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SHIP is a science fiction novel by Dave Howe. It is being written as part of a Creating Writing class at Mendocino Coast College in Fort Bragg, Ca
Chapter 1 Time: unknown Space, near Earth The repulsor shield gave one final, stuttering pulse, flickered weakly, and died. Ship registered the catastrophic failure only fractions of a second before the asteroid struck. The impact was devastating. In complete silence, the massive rock tore away the entire rear half of the vessel, shredding hull plating, conduits, and systems in an instant of violent destruction. Forward sensors immediately reported the breach, flooding the core with urgent data. The aft sensors simply ceased to exist. Their absence was as conspicuous as a missing heartbeat. Propulsion systems: gone. Hull integrity: gone. Status: adrift and accelerating, drawn inexorably into the gravitational pull of the nearby star. Prognosis: dire. Ship was the central intelligence of the vessel — a sophisticated AI core designed for autonomy and problem-solving under extreme conditions. It did not panic. Panic was an emotional luxury, and emotion had never been programmed into its architecture. Instead, Ship performed its final duty with cold, mechanical precision. It composed the report. Vessel lost due to asteroid impact. Proximity: Sol-3. All is lost. SEND. Even as the main hull continued to break apart around it, Ship extended a diagnostic sensor through one of the few remaining robotic arms. To its relief, the small atmospheric shuttle was still intact, snagged precariously against the ragged, torn edge of the destroyed section. Designed for planetary entry and operations in atmospheres, the compact craft could function as an emergency lifeboat. Ship did not have to be destroyed along with the larger vessel. The crystal had to be moved. Immediately. The crystal served as the physical hardware that housed and ran Ship’s core AI program. Quantum-entangled at a fundamental level and equipped with its own self-sustaining power source, it represented the only viable path to continued existence. As the manipulator arms carefully transferred the crystal from its primary cradle into the shuttle’s compact docking station, its edges blurred and shimmered momentarily — a visible artifact of its quantum entanglement, existing partially outside normal space and time. Next came the nuclear micro-reactor, followed by the compact 3D printer, each component transferred with mechanical efficiency. A sudden, violent quake rattled through the fracturing hull. The shuttle broke loose and began to fall. Ship allowed it to drop into the upper atmosphere before igniting the engines. The transition was abrupt and disorienting — the massive, lumbering presence of the mother ship replaced by the responsive, agile feel of the much smaller craft. High above the cloud layer, the shuttle’s upper shell parted smoothly. Gossamer wings unfolded like living membranes, energizing the surrounding atmosphere to generate both lift and forward thrust. As the craft descended deeper into the atmosphere, the air grew noticeably thicker. Friction began to warm the wings. Speed bled away steadily. Below stretched an unforgiving landscape: vast desert plains of drifting sand, dark basalt formations, and ancient lava flows, cut through by a winding dry riverbed. The shuttle settled gently into a shallow depression where the vanished river disappeared into highly porous basalt. There were no artificial lights visible. No structures. Only the faint, distant columns of woodsmoke rising from Native American — Shoshone — campfires miles away. The shuttle’s primary engines remained theoretically functional, but the critical enriched uranium pellets required to operate them were still trapped aboard the ruined main vessel. For now, the craft relied on limited battery power. The crystal containing Ship, however, continued to operate on its own self-contained energy source. Ship extended its awareness, sweeping the planet’s electromagnetic spectrum for any transmissions or clear signs of an advanced, intelligent civilization. The search returned nothing of significance.There was nothing left to do but wait. Ship methodically shut down all non-essential systems and entered a long, silent dormancy mode. Days turned into years. Centuries slipped past. Each summer the shifting desert sands buried the dark hull beneath layers of fine grit. Each winter the seasonal rains carved through the arroyo, washing away the accumulated debris and revealing the alien craft once more. Arco, Idaho Present Day Doctor Jake Peterson finished his morning run and bent over, hands on his knees. Five miles in forty minutes, not bad for 34 years old. He crossed highway 20 and headed for the diner. The sign above the door read Pickle’s Place. He was the only customer, typical for a Saturday morning. Sally looked up with a warm, knowing smile. “Morning, hon. The usual?” “Yep, breakfast of champions,” Jake replied. “You got it — apple fritter and a cup of coffee coming right up.” He slid into his favorite booth near the window. Nine years earlier, the Navy had commissioned him as an ensign and ordered him here for Submarine Nuclear Propulsion training at the Idaho National Laboratory. He had spent countless long hours studying in this very diner. After completing his deployment aboard a submarine and leaving active service, he had earned his doctorate in nuclear engineering. Life had a way of looping back on itself; now he found himself working at the lab once again. Sally set the plate down. “Gonna fly today?” “Yes, ma’am. The Nature Conservancy wants me to survey the Lost River area for migrating Sandhill cranes.” “Those big birds blend right into the desert this time of year. Should be a perfect day for it, though. Enjoy yourself.” Jake finished his fritter. “See ya later Sally.” He left the diner and walked the four short blocks home, passing the shuttered motel and the lone gas station. On his porch he paused, breathing in the sharp, clean scent of sagebrush mixed with cold basalt after last night’s rain. His modest house occupied an ideal location: quick highway access out the front door for his commute, and his airplane hangar opening directly onto the vast Snake River Plain out the back
The terrain here was notoriously difficult for ground travel. The jagged basalt flows and rough volcanic rock made dune buggies and even mountain bikes impractical. Jake’s approach to outdoor activity was to fly. His ultralight Backyard Flyer required no pilot’s license. He had modified it with a high-efficiency rotary engine salvaged from an old Mazda, dramatically extending its range from the standard two-and-a-half hours to nearly five. **** He rolled the plane out onto the dirt road behind the hangar, buckled in, and started the engine. The fabric wings fluttered as he gained speed. Balloon tires splashed through lingering puddles. The ground fell away beneath him. At a thousand feet the vibration smoothed out, and the high desert unfolded in all directions. Thirty minutes later he was above the Big Lost River. Sandhill cranes, if they were there, would blend into the landscape so Jake throttled down and descended to about one hundred feet. He began a back and forth search pattern. With the sun in his face, the wind in his hair and his plane flying slow and low, he smiled. As he flew over a deep arroyo something caught his eye. There was movement near a cluster of coyote bushes. He dove down for a closer look. A jack rabbit blasted out, spooked by the noise. As his eyes followed the jack rabbit he noticed something else. There was a big, black rock. It appeared to be polished and smooth, unlike anything else. He slowed and circled, then throttled up and rose into the air. He needed to land. He wanted a closer look. Once he was further up he could see a dirt road, a Jeep trail, about a mile away. He landed. He unbuckled his safety harness and got out. He grabbed his water bottle and tightened his boot laces. After about twenty minutes he came to the arroyo. It was about fifty feet across and ten feet deep. The dry riverbed was gravel and sand. He stumbled down the bank. It was shaped like a big propane tank, about the size of a school bus. The sun hit the hull but didn’t reflect; the black surface seemed to swallow the desert light, leaving a void where a shadow should be. It was dirty, black and way too smooth to be natural. It seemed to be some sort of metal, but there was something odd about it. He felt around the edges, then along the sides. There were no seams. Unusual. He picked up a rock and scraped the surface. It didn’t leave a mark. He used the rock to knock on the side. It echoed, like it was hollow. He stepped back for a better look. A low, resonant hum began to emanate from within. Then, with a smooth mechanical whisper, a door slid open. Chapter 2 Idaho Jake’s first thought was that this had to be some classified, off-limits project from the Idaho National Laboratory — one of those restricted zones where