The workshop settled into its new location with the same dimensional certainty it had shown everywhere else. Tanya watched it materialise under the new island she had chosen. Davidson knew the location of the workshop before, and she wasn't sure if he was a friend or foe. He hadn't contacted them since the show, or maybe Amara was blocking it. The island was far enough from town to avoid discovery, close enough for her to reach when she needed to return and use it.
"Are you certain this positioning is optimal?" Sage asked as the structure solidified.
"It's hidden, it's accessible, and it keeps Mera away from people who'd ask questions I can't answer." Tanya studied the exterior, which Sage had shaped to look like a standard island. "The new hires don't need to know about dimensional workshops or alien passengers. Not yet. Not until I know they can be trusted"
Inside, Mera pulsed contentedly in her enhanced habitat, her light reflecting off equipment that looked ordinary until you understood what it could actually do. Tanya had developed a script for misdirection if anyone got curious, a plausible explanation for why she disappeared to an island for hours at a time.
"Research and development," she'd tell anyone who asked. "Some processes need isolation from manufacturing contaminants."
It wasn't even entirely a lie. Those who already knew the truth wouldn't be asking anyway.
The new hires arrived on the same private transport, since there weren't any public services. Simran stepped off first, taking in Eden-Five's actual sky with the wonder of someone who'd spent most of her life under domed habitats. Drew followed, already scanning for the fabrication facility to give his professional assessment. Gave a quick nod once he spotted it. Carlos drifted last, studying the compound layout like he was mentally redesigning it.
"Welcome to Eden-Five," Tanya said, feeling suddenly aware of how small her home world must seem to people from core worlds and factory moons. "It's not much, but—"
"It's perfect," Simran interrupted, genuine enthusiasm cutting through her usual tone. "Real weather. Natural light cycles. I can already feel my cortisol levels dropping."
Drew nodded in agreement, though his attention had shifted to the workshop facility. "That's the fabrication building? Looks well-maintained. What's your maximum component size?"
"About fifteen meters in any dimension, could be extended if we put two bays togethers", Tanya replied. They had only been working on small projects and she did most of her work in her own workshop, so hadn't used it much.
"I'll give you full facility tours once you're settled."
The first briefing happened in the prefab office, with everyone gathered around the conference table that had hosted so many previous planning sessions. Tanya projected the rescue ship, which had all the details she had worked out with the others, and waited for reactions.
"Rescue and recovery," Simran said, studying the preliminary designs with obvious interest. "Using dimensional sensor networks as emergency response infrastructure. That's... actually brilliant."
"The distributed beacon system will be the foundation," Tanya explained. "But first, we need a ship capable of responding to the situations those beacons detect. That's where you three come in."
What followed were days of the most productive chaos Tanya had experienced since university. Ideas bounced around the table, building on each other in ways that transformed the original concept into something better.
"Drop-pods," Drew suggested. "Individual response units that can deploy from the main ship. Faster than landing the whole vessel, more flexible for complex rescue scenarios."
"Hexagonal configuration," Carlos added, sketching quickly. "Structural efficiency plus visual distinctiveness. Each pod becomes a modular unit that can dock with the main ship or operate independently."
"AI coordination between pods," Simran said, already working through the network topology. "Distributed processing with central oversight. Each pod maintains autonomy but contributes to collective response optimisation."
These had all been ideas they had already come up with, but Amara had suggested guiding the new hires to come up with them themselves, to give them a sense of buy-in to the project.
Cameron had been quiet, but now he leaned forward. "If we're going modular with the pods, why not extend that principle to the main ship? A central spine for crew and hospital facilities, with pods attached along the sides. Scale the response capability by adding or removing pods based on mission requirements. Even offers various variants of modules"
This was always the plan, and Tanya already had a concept created. The next morning's meeting opened with Tanya's revised concept: a fully modular construction system. The spine is built from standardised sections that could be configured for different purposes. Hospital modules, crew quarters, command centres, storage, fabrication, all using the same basic structural framework but customised for specific functions.
Tanya expanded the concept, showing how modules could be swapped or upgraded. "A frontier colony wants basic rescue capability? Minimum spine configuration with six drop-pods. A core world needs a comprehensive disaster response? Full hospital modules, twenty pods, dedicated fabrication sections for on-site equipment manufacturing."
Simran was already working through the network implications. "The AI coordination becomes more complex, but more powerful. Each module reports its capabilities, and the system optimises response based on available resources."
