The departure of the Imperial Sovereign left a silence in Oakhaven that felt more like a held breath than a relief. The Lord High Steward's smile had been a declaration of war, and the "Logistical Insight" in Deacon's mind was no longer calculating trade routes—it was mapping fields of fire and points of failure. If the Empire knew about the geothermal siphon, they wouldn't negotiate. They would seize the foundries, conscript the laborers, and drain the mountain until the pressure collapsed.
"We have roughly three weeks before the spring mud dries enough for the Sun-Guard's heavy artillery to clear the Southern Pass," Deacon said, unrolling a structural map of the Section 4-B well-heads.
Miller and Julian stood across from him in the flickering gaslight of the command center. Outside, the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the geothermal pumps, once the sound of prosperity, now sounded like a ticking clock.
"We aren't going to fight a traditional siege," Deacon continued. "If we hide behind walls, they'll eventually breach them. We need to turn the 'Deep-Pulse' from an asset into a deterrent. We're going to install the Scorched-Earth Bypass."
The plan was a brutal masterpiece of engineering sabotage. Deacon intended to rig the primary steam-manifolds with a series of demolition charges and over-pressure valves. If the command center fell, or if a specific "Deadman's Valve" wasn't manually reset every twenty-four hours, the geothermal energy wouldn't be funneled into the turbines. It would be injected directly into the unstable tectonic layers beneath the valley.
"You're talking about triggering a localized earthquake," Miller whispered, his face ashen. "You'd bury the foundries, the canal, and the town. You'd kill everything we've built."
"I'd deny it to the Empire," Deacon said, his voice a cold, hard rasp. "If the Emperor thinks he can march in and take a 'turn-key' industrial superpower, he needs to understand that Oakhaven only exists because we allow it to. We are the masters of the pulse, or no one is."
The "gritty realism" of the preparation was a descent into paranoia. Deacon couldn't trust the general labor force with the truth of the demolition project. He and Miller worked in the dead of night, descending into the steaming, sulfurous depths of the lower shafts. They worked with Nitroglycerin-Doped Gelatin, a volatile and temperamental explosive that required constant cooling to prevent a premature blast.
Every wire they laid for the detonators had to be disguised as part of the new telegraph expansion. Every "safety sensor" they installed was actually a trigger. The heat in the lower shafts was nearly unbearable, reaching 50°C, and the air was thick with the scent of rotten eggs. Deacon's lungs burned with every breath, a physical reminder of the price of his defiance.
"Why are we still building the new locomotive?" Julian asked one evening, gesturing toward the foundry floor where the Mk II 'Vindicator' was being assembled. "If we're just going to blow it all up, why waste the steel?"
"Because the Vindicator is our exit strategy," Deacon replied. "If the 'Deadman's Valve' is triggered, we need a machine capable of outrunning the shockwave. The Vindicator is being built with the 'Solstice-Spec' alloy but without the expansion-lag. It's the only engine in the world that can sustain two hundred and fifty pounds of pressure for a six-hour sprint."
The internal friction of the valley reached a breaking point when Father Silas and the "Traditionalists" noticed the increased security around the well-heads. Rumors began to circulate that the "Iron Lord" was preparing to "poison the earth" to keep it from the Church.
"They're whispering about 'Earth-Slaying,'" Hallow reported, his eyes darting to the armed guards at the foundry doors. "The men are starting to wonder if the Empire might be a kinder master than a man who hides explosives under their homes."
Deacon didn't offer a speech this time. He didn't have the luxury of winning hearts. He realized that the industrial revolution he had sparked had outgrown his ability to control it with logic alone. He was now the warden of a high-pressure cage.
"Tell them to keep their heads down and their shovels moving," Deacon told Hallow. "The Empire is coming for the iron, not the people. If they want to survive the spring, they'll follow the Oakhaven Standard until I tell them to stop."
As the first scouts of the Sun-Guard were sighted on the southern ridgeline, Deacon stood at the "Deadman's Valve"—a massive, brass-handled lever at the heart of the command center. He felt the vibration of the mountain through the floor. He had built a world of steam and iron, and now he was prepared to turn it back into ash.
"The fuse is set, David," Miller said, stepping out of the shadows, his hands stained with the yellow residue of the explosives.
"Then we wait," Deacon said, his hand resting on the lever. "Let's see if the Emperor values the North more than his own life."