Cazact sat in his stall, watching morosely as people went slowly by, shopping for boring things to make their boring lives bearable. He knew this black depression for what it was, but after centuries of looking for the cure that plagued his race, he'd given up: There were only so many new things in the world to stave off boredom, and far fewer new people to keep him interested in life. It wasn't their fault that they bored him; he simply knew everything about them.

  He saw Zers walking by, a Myconian fungusformer who enjoyed playing tic-tac-toe and didn't mind going second each time. Within their first five hundred games, Cazact had learned everything about Zers, even things he didn't know about himself. The bee-girl flew by and waved at him with her antennae, a jar of honey held tightly in her arms, and her bees forming an honor guard around her. He had bought honey from her many times; it sold well in Bloth. He had asked every question he could think of about bees and honey, and learned many things from her, but had eventually run out of things to ask. She'd surprised him a few times. He'd thought that the 'dancing' she talked about was some part of her communication with her bees. It was at times, but she also talked of large ritual dances with up to a hundred dancers in one arena, gyrating and singing, telling legendary stories, and entertaining audiences. It was intriguing, and he made it a point to talk with her each time he returned to this market. But like all the others, he exhausted their 'newness' and they became boring.

  It was that way with all of the short-lived races. Each one only had so much new knowledge that he could coax out of them, and too many knew the same things. Especially the Myconians. Like any other semi-telepathic race with a controlling hive-mind, they shared thoughts too freely. He needed something new today. Boredom led to this black depression, and could lead to death. It was why he was returning to Bloth ahead of schedule. The sheer terror of the city and the daily struggle of surviving there erased boredom and rejuvenated him. Stopping here with his caravan was an obligation. Traveling and seeking new experiences came at a cost, and that cost was the time involved in doing business and turning a profit, even if it meant revisiting familiar places and reconnecting with familiar faces. He gestured to his helpers and put thoughts into their heads to care for any customers who had been here before, while he rested and sorted his memories.

  Milo was happy he'd taken a break from the game and had dinner with his family. Things were slowly coming back into balance between his two worlds. After logging back into the game, he compared the information he had on real-world mushroom farming techniques with what he had from the Myconian methods and the way shrooms were grown in Limburgher Hollow. He saw ways he could improve the process in all three places, despite the differences. Finishing that, he decided to check in on Ziggy and see how he was doing. The industrious young dwarf was working for most of each day, dismantling the damaged chassis and cleaning the parts. Milo's stomach rumbled, complaining that he hadn't eaten in this world yet. Remembering that Grothmar had mentioned a merchant with cheese, he decided to take a tour of the market area and find him.

  His keen nose took him in the direction of a large stall, half of it curtained off as a back room. He recognized some things, but most of the stand held biological oddities such as jars of eyeballs, pickled organs, or oversized hearts, with labels in languages he hadn't encountered yet. The two creatures in the stall resembled cave mantis, but these wore black derby hats, vests, and each had a tie around its neck. As he approached, they quickly played a game of Rock/Scissors/Paper, and the winner approached him.

  "Hello, valued customer. May we interest you in today's special? It consists of three jars of pickled arcbeetle spleen and a pound of mixed tooth powder, essential ingredients in many classic alchemical formulas. How many 'specials' shall I wrap up for you?"

  "None please. I would like a wheel of your fine cheese."

  "Cheese? Are you sure? Cheese is of little potency as either a spell component or potion ingredient."

  Milo pointed to where a stack of chees wheels sat precariously on a shelf. "Then they should be very cheap, since, as you stated, they have little value."

  The other mantis hissed, and the one talking stuttered. "Ah, I am sorry. I'm sure it is a misunderstanding. Those fine cheeses have many uses. I'm sure you can think of some yourself? And of course, that means they are valuable, because you want them."

  "State your price, please, or I leave and you may keep the cheese."