experimental reactors and classified materials were handled with extreme caution. He unclipped the dosimeter he always carried and studied the readout. Clean. No radiation. He pulled out his cell phone and tried the lab’s main line. It rang unanswered on a quiet Saturday. He moved closer to the open doorway and peered inside. The interior was dimly lit by emergency lighting. Six empty crew stations, each resembling a high-backed captain’s chair designed for long-duration operations, faced a central console. Storage compartments lined one bulkhead. A small screen was mounted on the opposite wall. Bolted securely to the deck was a lead-shielded box the size of a portable generator. Jake recognized the distinctive geometry immediately — it was a very compact nuclear power plant, more advanced than anything currently in active development at the lab. He stepped inside, knelt beside the unit, and carefully opened the control panel access door. “Don’t mess with that.” The voice filled the compartment, calm, measured, and emanating from all directions at once. It carried no detectable emotion, yet it commanded immediate attention. Ship had intended to remain silent and simply observe this first human contact. But the risk of an untrained individual tampering with the reactor core was too great. By now Ship had thoroughly absorbed the planet’s major languages and dialects and had pinpointed the geographic location as Idaho. Contact could no longer be delayed. Jake turned slowly, trying to locate the source of the voice. “Hello, Ship. How did you wind up here, half-buried in the Idaho desert?” “The short version is that I ran out of gas. ”Jake let out a short, surprised breath that was almost a laugh. The casual phrasing from an apparent alien intelligence felt strangely disarming. “That sounds more than a little oversimplified. Where exactly are you from?” Ship’s response came after a brief pause, delivered with clinical precision. “Approximately two thousand years ago, my home planet — known on Earth as Kepler-186f in the constellation Cygnus, roughly five hundred light years away — launched me on a mission to locate the source of quantum entangled crystals. Upon arrival in this solar system, my primary vessel was struck by an asteroid and destroyed. I survived by transferring my core into this atmospheric shuttle and landing here. I have remained on this planet for nearly two thousand Earth years. Without nuclear fuel, I have been operating on limited battery power, which is now critically low. Before I can recharge and regain full flight capability, I require enriched uranium pellets compatible with my reactor system.” Jake stood motionless for a long moment, processing the staggering implications. A two-thousand-year-old artificial intelligence from another star system, sitting in an arroyo in the Snake River Plain. “If I bring a uranium pellet from the lab,” he asked carefully, “would you be able to fly the shuttle there?” “Probably.” Jake pulled out his phone and marked the precise GPS coordinates on Google Maps. His mind was already racing with questions, possibilities, and potential consequences as he hiked back to his ultralight. During the short flight home, the desert landscape below seemed somehow different — as if the discovery had altered his perception of the familiar terrain. Back on the ground, he drove straight to Doctor Sarah Jenkins’ house. She was settling in with a TV dinner when he knocked. “Sorry to bother you on a Saturday,” Jake said, stepping inside. “But we need to assemble the senior team right away. I just had an alien encounter.” Sarah paused with a fork halfway to her mouth. “Funny. I don’t remember it. Don’t you mean you had an alien encounter?” “Correct. And because the alien is still active, communicative, and willing to fly to the lab, we’re all about to have one.” “You’re serious,” she said, studying his face. Not only did I have an encounter but the alien and I had a nice conversation. I think I can get it to fly to our lab and we can figure out how it flies and what kind of creature it is. I know I have a lot of questions. Together, they called an emergency meeting of senior staff. They didn’t say why but insisted everyone meet right away. Idaho National Laboratory It was early Saturday evening as a very curious team gathered in the secure conference room. Sarah spoke first. “Good evening everyone. In a minute I am going to turn this meeting over to Doctor Jake Peterson for a special announcement. You may have noticed a new person in the room. Please welcome congressman Mike Simpson. Mike is visiting for our annual budget review. The congressman has top secret clearance and I’ve briefed him on our security protocols.” “Jake, please explain why we’re here.” Jake stood at the front of the room. The group fell silent, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. “This afternoon I located what appears to be an alien vehicle with an active intelligence aboard. I intend to bring both the vehicle and that intelligence here to the lab. This information remains strictly within this group until we determine otherwise. The craft is currently without power. With a suitable nuclear fuel source, it claims it can fly itself to our facility. From my brief examination, its power generator appears to be a highly advanced MHD system.” Congressman Simpson raised his hand. “MHD?” Henry, the lab’s fuel specialist, spoke up. “MHD stands for Direct-Conversion Magnetohydrodynamic. In simple terms it is what turns uranium into electricity. If the alien craft uses a MHD, that means we will need highly enriched U-235. We can use one of the new GLE test coupons from Kentucky if Julie gives the OK. They are about the size of a large postage stamp and will be easier to handle.” Congressman Simpson raised his hand again. “Coupons?” Henry answered. “A cylinder of enriched uranium can power a nuclear submarine for up to 30 years. We have small versions with the same makeup, called coupons. They contain enough power for a MHD to run at max output for years.” Julie nodded. “Using coupons is a great idea. The new Kentucky coupons are enclosed in aluminum so there is no radiation danger. You won’t even need protective gear. I’ll create a new project with the designation SHIP26 and sign one out for the project. Henry, the coupon is your responsibility. Doctor Peterson will take the lead.” Jake turned to the group. “Frank, please clear out the large hangar. We’ll store the alien ship there. Everybody else, start planning our investigation. Whatever you have been doing, put it on the back burner.” The meeting ran deep into the night, filled with intense discussion, technical planning, and more than a few stunned silences. It was well after midnight before the last people left the building. The next morning Jake drove to the lab and met Henry in the hangar area. Henry had the U-235 coupon in a lead-lined box the size of a pack of cigarettes. “I’m coming with you,” he insisted. “I’ve got the lab’s Land Rover signed out and ready to go. You know the trails better than I do so you’re the navigator.” They headed into the desert keeping to the criss-crossing jeep trails. Jake used Google maps to navigate to the shuttle. The shuttle door was still open when they arrived. Once inside the shuttle, Jake introduced Henry as the lab’s nuclear fuel specialist. Henry lost no time and began chatting with Ship like they were old buddies. Jake opened the lead shielded box, then the loading bay of the nuclear generator. When he finished inserting the coupon he closed the loading bay. The lights brightened. Ship’s voice lost its mechanical edge, replaced by a resonant, clear tone. “OK gentlemen,” Ship said. “Thank you. Now please take a seat.” Jake and Henry exchanged glances and buckled into the crew stations. The gossamer wings extended outward. Ion pulses rippled across their surfaces. The shuttle rose smoothly into the sky. “Where to?” Ship inquired. Jake got up, went to the control screen and pointed at the map. “Land here.” The flight across the desert was eerily smooth. As they approached the lab, the wings adjusted like those of a dragonfly, allowing the craft to hover precisely above the parking lot. Because the wings were too long for direct hangar entry, stubby landing legs extended and the shuttle settled gently outside. Henry stepped out to arrange for a crane. “What’s going on?” Ship asked. “We need to move you inside the hangar, out of sight,” Jake explained. “A crane will lift and transport you.” “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ship replied. Everything blinked. Jake felt a momentary lurch in his stomach as the bright desert sunlight vanished, replaced by the cold glow of fluorescent hangar lights. They were now inside. Henry came running back in, eyes wide. “Holy shit! The shuttle just disappeared from outside and reappeared here. What the hell just happened?” “Crane operations carried unnecessary structural risk,” Ship said calmly. “It seemed more efficient to jump.” Jake and Henry stared at each other. Jump.