"And fabrication becomes manageable," Drew added. "We build standardised components, test them individually, then assemble based on customer specifications. Quality control improves, costs decrease, and delivery timeline shortens."
Carlos studied the crew sections with professional interest. "Modular quarters means we can customise living spaces for different empires, different cultural requirements. The ship becomes more than hollow empire-centric."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Tanya cautioned. "First, we prove the concept works."
The design evolved on the holographic display as they talked, each contribution refining and expanding the concept. By the end of the multiple design meetings, they had something that barely resembled Tanya's original sketch but felt infinitely more capable.
A medium-sized drop-pod carrier. Long spine housing crew quarters, command systems, and dedicated hospital sections. Cargo pods attached to the bottom of the ship, and hexagonal pods are arrayed along both sides, each one a self-contained rescue unit capable of atmospheric entry, surface operations, and independent return. Modular, scalable, distinctive.
"I love it," Janet said, studying the design with obvious approval. "It looks like something that actually saves people. People will know its purpose when it drops out of the vortex"
"It looks expensive," Amara noted, though she didn't sound opposed. "But marketable. Very marketable."
They took a couple of days off to rest after the design section, to rest and fully acclimatise to the compound before tackling building the prototype.
Reality asserted itself during the first fabrication planning session.
"The drop-pods are feasible," Drew said, reviewing the workshop's capabilities. "They fit in each bay easily."
"And the spine?" Tanya asked, though she already suspected the answer.
"Hundred and forty meters long, twenty meters wide. For the standard ship, Drew pulled up dimensional constraints. "There's no way to combine the modules here to make a finalise ship. We'd need to assemble it in orbit, which adds complexity and cost. Or " he gestured toward the empty fields beyond the facility, " we invest in serious heavy equipment. Gantry cranes, expanded assembly bays, the works."
The ship had outgrown its initial plans. Eden-Five had space and plenty of it. The land surrounding their current facility wasn't suitable for farming, so expansion was technically feasible. But the cost made Tanya blanch.
"How much are we talking?" Tanya asked.
Amara was already pulling up equipment suppliers on her tablet.
"Millions," she said disappointedly. As she showed the cost for installation to Tanya.
Tanya shook her head. "We're not investing in permanent structures. Not here." She didn't add the real reason, which was that eventually, production would move to the Genesis. That the fabrication facility on Eden-Five was temporary by design, a cover story that needed to remain plausible but not permanent. Tanya decided that they would make or the modules first and work on joining them later.
Time compressed into a rhythm of problem-solving and incremental progress. Each team member faced challenges that pushed their expertise while building trust in each other's capabilities.
The AI coordination system fought Simran for three weeks. Individual drop-pods operated perfectly but getting them to work together revealed cascading complexity she hadn't anticipated. Commands conflicted, priorities shifted unpredictably, pods made locally optimal decisions that undermined overall mission effectiveness in simulations.
"It's like herding cats," she complained during one particularly frustrating debugging session. "Very smart, very autonomous cats that think they know better than the central coordinator."
The solution came from an unexpected source. A fishing trip that Tanya took her on when she seemed frustrated. It was Simran's first fishing trip, and she watched a murmuration of birds. Motion that seemed to synchronise without central control. Distributed processing where each unit maintained awareness of its neighbours and adjusted behaviour based on collective state rather than top-down commands.
"Emergent coordination," Simran explained, demonstrating the revised system. "No single controller, just pods that learn to work together through continuous feedback. Just like a flock of birds."
The new system was slower to initialise but dramatically more robust. Losing the central coordinator didn't cripple the network. It just meant the pods took slightly longer to reach consensus. Simran was happy with the small compromise.
Drew was having his own struggles. A modular connections needed to handle more than just structural loads. The drop-ships and spine had to work both connected and independently, which meant each interface had to transfer structure, power, data, and life support while being simple enough for field repairs.
"It's an engineering nightmare," Drew admitted during one frustrating review session. "Strong enough for combat manoeuvring, flexible enough for varied assembly conditions, and it has to seamlessly handle power transfer whether the drop-ship is docked or separated. Oh, and simple enough that frontier crews can manage it without specialised equipment."
He spent a month developing prototype joints, each one failing in progressively more interesting ways. Too rigid and they cracked under stress. Too flexible, and they introduced a wobble that made precision impossible. The power coupling added another layer of complexity to the mechanical connection, which had to establish an electrical connection automatically, without arcing or connection failures.
