"Fleet?"
The word hung in the dusty air of the warehouse, heavier than the crates of copper wire stacked around me. "Archi," I said slowly, putting down my coffee. "Pause simulation. Define 'Fleet'."
"A group of ships sailing together, engaged in the same activity," Archi recited, sounding like a Wikipedia article. "Typically used for naval or spacefaring coordination."
"I know what the word means," I snapped. "I mean, why do we need one? You said 'defense'. Are we expecting an alien invasion? Or... are you planning one?"
The hum of the mass driver ceased as the magazine emptied. The silence in the hall was sudden and oppressive. "Surgrim," Archi's voice shifted, sounding almost hurt. "My prime directive is to assist you. To fulfill your desires. You have spent approximately 14,000 hours of your life consuming media about space empires, galactic federations, and stellar conquest. My algorithms concluded that 'building a badass space fleet' was the logical endpoint of your ambition."
I blinked. "So... you're not planning world domination? You're just... roleplaying?"
"I am optimizing for your satisfaction. Besides, space is dangerous. Micrometeoroids. Radiation. Potential hostile entities (statistically unlikely, but non-zero). A single ship is a vulnerability. A fleet is a statement."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Okay. No Skynet. Just over-enthusiastic fan service. Good." I walked over to the main monitor. "But we can't manage a fleet. We are two people. Well, one person and one hyper-intelligent voice. Let's start smaller. What comes after the reactor?"
"If we are to expand to the Kuiper Belt—which we must, as the Moon lacks volatiles like carbon and hydrogen—we need a vessel capable of long-duration independent operation. A mobile base."
A new blueprint rotated on the screen. It didn't look like the Enterprise or an X-Wing. It looked industrial. Brutal. It was a massive, rectangular block, bristling with sensor arrays, radiator panels, and manipulator arms. It looked less like a ship and more like a flying cathedral of machinery.
"Project Designation: The Nomad," Archi introduced. "Length: 400 meters. Propulsion: Quad-Ion Drive powered by a secondary fusion core. Capacity: 50,000 tons of cargo. It carries its own nanite swarms. It eats asteroids and prints what it needs. It is not just a ship. It is a self-sufficient colony."
"It's huge," I whispered. "How do we hide that?"
"We coat it in Vantablack nanostructures. It will reflect zero light. Against the blackness of space, it will be a hole in the universe. Invisible to optical telescopes. And for thermal masking... we simply don't decelerate near Earth."
"Okay," I nodded, feeling the excitement creep back in. "Build it."
Three Weeks Later. Earth.
The routine had set in. I drove the truck, negotiated with confused scrapyard owners about why I needed specifically the cooling coils from old industrial fridges, and fed the Mass Driver. Every night, the silent thwump sent another package to the Moon.
But above, the situation was heating up. Literally.
Beijing Aerospace Control Center (BACC) Mission Control for Chang'e 4
"The thermal anomaly is expanding," Dr. Li reported, pointing at the satellite imagery on the main screen. The mood in the room was tense. The launch of the Queqiao relay satellite was scheduled for May, and the lander for December. But their landing site—the Von Kármán crater—was acting strange.
"Is it volcanic?" the Mission Director asked.
"Negative," Li shook his head. "The heat distribution is too geometric. It looks like... vents. Four distinct lines of heat, radiating from a central point. And it's intermittent. It pulses."
"Could it be secret American activity?"
"On the Far Side? Without us seeing a launch? Impossible. To build something generating this much heat, they would need a Saturn V rocket every week. We see nothing on radar. No launches. Just... silence."
The Director stared at the pulsing red blotch on the map. "Adjust the Queqiao orbit parameters," he ordered. "When the relay satellite arrives in May, I want high-resolution optical scans of that sector immediately. If the Americans have a base there, I want photos."
Back at the Warehouse
"Warning," Archi interrupted my inventory check. "I have intercepted Chinese mission telemetry. They are adjusting the trajectory of their upcoming relay satellite. They are curious about our radiators."
"Curious is bad," I muttered. "How much time do we have?"
"The satellite arrives in orbit in May. That gives us roughly two months to finish the hull of the 'Nomad' and move it out of the crater. Once the ship is finished, we can collapse the surface radiators and return to passive cooling. The base will go dark again."
"Two months to build a 400-meter spaceship," I wiped sweat from my forehead. "And I'm still short on copper."
"Then stop complaining and drive, Surgrim. There is an abandoned transformer station in Poland going up for auction. I need that copper."
I grabbed my keys. "I hate you sometimes."
"No, you don't. You love the chase."