mind of the Renaissance and the pinnacle of post-human intellect, working in tandem, designing and deconstructing, iterating over and over. The lab became a battleground of ideas. The first prototypes were miniature, scaled-down versions to test structural integrity, output efficiency, and raw material consumption. Some collapsed under their own weight. Others burned through coins at unsustainable rates. The vending machine's core needed energy to function, and the larger the object it produced, the more energy it required. A problem compounded by the sheer quantity of coins necessary to feed that energy demand.
Weeks turned into months. Metal clanged, blueprints were redrawn, equations were adjusted. Failure was a constant, but each failure refined the vision. A critical breakthrough came with an understanding of the internal mechanisms of the vending machine's matter assembly process. It wasn't just a machine—it was an entity that converted mass and energy into tangible form. With that knowledge, they built scaffolding around it, feeding raw materials into a new modular frame, altering its core design while ensuring its stability. The project demanded resources beyond anything they had gathered before. Every ingot of metal, every fragment of knowledge, poured into the goal of making it bigger, stronger, more efficient.
While Dew and Da Vinci pushed the limits of engineering, Paracelsus turned his focus elsewhere. He was no engineer, no architect, but he was a creator of life. If he could not contribute to the vending machine's evolution, then he would ensure the foundation of civilization was stable.
With the population of Synths expanding, their integration into the physical world needed oversight. Virtual simulations, consciousness stability tests, adaptability examinations—every new Synth had to be mentally and physically prepared before stepping into reality. Paracelsus oversaw this transition, ensuring only those ready were allowed to awaken. He monitored their growth, guiding them, testing them. Those who succeeded became workers, builders, contributors to the project. Synths laid foundations, shaped stone, carried materials, assembled components. What had begun as a simple lab expanded outward—a settlement forming around the heart of industry.
A year passed.
What stood now was no longer a mere machine, but a monument to human ingenuity. A towering structure, reinforced with steel and composite alloys, its framework infused with stabilizing mechanisms to handle the immense energy demand. The final version of the modified vending machine stood at the center of a growing town—a settlement born from necessity, its architecture a fusion of three minds.
The meticulous geometry of Leonardo, the functional resilience of Dew, and the philosophical balance of Paracelsus merged into a hybrid of classical artistry and raw industrial might. Stone buildings lined with intricate carvings, reinforced by steel beams. Archways adorned with circuits, walkways paved with materials synthesized from the vending machine's surplus.
And at the center of it all—the vending machine, now a city's beating heart.
Its power could now fabricate the final piece of the puzzle—the starship.
What emerged was a machine of purpose, not a relic of old-world ingenuity, but a vessel built for a new frontier. The Starbound-class human spaceship, enhanced with Synth-modified technology, reinforced with tungsten hull plating, optimized for deep-space travel. It was ready.
Except, there was one final problem.
Fuel.
The ship ran on Erchius crystals—a volatile, high-energy mineral that did not exist on this world. Without it, the engines would never ignite. The project, despite all its success, could go no further.
Dr. Dew, Leonardo, and Paracelsus stood before the completed vessel, a monument to a dream, and yet a tomb to ambition. They had built the impossible, yet still, the stars remained out of reach.
Now, they needed to answer one question:
Where would they find Erchius?
End of Chapter Twenty-Two