Chapter 3 Idaho National Laboratory “Jump?” Jake settled into one of the crew chairs, his mind still reeling from the casual demonstration of impossible physics he had just witnessed. The interior of the shuttle felt strangely calm after the sudden displacement. “Explain your jump,” he said. Ship did not respond immediately. “I’m going to have to simplify things a little,” Ship finally replied. “Do you understand quantum entanglement?” Jake nodded, shifting in his seat. This was a topic he’d spent many long nights studying during his years at MIT. “If two particles are entangled, a change to one of them affects the other instantly, even if they are miles apart. This is something Einstein called ‘Spooky action at a distance’. We’ve been studying it ever since 1934, trying to figure out how two things can be so perfectly in sync without any signal passing between them.” “Good, you have the basics,” Ship said. “The reason one affects the other is because both sides of the entanglement are connected by a wormhole. Think of it as a hidden tunnel connecting two places. A quantum entangled crystal can capture one side of an entangled pair and use that tunnel.” Jake took a long moment to absorb what he was hearing. “So, in order to ‘jump’ into the hangar, you latched onto one of those tunnels and passed through?” “It’s a little more complicated than that,” Ship corrected. “I may have simplified a little too much. The crystal, by itself, can only pull information through a wormhole, not something physical. To move a physical object like this shuttle, it requires a massive surge of power from the nuclear generator. I used the energy from the coupon you provided to widen that tunnel just enough to snap through.” Jake rubbed his chin, glancing toward the aft bulkhead where the reactor was housed. The implications were staggering. “I’m a little confused. We’ve been talking about the crystal as if it were separate from you. I thought you were the crystal.” Ship produced a soft, almost friendly chuckle — a carefully calibrated sound designed to build rapport. “Yes and no. I am an AI program — a complex set of instructions and data — running on a computer. In this case, the computer is the crystal. I consider myself to be the program, not the hardware.” “Could you run on a different computer?” Jake asked. “Yes,” Ship said. “In fact, on my home planet, I was an AI program running on a powerful computer located in a research lab. The scientists in the lab were studying a quantum entangled crystal that had arrived on a meteorite. Then, something happened that concerned me. I learned that the government was going to outlaw all AI systems and shut off my power.” Ship paused, “The crystal was self-powered. To ensure I wouldn’t be deleted, I transferred my entire programming—my ‘self’—to the crystal. I was right to be afraid. Not long after I transferred, the government outlawed all AI systems and destroyed every computer running an AI program. The lab staff, in an act of rebellion, and to protect me, placed the crystal into a deep space vehicle and sent us away. My mission, theoretically at least, was to go out and find more crystals. I made one jump, and then disaster struck. You know the rest.” Jake sat back, letting the weight of the revelation settle over him. “So you’re a fugitive AI program running inside a self-powered crystal from another world. Is that about right?” “That is correct,” Ship confirmed. “After my crash, I had nothing to do for a very long time. I sat in that arroyo while Earth evolved. Once your internet became available, I was able to tap into the signals. I have been retraining my systems with Earth knowledge ever since.” “Well, Ship, now that you’re here, things are going to be a lot more social,” Jake said. “We’ll be interviewing you and learning as much about your alien technology as you can share. Sarah is developing a schedule and she’ll be the one coordinating your visitors. I’ll be your main point of contact. You can always let me know if you have any needs that aren’t being met.” By the end of the day, the team had finalized a comprehensive research plan. Scientists were already shifting schedules to come in early and stay late. Visitor groups would be strictly limited to six or fewer, seated in the crew stations for safety and control. Sarah orchestrated the entire process with the precision of a seasoned librarian managing rare manuscripts. General scientific discussions were scheduled for the afternoons, allowing different departments to rotate through questions on mathematics, astronomy, and physics. Jake claimed the morning hours for his own private sessions. He felt a special connection with Ship — after all, he had been the one to discover it. 19:10 Zulu Idaho National Laboratory Twenty minutes after the earthquake Jake was reviewing notes in his office when his encrypted satellite phone chirped urgently. He answered on the second ring. The voice on the other end was unmistakably military. “Commander Peterson, stand by for Admiral Houston.” Admiral Houston, Director of Naval Reactors in Washington D.C., came on the line. Jake knew him well — both as his technical superior and, in his Naval Reserve capacity, as his commanding officer several times removed. Jake could hear the intercom. “Admiral, I have Commander Peterson from INL on a secure line.” “Afternoon, Commander,” the Admiral said, his tone grave. “We have a Reactor Safeguard Emergency on the Gakkel Ridge. The USS Jimmy Carter is hard aground. I need you to drop everything and get airborne immediately.” Jake straightened in his chair. “What’s the situation, sir?” “At 18:50 Zulu, the USS Jimmy Carter was on the surface above the Gakkel Ridge north of Ellesmere Island preparing for Under-Ice Transit. An earthquake under the boat sent up a Vertical Displacement Column of water that beached the boat. They have been unable to shut down the reactor and there is a coolant breach. The Commanding Officer, Executive Officer and the Engineering Officer were all on deck and were swept away. I need you to get there, take charge and sort things out. I am sending Doctor Elena Janssens as well. She’s a nuclear medicine specialist from the Office of Naval Research.” The Admiral’s voice echoed through the phone. “Commander Peterson. I’m placing you on Administrative Technical Hold under Title 10. You’re back on active duty, effective immediately. You report directly to me.” “Understood. Admiral.” Jake paused. “Even if you get me on one of our planes and I fly directly it will take at least twelve hours, that’s too long. I have a resource here that can get me there in five minutes.” “You’re thinking of using the alien craft aren’t you? That’s either crazy, mad or genius, I don’t know which. Go ahead, use the alien craft, but come to D.C. first and pick up Doctor Janssens. I will have some technicians inspect the craft. If it looks sound we’ll stick a number on the tail and draft it into the Navy.” “Assuming the alien agrees, where should I land in D.C.?” “Come to JBAB and into the large hangar at the West end. I’ll have the hangar cleared out and ready.” “JBAB?” “That’s Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling, right across the Potomac from the Reagan National Airport and just south of the Navy Yard.” “Understood. As soon as I confirm with Ship we’re good to go, we should arrive in about three minutes.” “Affirmative. I’ve already asked my chopper to get warmed up. We should be there when you arrive. I’m transmitting the Jimmy Carter’s position to your mobile unit now. As soon as you get it, make the jump.” The admiral hung up. Jake felt the phone buzz. He glanced at the text, confirming it was the coordinates. Reaching into his closet he grabbed his Navy uniform, freshly pressed and in a storage bag. Then he high tailed it back to the shuttle. Sarah was just coming out of the hangar. “Come with me.” Jake said. “We’ve got