  The mantis turned to his partner, and they touched antennae, communicating in some way, then turned back to Milo. "Eight gold for one fine cheese, seven each for two fine wheels of tasty cheese."

  Milo nodded, "You have five cheeses. Based on the progression of the first two data points, we can conclude you will sell all five at the price of four gold each. I offer twenty gold for five cheeses. Take it or leave it."

  "We accept, with the condition of affirming the sale with the master of the stall. My partner will wrap them in anticipation of a sale."

  The mantis disappeared behind a curtain, then reappeared with who Milo assumed was the master of the stall. The creature was about five feet tall and richly garbed in silk robes of black and grey patterns. At first, Milo thought he was an elderly, bald human, but as they stepped further into the light, he saw that the creature had a light dusting of brown fur and eyes larger than a human's. They stared at Milo for a second and then, sighing, turned to the mantis.

  "You interrupted my relaxation time for a ratkin that wants to buy cheese? This is hardly interesting."

  The mantis looked at Milo and then turned to his master, "This one did not drool, and did not beg. It used logic and turned our words against us to bargain, and brought bargaining to a close by showing a logical, linear progression. We were overcome and had no recourse but to agree to the deal, despite the loss which you will take from our salaries. I had hopes you would cancel the sale and simply berate us, or that you would find this one interesting."

  The master turned to Milo. "My apologies, but I have dealt with your type many times and already find you boring. Tell me something interesting that I don't know, and you may have the cheese, and the Collective will deal with you when you eat it all and become a berserk fiend. Fail, and there will be no cheese for you."

  Milo thought for a moment, casually looking around as if deep in thought, and then said, "One of the eyeballs in that jar is spying on you."

  Cazact paused for a moment, then took the jar from the shelf and poured the contents out on the counter. He picked up a small hammer and stared at the eyeballs. "Which one?"

  Milo smelled formaldehyde and rotten meat. He poked one of the eyeballs that was just slightly better preserved than the others. "This one. It moved on its own, watching me, then went still as you entered. It focused on you when your back was turned."

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  Cazact raised the hammer, and the eyeball sprouted eight thin legs, like a grotesque spider, leaped from the counter to avoid the hammer, and ran off into the market.

  "After it, you idiots. I need to dissect it." The mantis raced off after the spy. Cazact turned to Milo, "You earned your cheese. Please don't become a fiend. I wish to talk to you again." He ran off after the mantis. Milo took the package of five cheese wheels and went to see what Ziggy was up to.

  Arriving at the small camp, he found Ziggy hard at work. The small sliver of cheese had invigorated him, and he put on his coveralls and got to work on the bear. They were slowly taking off the burned and acid-scorched parts, making sketches of each part and its use. He knew that he would remember it all, but he wouldn't be the only Engineer involved in the rebuilding project. Once past the fused metal pieces, he discovered a well-made machine that had suffered decades of neglect. A nymachine that goes into battle puts a lot of stress on the components, and Ursula had seen many battles.

  His new assistant was progressing, and this was exactly the type of work he needed: still familiar, but pushing into new territory. His knowledge of Ursula was limited, but helpful. He and Milo had constructed a crude workshop around the bear, rather than trying to move the multi-ton machine somewhere. True to form, the other dwarves hadn't cleaned up their space well and left most of their stall. Milo took what he needed and paid to have the rest cleaned up and recycled. He'd also purchased a half dozen large tables and some bookshelves to help store and sort the parts as they disassemble the machine bit by bit.

  Having the workspace where the battle had taken place was also convenient for testing the different types of snail shells and noting their tensile strength, resistance, and how much force it took to cut them into smaller pieces. The organic armor was interesting and held some advantages over steel plating. And if the shells of the Battle Snails could be compared to steel plates, the huge shell from Gargantua was battleship armor. With its high resistance to physical force, acid, and heat, he could envision uses for a shipyard that was building a fleet of unique submersibles. The shells also had a use besides armor plates. He'd learned that when ground and mixed with certain liquids, the powdered shell turned into an excellent adhesive. It was the basis of the well-made roads the Myconians had running all over their realm. Milo wanted to test the substances with different additives to see if he could produce new waterproofing and adhesive substances. He kept Ziggy hard at work, cleaning machine parts, grinding snail shells, and taking notes on their various experiments.

