The chamber clicked somewhere near Sera's ankles. A panel dropped open, then jammed halfway, stuck at an awkward angle. Something behind it spat a shower of small metal fragments as gears chewed themselves apart.
Kearns stared, horrified. "That's it," she breathed. "The core housing's shot. The support grid is fractured. Even if we had replacement parts—which we don't—we'd have to strip the entire chamber to the frame."
Mercer finally turned his head enough to acknowledge her.
"How long," he asked, "to build another?"
"In this economy?" Kearns laughed once, sharp and humorless. "With what supply chains? Years, if ever. We can't rebuild Nine. We'd be lucky to cobble together something half its precision, and that's assuming nothing else breaks between now and then."
The corner of Mercer's eye twitched.
He looked back at Sera, hanging above the wreckage that had been his most sophisticated tool.
She met his gaze calmly.
