Chapter 76

Sidekick

Alexander stepped out of Precision Unlimited’s workshop into the station’s eternal twilight. His shoulders slumped from exhaustion, but his stride remained confident despite the seventy-two hours of near-continuous work. Behind him, three sets of black armor floated in formation: chest plates, bracers, shin guards, and thigh pieces, all suspended by his Metallokinesis. He wore the fourth set himself, though his bracers were replaced by the specialized gauntlets he’d spent the last twelve hours perfecting.

Droney hummed forward, taking point. Without prompting, the three other drones shifted into a diamond formation with Droney at the tip, moving with the coordination of a trained squad.

Alexander frowned. He hadn’t programmed that behavior. He’d ended up building customized command chips for each drone, painstakingly tailoring the processors to their specific functions. He wasn’t skilled enough yet to write universal code that could handle Augustus’s shield protocols, Annie’s chaos systems, and Talia’s magnetic manipulation on standardized architecture without conflicts or decision tree delays. Each drone needed its own dedicated chip with hardcoded behaviors. Yet somehow they were coordinating, despite having completely different command structures.

“Droney,” he said, voice rough from too little sleep and too much coffee. “Did you just… organize them?”

A single beep.

Over the past three days, he’d fallen into the habit of talking to the drone during the lonely workshop hours. Somewhere between hour thirty and forty, when the gauntlet designs had started blurring together, Droney had started responding regularly. One beep for yes or affirmative. Two for no.

“Right.” Alexander rubbed his eyes, pulling up his System messages as he walked. “At least someone’s thinking clearly.”

Augustus had sent updates every day, careful not to distract but keeping him informed. Alexander scrolled through them, his exhausted mind parsing the information. The island base looked incredible: Mediterranean paradise, three-story mansion built into a cliff, private beach, multiple defensive positions. Talia reported that the medical facility in the basement was aiding the Syltharian’s recovery.

He paused at one message. The aliens have volunteered to help. Annie’s taken to calling them her henchmen. You’ll see.

“Henchmen?” Alexander muttered. “What did she do now?”

The base layout Augustus had attached showed extensive grounds and an unfinished subbasement level two. Alexander’s mind immediately catalogued the space. Perfect for a workshop. Proper ventilation already in place, reinforced flooring that could handle industrial equipment, isolated from living areas. He’d need to source materials, but—

Movement in his peripheral vision snapped him back to the present. The plaza around him had filled with the usual mix of normal people along with superhumans, mercenaries, and people who preferred their business unobserved. But today felt different. Eyes lingered on him. Conversations died as he passed.

A group of mercenaries tracked his movement across the plaza. One nudged his companion, pointing. Another raised a device.

The bounty. Of course. Gabriel’s offer had probably spread through every corner of human space by now. Ten million credits for his head, dead or alive.

Alexander kept walking, maintaining his casual pace despite the growing attention. More devices appeared. Phones, tablets, even a few drones swooping in for better angles.

His exhaustion crystallized into cold annoyance.

He raised his hand in a dismissive wave, clicking his tongue. Every electronic device in a one hundred-meter radius died instantly. Phones went black. Tablets flickered and failed. Recording drones plummeted from the air, crashing onto the plaza’s steel decking with expensive-sounding crunches.

“What the hell—”

“My fucking drone!”

“That was recording—”

The crowd’s attention shifted to a particularly large mercenary near a shop front. The man had been leaning against the wall, chrome arms folded, studying Alexander with the kind of look that suggested he was calculating the odds against the credit value.

The mercenary’s eyes widened as his cybernetics locked completely. His arms remained frozen mid-fold as his legs seized, and he toppled sideways like a felled tree. The impact rang through the plaza, his arms still locked in position as he lay face-down on the deck.

Muffled cursing emerged from beneath him.

Alexander turned down a hallway without looking back, heading for the private doorway the Queen had arranged for black card holders. Behind him, the plaza erupted in arguments and the sound of someone trying to flip over two hundred kilograms of cybernetically-locked mercenary.

The private exit room waited at the end of an otherwise empty corridor. Alexander approached the security scanner, black card somewhere in his pockets, but couldn’t be bothered to fish it out. He touched the panel and pushed with Technopathy, overriding the lock. The door opened into a sparse room with a single mahogany doorway standing in the middle. He stepped through, and Mediterranean heat hit him immediately, such a stark contrast from the station’s recycled air that he actually staggered.

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Sunlight. Real, warm, natural sunlight painted golden across white stone. The scent of wild herbs and citrus mixed with salt air. After three days in an industrial workshop breathing ozone and machine oil, it felt like stepping into another world.

He emerged onto a massive terrace, the equipment still floating obediently behind him. The view stole his breath. To his left, a private beach curved along crystal-blue water, white sand bright in the afternoon sun. Directly ahead, the mansion rose three stories, all glass and stone and excessive opulence. To his right, the pool complex sprawled across the terrace, complete with what looked like a full outdoor kitchen.

“Holy shit, is that—Alex!”