  The explosion had scattered the large sections of shell across the lower cavern. Milo and Ziggy had retrieved nearly all of them, stacking them around their work area and using chunks as makeshift tables. It had been hard work in the hot, moist cavern, but the ground was spongy and ideal for dragging the pieces like sleds. The superheated steam from the plasma had done a good job of scouring the shell pieces clean.

  Myconian workers were busy rebuilding their mulch beds and processing the meat and organs from the piles of slain snails. Milo watched them with interest. Building the mulch beds was a complicated process that used layers of different types of substrate to provide the structure that the mushrooms and warforms grew from. He'd read about much of the process, but observing added details and nuance. A new substrate would be formed from the piles of snail meat and organs. Mulch was made mostly from organic plant and fungal material, with the addition of unknown chemical compounds that the Myconians purchased from the city of Bloth. The new mulch beds being constructed would have layers of substrate and chemicals, topped off with a thin layer of mulch. The texts were unclear on what type of chemicals, but hinted that they added flavor and potency to the mulch. Other flavorings were added as well, such as fruit, nuts, and spices. He understood that these were more of a personal preference among the Myconians who could afford such things.

  Water was carefully added at the top of the slope to each area and filtered downhill into the other beds. With everything in shambles at the start and many workers moving around, it was easy for Milo to take samples and examine the water at each stage. With his huge knowledge of chemistry and growing knowledge of Alchemy could measure the potency of the chemicals in the water. Even after descending through numerous beds of mulch, the water still held 50% of the chemical residue it had held at the top. Fully half of the chemicals used to enhance the Warforms were feeding into the little stream that flowed into one of the caverns and on into the breeding area of the snails. It was a highly inefficient and wasteful setup, and it didn't have to be. He began drawing out plans for a simple water reclamation system, then drew up plans for several ways to power it.

  The Myconians liked to do things with muscle power and had little in the way of technology. If Milo were setting up the system himself, he'd prefer an overhead holding tank and gravity-fed lines to sprinkler heads above each bed that would drop controlled amounts of moisture and nutrients. Water from each bed would feed into pipes that led to a lower tank, with a pump that sent the water through a filter to remove sediment and send the water back to the main tank. But for the Myconians, he drew up simpler plans. The existing stream would feed to a settling pond and then a second pond where a pump powered by four Warforms would send the water to the ceiling, and then down a sloping pipe to the front of the cavern, where it could be recycled and flow back down again. This solved two problems: It cut chemical needs by 50% and stopped the flow of nutrients that were creating the increasingly bigger snails.

  He was just tidying up the plans when he saw a group of people, led by Grothmar, heading down to the lower part of the caverns. They were followed by four Warforms and a half-dozen normal Myconians in fancy dress. Something about the group bothered Milo, and there was a buzzing in his head. He looked hard at the three people behind Grothmar, examining them through his goggles and zooming in. They were of different heights and builds, but concealed by black hooded cloaks, long black robes, and they wore steel masks on their faces. One was tall and thin, the second short and fat, and the third, in between the others, had a long tail like a lizard following him. Each had a set of tanks on their back with tubes running to their masks, their metal gauntlets, and under into their robes in several places.

  Milo stopped working and wiped the grease from his hands. His staff was close at hand, and his spanner was on his belt. Ziggy grabbed a wrench, nervously. "Oboy, those guys are back."

  "You know them?"

  "They talked to Dagmar once. Ur-Khemists from Bloth. They argued with him about the Bear and said they'd be back for her."

  "Did they? Well, this may get interesting then."