For the second week, something strange happened. Soldiers stopped fighting. They just… farmed. Why risk dying when you could just stand near the Generator, let the Crystals pile up, and trade them for luxury goods from the black market? A Crystal was no longer sacred. It was as common as Martian dust.
She didn't take the Generator. She couldn't risk moving it. Instead, she activated her tank’s overdrive, scooped up a single crate of the newly formed Crystals, and sped back toward Armada lines, leaving the doctor alone with his miracle. For the second week, something strange happened
Back at the Armada stronghold, she fed the first handful of infinite Crystals into the foundry. The effect was instantaneous. A Viking tank that should have taken a day to repair was rebuilt in thirty seconds. A Railgun that had no ammo suddenly glowed with a full capacitor. Why risk dying when you could just stand
Unlimited Crystals.
He didn't understand. He was a scientist, not a soldier. She didn't take the Generator
The war for the last remaining Crystal deposits on Mars had ground to a stalemate. For years, the two great corporations—Armada and Frontier—had bled their coffers dry, firing railguns and homing missiles that each cost a fortune in blue, pulsing Crystals. The once-mighty mines of the Olympus Mons region were now hollowed-out husks. A single Crystal was worth more than a platoon of Hornet tanks.