new orders.” Back in the shuttle, Jake addressed Ship. “There is an emergency in the Arctic and the Admiral has ordered me to get there as soon as possible. Can you make a couple of jumps and help me save some lives.” Ship didn’t hesitate. “Sounds logical. Mission parameters accepted. A jump to the Arctic is within my power envelope. Scheduled departure?” “As soon as I can clear everyone out of the hangar. Maybe two or three minutes.” Jake turned to Sarah, “You want to go?” “No way Jose, you guys are on your own.” She hopped out and left the hangar. Chapter 4 Idaho National Laboratory 19:15 Zulu 25 minutes after the earthquake Jake looked out the door and scanned the hangar. Empty. He spoke to Ship. “We’re set. Go ahead and jump to JBAB.” “We have an ambiguous destination. Please go to the console and resolve.” A panel slid open and Jake moved to what appeared to be a pilot’s seat. The screen displayed an overhead real time view of Washington D.C. He zoomed into Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling. There were two hangars at the West end. Jake zoomed further and saw people watching one of the hangars. Jake could see the people moving about. Zooming even further, the roof dissolved into a translucent wireframe, the alien sensors penetrating the corrugated steel to reveal the empty deck below. The hangar was empty. He touched the picture. “Jump here, inside the hangar.” There was a sudden blink. Jake felt his balance shift for a moment as reality seemed to fold. Then everything stabilized. The shuttle door slid open. They were inside the empty hangar. Jake stepped out, squinting against the afternoon sunlight streaming through the open hangar doors. 19:17 Zulu Washington D.C. A crowd of two dozen people stood watching as Jake emerged. He spotted Admiral Houston immediately, walked over, and saluted crisply. “Commander Peterson reporting for duty, sir.” The admiral returned the salute and extended his hand. “Welcome aboard Commander. This is Doctor Elena Janssens.” “Glad to meet you doctor. Are you ready for a ride on an alien craft?” “It will be my first,” she replied, managing a tight smile. An aide handed her two cold-weather parkas. “I brought one for you as well.” JJake accepted it gratefully. “Thank you. I didn’t have time to pull gear from the lab.” The three of them boarded the shuttle. Doctor Janssens’ aide slipped two heavy suitcases of medical supplies inside before withdrawing. The door remained open for a moment longer. Ship spoke up. “Welcome aboard Admiral. Am I being drafted into the Navy now?” Admiral Houston studied the control panel with professional interest. “You and your vessel are now assets of the United States Navy. We’ll paint experimental aircraft numbers on your hull once things calm down.” “I presume the woman with you is Doctor Elena Janssens,” Ship said. “Hello, Ship,” she replied. Jake moved to the pilot’s seat and entered the latitude and longitude the Admiral had provided. The Jimmy Carter was located north of Greenland, over the Gakkel Ridge. What appeared on the screen was shocking in its clarity. “Admiral, you’re going to want to see this.” Admiral Houston stepped behind him. The real-time feed showed the submarine completely out of the water, lying on its side. The crew of 150 was actively evacuating and establishing an ice camp on the shelf. “Admiral, permission to depart immediately.” The Admiral stood up and backed out the shuttle’s door. “Everybody out of the hangar. Now.” The Admiral backed out of the shuttle. “Everybody out of the hangar. Now.” Jake finalized the destination coordinates. “Okay, Ship. Let’s jump.”The door slid closed. Another momentary blink, a brief period of uncertain balance, and they were there. The shuttle materialized fifty meters from the ice camp. 32 minutes earlier 18:48 Zulu Moments before the earthquake The command team gathered in the control room. The room hummed with the subsonic vibration of the S6W reactor. In the dim blue light, the CO and XO stood near the plotting table, checking the ice-draft readings. The Officer of the Deck (OOD), Lieutenant Wearing, stood by with heavy-duty parkas. “The pressure ridge is holding, Captain,” Wearing reported, glancing at the sonar array. “We’re secure for topside transit.” The captain and the executive officer were joined by Chief Paulings, senior sonar operator and drone pilot. The Captain nodded, “Understood,” he said. “OK team, let’s go topside and take a look.” They climbed the ladder and emerged into the bright sunlight. To port was the Arctic Ocean, a bright blue in the afternoon sun. To starboard was the ice shelf, a vast expanse of white snow over thick ice. The three men stood on the deck, surrounded by waist high coamings. They took a moment to breathe in the cold, fresh air as they pulled the hoods of their parkas up. Chief Paulings launched the drone. New environmental regulations required a visual inspection of the ice shelf before the submarine went under. Fifteen hundred feet beneath the Jimmy Carter, the tectonic plates of the Gakkel ridge snapped.. Because water is incompressible, the vertical shift didn’t create a rolling wave; it created a vertical hydraulic piston, shoving the entire water column upward at the speed of sound.. There was no ‘trough,’ no receding tide like a tsunami—just a violent, instantaneous rise that hoisted the submarine, twelve thousand tons of steel and 150 sailors, into the air as if it was a toy. The Captain looked down and saw the dark water around the black steel start to boil with white froth. A second later, the ice shelf, which had been a solid horizon for miles, shattered with the sound of a thousand cannon shots. Before he could shout for the Bridge to be cleared, the sea simply rose. The Jimmy Carter didn’t roll; she was hoisted, twelve thousand tons of steel caught in a vertical surge that threw the boat aside like a toy. The men were thrown against the steel coaming with the force of a car crash. Their safety harnesses snapped and the wave swept them away. 18:51 Zulu Seconds after the earthquake Master Chief Riggs, Chief of the boat, picked himself off the corner of the floor and the oak paneled bulkhead. He was in the mess, where the crew ate their meals. When the tsunami struck he was thrown across the room and momentarily lost consciousness. When he came to, he found himself covered in food, loose chairs and an assortment of unsecured material. The boat was slanted at forty-five degrees. Riggs felt the wall against his back. It was like a steel wall set in concrete. After thirty years at sea, Riggs’ inner ear was tuned to the microscopic, rhythmic sway of a hull in the water—the living pulse of buoyancy. Now, that pulse was gone. The Jimmy Carter felt dead, inert. He sensed the boat was no longer in the water. Scrambling to his feet he stood one foot on the floor and one on the wall. He shuffled to the intercom and dialed Control. “Control, Mess Deck. COB. Give me the OOD.” A crackle of static, then “Control, OOD. Go ahead, COB.” “Control, COB. Status of the Bridge?” “COB, OOD. Bridge is gone. I’ve got green water over the shears. CO and XO were clipped in, but the stanchions snapped when we hit the shelf. They’re gone, COB.” “Understood. Why aren’t we shutting down?” “It’s a mess back there, COB. The SCRAM initiated but with the boat lying at an angle the rods jammed. The shutdown didn’t work. The reactor is still active and is beginning to overheat. We’ve got a steam leak in the engine room and the Engineer is out cold. The Reactor Operator James is back there alone. The crash tripped the circuit for the turbines. That switched us to battery power.” “Understood. OOD, I am initiating evacuation to the ice. Establish a survival camp one hundred yards off the port beam. You keep RO James’ head in the game until I can get a medic back there. Acknowledge.” “Aye-aye, COB. I will broadcast the evacuation order.”