Annie’s voice cut through his exhaustion-fog. She was lounging on an inflatable pool float shaped like a giant piece of pizza, wearing heart-shaped sunglasses that could only have come from the estate’s more questionable basement inventory. Her shirt declared in bold letters: ‘GRIMNIR 1 STAR TITAN 0 SANTIATO SUCKS.’

Alexander squinted at it as she climbed out, water streaming off her. “Annie… did you misspell Santiago?”

She looked down at her shirt, confused. Then her eyes widened. “Aww damn it! And like fifty people ordered copies already!” She groaned, pressing her palms against her eyes, knocking the ridiculous sunglasses askew. “They sold out in like an hour too!”

“You’re selling merchandise?” Alexander’s voice came out flat. “While we have a continental bounty on our heads?”

“Building the brand!” Annie shot back, recovering quickly. She rushed over to examine the floating equipment, water still dripping from her hair. “Oh my god, is that my drone? Is that—did you paint it with glitter?”

“Among other things.”

Two of the aliens had noticed his arrival. The rock being went back to reading a book, each page turned with an incredible act of patience. The multi-limbed one descended from where it had been trimming dead fronds from a palm tree with four arms while using the others to hold a ladder.

“Come on,” Annie said, grabbing his arm. “Everyone’s inside. You look like death, by the way.”

“Feel worse.”

They headed through glass doors into a living room that looked like something out of a fancy magazine. Augustus sat at the dining table, reading something on his tablet with a cup of tea at his elbow. He’d settled into a domestic role the past few days, working to get the place habitable, now wearing a linen shirt and slacks that somehow still looked formally pressed.

Talia was in the kitchen, slicing tomatoes for a sandwich she was carefully constructing. She’d clearly taken a break from meditation, though the golden vial sat on the counter within arm’s reach. Knowing her, she was actively keeping her focus on it even while doing something as mundane as making lunch.

“Alexander!” Augustus rose, genuine warmth breaking through his usual composed demeanor. “Good timing. How did the—” He paused, taking in Alexander’s state. “When did you last sleep?”

“What day is it?”

“That’s not encouraging.”

Alexander set the equipment down carefully, the armor sets arranging themselves on the coffee table while the drones hovered at attention.

“So,” he said, deflecting from Augustus’s question about sleep. “How’s everyone been? The place looks good.”

“I’ve been getting us properly settled,” Augustus said, gesturing around. “This place was… technically furnished, but barely livable. The previous owner had interesting priorities.” A subtle grimace suggested memories of the basement. “I’ve also been working on my shields when time permits.”

Talia looked up from her sandwich construction. “Meditating on the serum, mostly. Building the concept before injection. The Nakamura method requires absolute clarity of intent.” She paused, adding a perfectly centered slice of cheese. “Twelve hours a day, minimum.”

“And Annie’s been training her henchmen,” Augustus added with that subtle smile returning.

Before Alexander could ask what that actually meant, footsteps echoed from the stairs. Gilly descended, carrying Chilli on one arm. The alien had improved dramatically in three days. Where before his movements had been cautious and pained, now he walked with growing confidence. His English, while still broken, had progressed remarkably.

He stopped upon seeing Alexander, his six eyes widening. Then, in a gesture so formally human it had to have been practiced, he performed a deep bow.

“Greeting to great sidekick,” Gilly said, his voice carrying harmonious undertones. “We thank for saving. We thank for home. We promise to help best we can.”

Chilli squawked. “Pretty bird! Sidekick! Pretty sidekick!”

Gilly straightened, nodded once more with grave dignity, and continued toward the terrace doors, already speaking to the bird in his own language.

Just before stepping outside, he paused and turned back to Annie. Three of his six eyes closed in what had to be an attempt at a wink. It was slow, deliberate, and so exaggerated that everyone saw it.

Alexander stood frozen. Augustus was equally surprised, and Talia had paused in the middle of placing a perfect swirl of mayonnaise.

Annie doubled over, wheezing with laughter.

“Sidekick?” Alexander asked slowly.

Annie couldn’t breathe. She was on the floor now, holding her stomach.

“Annie,” he said, voice dangerously level. “What did you tell them?”

She gasped for air between laughs. “I told them—sidekick meant great leader—” Another wheeze. “But I felt bad—told them the truth right after—” She could barely get the words out. “And he’s still doing it anyway!”

Alexander looked at the terrace door where Gilly had disappeared, then down at Annie, who was now lying flat on her back, tears streaming from her eyes.

“So he knows it means—”

“Yes!” Annie wheezed. “He knows! And he tried to wink! He’s just—he’s committed to the bit!”

“They’re never going to stop calling me that, are they?”

“Never,” Annie managed between gasps. “It’s—it’s a thing now!”

Despite his exhaustion, despite everything, Alexander felt his mouth twitch. Then he was laughing too, the sound rusty from disuse but genuine.

When they finally recovered, Alexander gestured to the equipment.

“Come on. Let me show you what three days and three million credits bought us.”

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