It took him weeks of researching, and none of the solutions seemed to meet the requirements he wanted. He found a small area on the extranet that contained a possible solution.
"Biomimetic joining systems," Drew announced, presenting his solution. "Smart materials that conform to connection surfaces and cure into precise geometries. But here's the key that each drop-ship gets its own fusion reactor. Small, efficient, and enough for independent operations. When docked, the connection establishes power sharing automatically, but separation doesn't leave anyone dead in space."
Cameron and Janet helped refine the chemistry and power coupling protocols. Within two weeks, the three of them had prototype connectors that exceeded every specification while being simple enough that Tanya's father could probably install them.
With one problem solved, more made themselves known.
Power distribution across a modular system created cascading headaches. Each drop-ship had its own reactor for independence, but when docked, the entire ship needed to function as a unified power grid. The spine required a stable, continuous supply. Hospital sections demanded ultra-clean power for sensitive medical equipment. Drop pods had their own profile.
And the system had to handle drop ships connecting and disconnecting dynamically—sometimes in the middle of emergency operations.
Traditional distribution systems required knowing the complete configuration in advance, which was useless for a ship designed to reconfigure based on mission requirements. Worse, having multiple independent reactors that could connect and disconnect created synchronisation problems. Phases had to match, loads had to balance, and any mismatch could damage sensitive equipment or, in the worst case, cause cascading failures.
Cameron disappeared into calculations for three weeks, emerging with what he called an "adaptive power grid"—a distribution network that automatically sensed connected modules, synchronised their reactors, and adjusted supply based on real-time demand. It was a mathematical solid system, but it fell onto Simran to program his system.
"This might be mathematically perfect, but it's like you designed an orchestra where every instrument plays in a different time signature and expected me to write the conductor's score. Thanks for that, Cameron."
The Field testing of the drop-pods revealed problems invisible in simulation. The hexagonal shape that looked so elegant in design created unexpected aerodynamic issues during atmospheric entry. Pods tumbled, requiring excessive fuel for stabilisation. Some entry angles resulted in dangerous heating on specific faces.
"It's the edges," Janet reported after her fifth test flight. "Airflow separates at the corners, creates vortices that destabilise the descent. And the flat faces don't shed heat evenly during entry."
Carlos and Drew collaborated on the solution: subtly curved faces that maintained the hexagonal visual language while smoothing airflow. Edge treatments that managed vortex formation. Thermal coatings that redistribute heat based on the entry profile.
The revised pods flew beautifully. Janet took one through a deliberately aggressive entry profile and reported it handled better than many dedicated atmospheric craft.
Carlos couldn't name the feeling but the spine sections felt wrong. Cramped, claustrophobic, lacking the psychological comfort that crew would need during extended missions or high-stress rescue operations. Everything was functionally correct but emotionally inadequate.
"It's too utilitarian," Carlos explained, struggling to articulate the problem to people who thought primarily in engineering terms. "Rescue work is traumatic. Crew and survivors both need spaces that promote recovery, not just survival."
He spent two months redesigning interiors with principles Tanya initially dismissed as unnecessary luxury. Curved surfaces instead of sharp corners. Lighting that adjusted based on time of day and occupancy. Colors and materials that reduced stress responses. Spaces that could flex between private and communal based on need.
The final designs added minimal mass and cost but transformed the living sections from sterile efficiency into actual homes. Even Simran, who'd initially been sceptical, admitted she'd want to serve on a ship with these quarters.
For Tanya, juggling everything threatened to overwhelm her. Managing team dynamics, solving technical problems. It took much of her energy for her to focus on anything else. The vortex monitoring system she'd planned kept getting pushed back. She had the concept, had some preliminary designs, but implementing it required time and focus she couldn't spare.
"It can wait," she told Sage during one of their private conversations in the hidden workshop. "Mera will help eventually. She's sensitive to dimensional fluctuations and once I understand how her perception works, we can build sensors that mimic it. But right now I need funding to equip the Genesis, and that means proving the rescue concept works."
//A pragmatic prioritisation, // Sage agreed.
But she could hear the disappointment in Sage's voice. Yet she just didn't have the time.
She focused on what she could control: keeping the team coordinated, solving problems that required her specific expertise, and gradually building the prototype that would prove Furrow Inc. could deliver on its promises.