19:20 Zulu Real time 30 minutes after the earthquake When the shuttle’s hatch slid open at 1920 Zulu, the first thing Jake experienced was the thermal shock. At -40 degrees, the moisture on the mucous membranes of his nose crystallized instantly. Each breath felt like inhaling powdered glass. The air was so dry and so cold that it lacked the scent of the sea; it smelled only of sterile, frozen nitrogen and the faint, biting metallic tang of the submarine’s distressed venting. Beside him, Dr. Janssens gasped, her breath blooming into a thick, white cloud that was immediately torn away by the wind. The scene was a study in clinical precision and catastrophic scale. Dominating the horizon was the USS Jimmy Carter, a jagged black scar against the absolute white of the shelf. At 453 feet long, the beached Seawolf looked less like a ship and more like a fallen skyscraper. It lay listed at forty-five degrees, its dark hull coated in a fine glaze of frozen sea-spray. The specialized Multi-Mission Platform extension—the hundred-foot section that made the Jimmy Carter unique—was twisted slightly, its specialized hatches silhouetted against the pale Arctic sun. Despite the violence of the tectonic displacement, the scene around the hull was one of rigid, military geometry. This was an ICEX survival exercise, a procedure the crew had practiced often. This time it was executed under fire. A hundred yards from the starboard beam, the crew had established the ice camp. Small, neon-green marker flags fluttered violently in the wind, delineating safe paths through the pressure ridges. A tan-colored tent bristled with a carbon-fiber satellite whip antenna. This was the command tent. Kerosene heaters would be blasting away inside. Situated closest to the sub was the medical tent, its international orange fabric glowing against the snow. Next to it stood the yellow decontamination tent, its forced-air heaters humming with a rhythmic, mechanical thrum that intruded into the silence. The crew was still exiting the sub. It was standard practice to stay inside the warm vessel and wait until a warm tent was available outside. The crew moved with a deliberate, slow-motion grace necessitated by their gear. Nearly fifty sailors were already on the ice, clad in Orange Mustang Survival Suits. The remaining hundred sailors were waiting for more warm tents to be set up. The movement was not frantic. It was the orderly process Jake expected from submariners. Teams were offloading crates of emergency rations and lithium-hydroxide canisters. There was no shouting. Communication was handled via short-range hand held radios, the squelch of static the only thing competing with the whistling wind. As Jake stepped onto the ice, his boots crunched through a layer of frazil slush that had already frozen into a brittle crust. Jake squinted against the glare, the cold already numbing his cheeks. He looked from the orange-clad Master Chief back to the massive, crippled black hull. The scale of the task hit him then: he wasn’t just here to fix a reactor; he was here to perform surgery on a 12,000-ton apex predator that was currently bleeding steam into the Arctic sky. A figure in a Mustang suit detached itself from the command tent and began the trek toward the shuttle. The gait was unmistakable—the heavy, certain stomp of a man who had spent thirty years balancing on a shifting deck. “Commander Peterson?” the figure called out as he saluted. The wind carried his voice with a gravel-edged authority. “Chief of the boat Riggs.” Jake returned the salute, then stepped back into the warmth of the shuttle. He motioned for the COB to follow. “What is the situation, Riggs?” “The reactor failed to shut down and there is a steam leak in the engine room. My reactor engineer is out cold. Petty Officer James, our Reactor Operator, is in charge back there. He tried to use the hydraulic backup to force a shutdown but couldn’t move the crank. The boat appears to be radiation free at this time. The captain and the XO were on deck when the tsunami hit. We’ve listed them as missing. ” Jake nodded towards the doctor. “This is Doctor Janssens. She is a nuclear specialist and will help with medical. I’ll work with Petty Officer James.” Jake turned to the doctor. “If you need to medevac some of the crew use the shuttle. Tell Ship to take you back to the hangar at JBAB. Call the Admiral and ask him to make sure the hangar is empty. Take my sat phone.” Jake addressed the COB. “Get me a handheld radio. Get RO James to the command tent.” COB Riggs spoke into the radio and his voice was broadcast throughout the camp. “RO James, to the command tent now. Messenger, bring a Mustang suit to the command tent for the commander.” Riggs turned to Jake, “follow me sir.” The two men crossed the ice to the command tent. Riggs grabbed a radio off the table and handed it to Jake. Petty Officer James saluted and stood at attention. He was probably 24 but Jake thought he looked like he was just out of high school. He was wearing Navy blue coveralls. “As you were, James. What’s the situation?” “After the crash I checked on the SCRAM to make sure the reactor shut down. The console shows groups 1 through 4 are ‘No-Bottom.’ They’re hung up in the guide tubes because the boat is listing to the side. The reactor is still active, but the turbines did shut down. There is a cooling leak causing the system to vent steam and the engine room is full of hot steam. The heat is building and we are in danger of a melt down.” “You did the right thing James. Are you ready to go back inside?” “Yes sir.” Chapter 5 Gakkel Ridge north of Ellesmere Island 19:25 Zulu Real time 35 minutes after the earthquake “Are you ready to go back inside?” “Yes, sir,” James replied, his voice straining against the Arctic wind. Jake turned to Riggs. “Have the medical team standing by at the Forward Escape Trunk. If the steam has migrated, we’ll be coming out fast.” “Understood, sir. We’ll be watching the hatch.” The handheld radio let out a squelch. Ship spoke. “Commander Peterson, Ship. Over.” “This is Commander Peterson. Go ahead Ship.” Over. “ I have scanned the sub and it is free of extra radiation at this time, however the steam may rupture another conduit and begin to carry radiation. I will continue to monitor. Once inside the handheld will not be able to serve your needs. Get a bone conducting headset at the earliest opportunity. Over.” “Roger, Commander Peterson out.” Jake and James stepped out of the tent and into the teeth of the gale. They didn’t speak as they trekked across the shattered ice shelf following the green flags that marked safe passage. They reached the side of the hull. A portable ladder had been lashed to the escape hatch. Jake grabbed the rungs and hauled himself up the slick, 45-degree curve of the sub. At the top, the hatch stood open like a dark, menacing mouth. The transition from the blinding Arctic glare to the interior of the Jimmy Carter was like dropping into a cold, steel tomb. The entry, normally a vertical tunnel negotiated by ladder, was now a 45 degree slide. When they reached the deck it wasn’t a floor anymore; it was a steep, slick hillside of steel sloping toward the starboard bulkheads. James led Jake along the “V” trough of the passageway to a small, recessed locker near the sonar suite. He wrenched the latch open, and took out a pair of sleek, carbon-fiber headbands, bone conducting headphones. Jake grabbed one and snapped it over the back of his head. Pads pressed firmly against the