Chapter 69: Friends

He wisely chose not to comment, instead giving her something to give her a bit of reassurance.

"It’s not a proper field mission," he explained. "More of a training exercise. I can’t even use runes yet, so they won’t be sending me off to do anything important, or particularly dangerous."

"That doesn’t mean nothing can happen."

Frost looked down at his right hand.

He knew that better than most.

For the past few weeks, the thought of going outside had been something to look forward to.

After so long moving between the same rooms and corridors, even another trip into the hunting grounds sounded appealing.

He wanted to see whether the training had made a difference somewhere other than a practice floor, and perhaps, for once, he could stand beside the others instead of hiding behind a tree.

But Jasmine’s expression brought back the memory of how quickly his last ordinary job had gone wrong.

He flexed his fingers, then looked at her again.

"I’ll be careful," he assured her, more seriously this time.

She held his gaze for a moment before nodding.

"Good."

Frost shifted on his stool, feeling a little awkward. He hadn’t expected her to look so troubled, though perhaps he should have.

He had been visiting the workshop often enough that the place had become familiar, and somewhere between the long conversations and the occasional argument with Deadlock, Jasmine had become a friend.

He hadn’t really stopped to think about when that had happened.

Most of their time together was spent discussing whatever she was making, with Frost asking questions and Jasmine explaining things until she either needed to concentrate or remembered that he had somewhere else to be.

Sometimes, he simply sat nearby with his book while she worked. They didn’t always need to talk.

She was only human, after all. Spending so much time shut away in this stuffy workshop, surrounded by unfinished equipment and a machine, couldn’t have been particularly pleasant.

Frost’s visits gave her someone to complain to, someone who would listen when she became excited about an idea, and, occasionally, someone who remembered to bring her food.

In return, she had opened up a whole side of this world that he had barely considered.

He had also learned a little more about her master.

Goldwyn was an influential figure in Linden, holding an official position that Jasmine had been rather vague about describing.

Not many people knew he was affiliated with Zero Dawn, and Frost had been sensible enough not to press her for details she didn’t seem willing to share, if she was even allowed to.

It was an odd arrangement, though perhaps that explained how a resistance group could maintain a workshop like this.

The man had other apprentices scattered across different cities, but Jasmine was the one left handling much of the base’s repetitive work.

Maintenance, repairs, replacing worn inscriptions, checking equipment before it went out, and then checking it again when someone brought it back damaged.

Goldwyn sent instructions, expected results, and apparently considered sleep a minor inconvenience.

Her own experiments usually happened in whatever time she managed to steal between those tasks.

That made the little device on the far side of the workbench even more impressive.

"How’s the motor coming along?" Frost asked, turning towards it.

Jasmine’s expression brightened.

"Better. I changed the fitting around the shaft."

She pulled it closer, clearing a few scraps of metal out of the way. It was a rough-looking assembly, with exposed parts fixed to a small frame and a set of gears attached to one side.

Frost wouldn’t have called it elegant, but considering how recently they had begun discussing the idea, the fact that it existed at all was astonishing.

"Wow. You actually got it running?"

"For a little while. It still catches sometimes, and I need a better way to keep the whole thing aligned."

She turned it so he could see the section she had adjusted.

"No runes at all?" he asked, unable to help himself.

Jasmine gave him a look.

"You keep asking that."

"Because I keep expecting you to tell me you slipped one in somewhere."

"I didn’t."

Frost leaned closer, grinning.

She really was frighteningly smart.

He had explained the general principles as well as he could, drawing rough diagrams and admitting whenever he reached something he didn’t understand.

Most of what he knew had come from his own interest in mechanics and engineering back on Earth, rather than any proper qualification, but Jasmine had a way of picking apart his explanations until she found something she could work with.

Then she would ask a question he couldn’t answer, frown at the drawing for a while, and return the following day with a new idea.

Some of his suggestions had gone nowhere. Others had turned out to resemble things she already used.

But this one had caught her attention enough that she kept coming back to it, determined to make the mechanism work without relying on an inscription to produce the movement.

Frost reached towards the frame, then stopped and looked at her.

"Can I?"

Jasmine nodded.

He carefully turned one of the gears, watching the others move with it. There was a slight catch partway through, just as she had said, but the assembly continued once he eased it past.

"This is amazing."

"It’s unfinished," she replied, though the pleased look on her face rather undermined the attempt to dismiss his praise.

"It’s still amazing."

She pushed a loose strand of black hair behind her ear and reached for her notes.

"Once I have a reliable version, we can work out what to put it in. There’s no point making a clever little machine if it can’t do anything useful."

Frost nodded, already studying the frame again. He pulled his stool closer as she spread her drawings across the table.

"Show me where it keeps catching."

...

Frost pulled the field suit over his shoulders and stretched his arms into the sleeves, then reached for the fastening running down its front.

Unlike the training clothes he had grown used to, this set had been fashioned specifically for him, and the difference was noticeable.

It fitted closely without pulling uncomfortably around his shoulders or restricting his movements, while the thicker material felt considerably stronger.

The suit was plain, a dull grey with darker sections around the knees, elbows, and sides.

There were no elaborate markings or impressive pieces of armor attached to it, though the padding over the joints was firm enough to offer some protection.

Several pockets had been worked into the trousers and top, positioned where he could reach them without having to twist himself into an awkward position.

He bent his knees, raised his arms, and turned at the waist, testing how it felt.

Nothing caught or pulled, which was reassuring, though he doubted a well-fitted suit would have made much difference against the treant.

After pulling on his boots and checking the straps, he straightened and looked at himself in the mirror.

He certainly looked more respectable than he had as a porter. Whether he could perform well enough to match the appearance remained to be seen.

A knock sounded at the door just as he finished adjusting his collar.

"Ready?"