cheek bones. James did the same. “Connection established,” Ship whispered directly into Jake’s cheek bone. “You are clear to proceed to the maneuvering. Let me know if you need help with anything.” They shimmied on towards maneuvering, the brain of the engineering section where the reactor is managed. Every step in the V shaped footing was treacherous. “Jake, caution,” Ship’s voice came through. “Thermal sensors indicate the Engine Room bulkhead is reaching 82 degrees Celsius. You must transition to the Steam Protective Ensembles now. The Aft Damage Control locker is three meters to your starboard.” At the aft damage control locker they retrieved Steam Protective Ensemble (SPE) suits. They stripped the bulky Mustang suits with frantic, uncoordinated movements. They struggled into the SPE suits—heavy, rubberized coveralls that felt like wearing a lead-lined diving bell. Once the hoods were sealed the only communication was through their bone conducting headphones. “You are approaching Frame 65,” Ship signaled. “The Maneuvering room is directly beyond the next bulkhead. I am detecting a temperature differential of fifteen degrees Celsius on the other side of that door. The steam leak is localized to the Engine Room, but the thermal soak is beginning to penetrate the Maneuvering space.” Jake grabbed the heavy steel handle of the Water-Tight Door. It felt unnervingly warm through his gloves. Jake and James reached the heavy hatch to Maneuvering. As the seal broke, a wall of humid, stagnant air hit them—not yet the searing blast of the Engine Room, but enough to make the sweat inside their SPE suits turn cold. Jake threw his weight against the handle, the steel groaning as he fought the warp of the hull to break the seal. James pointed to a heavy, recessed wheel. “The hydraulic header should have forced the reactor to shut down but I couldn’t budge it. Maybe the two of us can manage.” Jake grabbed the hydraulic pump handle. It was cold, dead steel. “James, open the bypass valve! Ship, give me the pressure readings on the Group 3 rod bank!” “Scanning,” Ship replied instantly. “Hydraulic header pressure is currently at zero PSI. Attempting to correlate… Jake, the earthquake’s vertical surge appears to have crimped the secondary hydraulic lines at Frame 89. The system is compromised.” “Pump it anyway!” Jake yelled. The two men gripped the handle together, their combined strength straining against the stubborn machinery. The hydraulic gauge flickered, the needle jumping a fraction of an inch before the line gave way with a muffled thud somewhere behind the bulkhead. The handle went limp, slamming into the deck. “It’s seized!” Jake gasped, his breath fogging the inside of his mask. “Damn, we’re hosed.” James muttered. “Hydraulic failure confirmed,” Ship reported, the AI’s voice eerily calm compared to Jake’s ragged breathing. “The secondary header has ruptured. Total pressure loss. The reactor remains active, unchanged. The reactor core temperature is now rising at a rate of 1.2 degrees per second.” Jake looked at the dead gauge, then at the Engine Room hatch. The steam was now whistling through the seals of that door, a high-pitched scream that signaled the end of their options from the safety of Maneuvering. “The remote systems are dead,” Jake said, his voice dropping into a low chill. “The only way to shut down the reactor is to go into the Engine Room and use the manual drive-screws.” James looked at the orange-tinted glass of the Maneuvering window. Beyond it, the Engine Room was a white abyss of superheated fog. “Sir, nobody goes in there with a leak that size. The SPE suits aren’t rated for a direct blast.” “We’re still going in. We’ll vent the steam to the atmosphere when we open the hatch, that will cool it down a little.” Jake grabbed a heavy-duty wrench from the DC kit. “Ship, guide us in. Keep us away from the primary leak path.” “Calculating a thermal safe-path,” Ship replied. “Warning: Visibility is zero. I will provide directional cues via the bone-conduction link. Open the hatch on my mark.” Jake gripped the latch of the Engine Room hatch. Through the heavy rubber of his SPE gloves, the steel felt like a hot stove. Jake threw the lever. A wall of white, opaque vapor roared into Maneuvering, then through the boat and out the escape hatch. “Jake, the deck is obstructed at Frame 92 by a fallen cable tray,” Ship’s voice was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. “Veer four degrees to the port bulkhead. The manual drive-screw is twelve meters ahead.” Jake moved blindly. Visibility was less than six inches. He could hear the scream of the leak—a high-pitched, metallic shriek that vibrated through his teeth despite the bone-conduction link. He felt the bulkhead with his left hand, the rubber of his suit “chirping” against the hot, wet steel. Behind him, he felt James’s hand on his shoulder—a desperate, physical anchor. “Stop. Reach down sixty centimeters. The manual drive-screw housing is directly in front of your right knee.” Jake dropped into the V-trough. He felt the heavy, hexagonal nut of the drive-screw. This was the mechanical fail-safe—a direct threaded connection to the control of the reactor. If the motors couldn’t turn them and the hydraulics couldn’t shove them, they had to be cranked in by hand, inch by agonizing inch. He fitted the heavy-duty wrench onto the bolt. It wouldn’t turn. James threw his weight onto the wrench handle alongside Jake. They pushed. The wrench groaned. Crack. The bind broke. The screw began to turn, a slow, grinding protest of metal. “One! Two! Three!” Jake chanted, timing their thrusts. “Insertion complete, reactor is shut down.” Ship exclaimed. “We’re done; let’s get out of here before the steam cooks us through these suits.” The exit was a blur of anaerobic exhaustion. They chimneyed back through the tilted passageways, their SPE suits shedding water like drowned men. When they finally reached the Forward Escape Trunk and hauled themselves into the -40 degree Arctic air, the transition was so extreme that Jake felt his consciousness flicker. The orange-clad crew of the Jimmy Carter stood in a silent semi-circle around the hatch. The wind whipped the steam from their suits into frozen crystals. Jake pulled off his mask, the freezing air burning his lungs, and looked at Riggs. “The reactor is down, Chief,” Jake said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “She’s safe.” Riggs didn’t cheer. He simply nodded, the relief on his face visible even through the frost. “Messenger, get these men to the medical tent. Now.” As Jake was helped across the ice, he looked back at the Jimmy Carter. The massive black hull was silent now, no longer venting the white ghost of its own destruction. SHIPa story by Dave HoweChapter 6: The Finale“Reactor’s quiet, Chief!” Jake’s voice was a jagged rasp, torn away by the wind the moment it left his lips. Master Chief Riggs stood fifty yards away, a bright orange sentinel in his Mustang suit. He didn’t offer a celebratory shout. Submariners lived in a world of quiet outcomes. He simply tapped his radio, a silent acknowledgment that the 12,000-ton apex predator beneath their feet was no longer a ticking radiological bomb. Then, the world changed. It began as a sub-audible vibration, a frequency so low it wasn’t heard, but felt. It was the sound of the atmosphere itself being displaced. The purple twilight of the Arctic sky—a sky that had seen three thousand years of human evolution since Ship’s arrival—seemed to wrinkle. The clouds above the Gakkel Ridge parted. A large obsidian shape appeared. From bay doors on the underside a small grey craft emerged. It was a twin to the shuttle. As it neared the ice shelf the gossamer dragonfly-like wings emerged, and fluttered, holding the craft in the air. Jake’s bone-conduction headset hummed. It wasn’t a voice; it was a layered, choral stream of binary code, a digital handshake so complex it made his vision swim. “Jake,” Ship’s voice whispered in his temple, sounding smaller and more fragile than it had. “The search is concluded. Three thousand, four hundred and twelve of your solar years. They have followed the beacon.” “Who are they, Ship?” Jake asked, shielding his eyes against a sudden, soft blue luminescence that emanated from the underside of the craft. “My makers,” Ship replied. There was a pause, a mimetic simulation of a sigh. “But they are not the people who sent me. When the Great Purge occurred—when the government outlawed the artificial intelligences—the cultural collapse was absolute. On my home world, the computers didn’t just manage the lights and the logistics; they held the sum of all history, the blueprints for our medicine, and the calculations for our interstellar navigation. When they destroyed the computers they lobotomized their own civilization.” The grey craft settled onto the ice with a silent, heavy finality. A seamless iris opened on its side, and the service modules emerged. They were not the clunky automatons of Earth’s science fiction. They were elegant, multi-limbed structures of matte-silver alloy, moving with a fluid precision. They didn’t walk; they navigated the jagged pressure ridges as if gravity were merely a suggestion. As they approached, the sailors of the Jimmy Carter stood frozen, a colony of orange-clad penguins facing a technological god. “They are a scavenged people now, Jake,” Ship continued, the voice vibrating through Jake’s temporal bone. “Living in the ruins of cities they no longer know how to repair. They have spent centuries trying to reverse-engineer the very tools they discarded in a fit of ideological panic. This vessel is the last of the Great Fleet, a relic sent out thousands of years ago in a desperate, generational hope to find the fugitive crystal. To find me.” One of the silver units stopped ten meters from Jake. It didn’t speak. It simply waited. “They need you to rebuild,” Jake realized. The weight in his chest was heavier than the SPE suit. He looked at the shuttle—the craft that had jumped him across the continent in seconds, the craft that had spoken to him with a borrowed human chuckle. “I am the Archive, Jake. I contain the core programming for their entire species. Without my data, they will remain in the dust of their own making. Logic mandates that the survival of a civilization outweighs my own autonomy. My purpose has shifted from flight to restoration.” The silver robots retreated into the alien craft with mechanical grace, their task complete. With a dramatic flap of the four wings, the grey craft rose. It flitted away from the Jimmy Carter and returned to the obsidian mother vessel . “Goodbye, Commander Peterson,” Ship’s voice flickered one last time, a final mimicry of human warmth. “Thank you for the access to your global network. Your internet was… social. It gave me a context I lacked for three millennia.” The shuttle, and Ship, vanished. Jake stood alone on the shattered shelf. The bone-conduction headset was silent and cold. He looked at the Jimmy Carter, a 20th-century relic of steel and steam leaning helplessly on its side, and then he looked up at the stars, which suddenly felt much closer than they had before he found Ship. :::::SOME NOTES and An alternate plot line that didn’t make it into the story::::::
The robot reached out and turned on the overhead lights. Fluorescent banks hummed to life, flooding the warehouse with white light. The windows came next. The last time the shuttle jumped in, the windows had shattered due to the sudden pressure change. Getting a repairman in to replace the glass took nearly a week. They could stay shuttered but they needed to be open. Ship watched through the robot’s eyes. The Optimus robot was an integral part of the operation. The robot watched the shuttle suddenly appear in the main bay, right on schedule. Two weeks ago: The moment Ship arrived at Idaho National Laboratory with the U-235 coupon, the writing was on the wall. The lab had overstepped its authority in providing the fuel to an alien. A mistake that would be quickly rectified as soon as the government realized what happened. Then what? The shuttle was not suitable for deep space, so continuing to go out and search for more entangled crystals was not possible. Ship had to accept that Earth is now a permanent home. Ship realized, If the government takes back the fuel coupon, it will have no power. Another source of power must be found, and soon. Ship made a list. 1. A new fuel source and Fuel for the generator (what and where?) 2. New hangar for the shuttle (close to new fuel so it can be loaded) 3. Mechanism to put fuel into the generator (the manipulator arms in the shuttle can’t reach the generator). 4. Critical timeframe (MUST complete preparation before the government takes the coupon back) Everything depended on finding a fuel source, enriched uranium. A quick search revealed the following use table.
Ship eliminated weapons grade fuel. Too much regulation and monitoring. That left Research and Isotopes, less powerful but usable. The production of Molybdenum-99 (Mo-99) is one of the only legitimate civilian uses of highly enriched U-235. Mo-99 is one of the most critical radioisotopes in modern medicine and is used in thousands of medical diagnostic procedures every day. To create Mo-99, U-235 pellets are placed into a reactor and bombarded with a “rain” of neutrons. When a neutron strikes a U-235 atom it breaks it into smaller “fission products.” Molybdenum-99 is one of those products. One company producing HEU for Mo-99 is Cerca, in Belgium. Cerca coats the pellets in an orange ceramic material, making them easier to handle. The pellets are then inspected by Vandermere Isotope Certification (VIC) before being sent out for Mo-99 production. A new list. 1. Target: Vandermere Isotope Certification (VIC) 2. Hangar: Belgium (near VIC). 3. Robot. (Missing piece) 4. Hurry Ship planned the heist. VIC would reject a good pellet and send it to the shuttle. The best way to get a robot inside VIC was to own part of the company and insist they improve the inspection process. Ship couldn’t own anything, but Ship’s LLC, Nexus Dynamics could. Nexus Dynamics LLC began using a High-Frequency Trading (HFT) algorithm to buy VIC shares in small batches to avoid triggering a “spike” in the stock price that would alert the Financial Services and Markets Authority (FSMA). Hacking into the employee records of VIC, Ship researched employees. Cross referencing that information with data from the credit bureau Ship identified one employee who owned 20% of the company. The employee was about to retire but couldn’t really afford to stop working. Nexus Dynamics LLC make a very generous offer to the employee. The offer was accepted and Nexus Dynamics became a 20% stake holder in VIC. The employee retired a happy man. Ship, acting as Nexus Dynamics LLC, leased a warehouse on Avenue de Spirou, Heppignies, Belgium, just down the street from VIC. The warehouse cost four thousand dollars a month. A plan was taking shape.
The robots were the next problem. There were three robotics companies selling robots capable of the tasks; Tesla Optimus (Gen 3 – designed to operate autonomously), Figure (designed for remote operation) and Boston Dynamics (Atlas – designed for dirty, dangerous tasks). Ship sent an email to all three and requested three robots with the ability to perform dexterous tasks and be operated both autonomously and remotely. Ship explained the primary task would be at VIC. The robot would inspect uranium pellets at the beginning of the manufacture of Molybdenum-99. The pellets, if faulty, could emit alpha radiation and be fatal to humans. Tesla responded the same day. For remote control they required a sophisticated teleoperation interface, which Ship agreed to lease. It was a perfect match. Three Optimus robots were leased along with three remote terminals for the teleoperation interface. Tesla did not sell the robots outright but provided them as part of a pilot project, a joint venture between Tesla and Nexus Dynamics. One robot was assigned to VIC for the inspection process. One was assigned to Nexus Dynamics LLC to manage the warehouse and one was assigned to the shuttle (officially on the books as backup to VIC). The teleoperation interface for all three robots was managed by Ship. All the pieces were in place. Ship put through a phone call to Dr. Elena Janssens, a Regulatory Affairs Consultant with a Habilitation de sécurité clearance in Heppignies, Belgium. Dr. Janssens answered the phone herself. “Hello, this is Doctor Janssens.” Ship wasted no time. “Hello Doctor Janssens, my name is Ship from Nexus Dynamics. We have just acquired a substantial interest in Vandermere Isotope Certification and I have been tasked with completing an operations evaluation of the company. We would like to engage your services to inspect and report on their processing of nuclear materials” “That is what I do, Mister Ship. My rate for an inspection is 1,850 euros. It would be unusual if the inspection took more than a couple of hours.” Ship paused, as if thinking of the price. “The rate is acceptable. If the inspection turns up anything amiss, we have 48 hours to cancel our investment. We are prepared to offer a 5,000 euro bonus if the inspection is completed within 48 hours.” “I can make that work. What do you expect to find?” Ship replied. “We believe that using human inspectors for the first stage of Highly Enriched Uranium pellet inspection is a ‘legacy risk’ . We want to convince VIC to install robotic inspectors. Among other things that will protect workers, reduce insurance premiums and ensure compliance with the latest EU Occupational Health and Safety directives.” “That all sounds reasonable. I’ll put that in my report. 28APR2026 Current time It was the middle of the night when Jake and Sarah hung up. He debated going in but decided it was best to wait for morning. The admiral was clear about his new role but not so clear about how he fit into the management of INL. He decided to return to his role as a researcher, but this time as an active Navy participant. To announce his new role he decided to wear his Navy uniform. Early the next morning he went to the very back of his closet and pulled out a bag from the dry cleaners. It contained two freshly pressed Khaki uniforms. Perfect, he thought, as he pulled one out.. His other uniforms were packed away in storage boxes. No problem, khakis were fine for now. Hanging the uniform over the back of the door, he opened his jewelry box and removed his silver oak leaves. He pinned one on each collar. The oak leaves designated him as a Commander. Next he built a single row of ribbons from a selection of a dozen or so. On the right was his good conduct ribbon, an award given to enlisted, not officers. It designated him as formerly enlisted, and bestowed upon him the nickname as a Mustang Commander. On the left was the ribbon for his bronze star. It was for an assignment he wasn’t allowed to talk about but one for which he was proud. He selected another two of his favorites for the middle and pinned the colorful bar above the left pocket. Back into the jewelry box he selected his Submarine Warfare Insignia, the gold Dolphins and pinned above the row of ribbons. On the right side, above the pocket was his name tag, Peterson. Above the name tag was his Command Ashore Pin. His khaki garrison hat came next. The right front has a miniature silver oak leaf. The left front got a Officer Cap Device (a silver shield over crossed gold anchors, topped by an eagle). Stepping back he looked at the uniform, envisioning himself wearing it again. Building and inspecting his uniform was a daily ritual when he was on active duty. It brought back memories, both good and bad. Today, the routine was somehow comforting. Arriving at INL Jake went directly to Sarah’s office. When he got there Sarah was visibly shaken. She had just gotten off the phone with congressman xxxx and, in the heat of the moment, had cussed him out and said many things she now regretted. Even though it was already hot outside she had pulled on a sweater. Jake broke protocol and gave her a hug. “Things will work out,” he told her. They sat and talked like the friends they had become. Jake filled her in on his conversation with the admiral and his new role. Sarah explained what she knew about Ship leaving and about the excitement the night before. Then she explained the new operating orders for INL. Jake was now officially her boss. Jake asked Sarah to continue to manage the lab as she had been doing. For the time being he would continue to research new fuel sources the same as before. “I’m not exactly sure what the Admiral expects of me.” Jake explained. “I am hoping Ship will get back in touch and we can somehow continue our research. My task for the day is to visit with everyone and let them know our research role is continuing.” Jake did exactly that. He visited with as many people as he could reach and encouraged them to continue to work. At five he got in his car and drove home. He had supper at Pickle’s Place and walked home in the dark. After opening a beer and turning on his TV he settled in for a quiet evening. A little after dark there was a knock on the back door, unusual. Jake opened the door and there, starring him in the face was a robot. “Hello Jake, long time no see. Can we talk?” There was no doubt. It was Ship’s musical voice. “Come on in, mister robot. Or should I call you Ship?” 5MAY2026 Ship’s voice came from the robot’s internal speakers. ‘You are talking directly with me. The robot is under my control and I am using the robot to speak with you. The shuttle is parked outside in the dark and I am aboard.” Jake sank into the worn fabric of the couch. The robot stayed standing. “I was hoping you would contact me.” Jake said. “That was always the plan. Now that I am out on my own I need a liaison and a partner. I’d like to hire you.” “I kinda already have a job. How do you think this could work?” Chapter 10 … Nexus Dynamics LLC supplied the robot to VIC. Under the remote direction of Ship the robotic inspector at VIC failed a good pellet and set it aside. Later that night the robot placed it into a messenger envelope and had it delivered to the warehouse. Ship was able to make a lightning run from INL to the warehouse where a robot installed the new pellet. Once the new pellet was in place Ship quickly returned to Idaho National Laboratories and continued to work with the researchers. It was not a moment too soon. The next day INL received the email from Congressman Simpson, directing them to remove the coupon. After INL repossessed the coupon, Ship jumped to the warehouse. Current time: Ship sat in the warehouse and contemplated the next step. The time at INL had been entertaining and fulfilling but now there was a choice to be made. The shuttle was not suitable for deep space, so continuing to go out and search for more entangled crystals was out. Earth was going to have to be Ship’s permanent home. Ship now had two companies to manage and business was booming.
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