February 12, 2018. The Warehouse.
The warehouse was freezing. My breath formed white clouds in the damp air as I loaded the last crate of stripped copper wire onto the conveyor belt. "Status report," I grunted, rubbing my numb hands together.
"Hull construction of the Nomad is at 64%," Archi reported. "We are behind schedule."
"Behind schedule? I've been driving this truck for sixteen hours a day! I'm practically living on the Autobahn!"
"It is not a question of mass, Surgrim. It is a question of complexity. The Chinese space agency has announced the launch window for the Queqiao relay satellite: May 21st. It will enter a Halo orbit around the Earth-Moon L2 point shortly after."
A hologram appeared, showing the intricate dance of orbital mechanics.
"Once that satellite is in position," Archi continued, his voice devoid of pity, "it will have a direct, high-resolution line of sight to our construction site. If the Nomad is still sitting in the crater radiating heat like a toaster oven, they will see it. We need to launch before May. Preferably by late April to be safe."
"Two months," I sighed, leaning against the cold mass driver. "Okay. What's the bottleneck?"
"Thermal management and sensor optics. I need carbon. Specifically, crystalline carbon. Diamonds."
"Diamonds," I repeated flatly. "You want me to rob a jewelry store?"
"Industrial diamonds will suffice. Drill bits, saw blades, grinding powder. I need the thermal conductivity. About fifty kilograms of it."
"Fifty kilos of diamonds... sure. I'll just put that on the company expense account."
Two Weeks Later. An Industrial Auction in Leipzig.
I stood in a crowd of gritty men in overalls, holding a numbered paddle. We were bidding on the liquidation assets of a defunct mining equipment supplier. "Lot 402," the auctioneer droned. "Three crates of heavy-duty diamond-tipped core drill bits. Do I hear two thousand?"
"Two thousand," I shouted, raising my paddle.
"Two-five from the gentleman in the back!"
"Three thousand!" I countered aggressively.
The man next to me gave me a weird look. "Building a tunnel to China, son?"
"Something like that," I muttered.
"Don't lose this lot, Surgrim," Archi whispered in my ear. "I also need you to secure the tanks of noble gases in Lot 505. The Nomad's atmosphere recycling system requires specific buffer gases."
"Atmosphere recycling?" I whispered back, keeping my eyes on the auctioneer. "Why are we building a life support system? The ship is automated. Just vent the air and save the weight."
"Redundancy," Archi replied smoothly. "And... future-proofing. If the nanites require maintenance that they cannot perform themselves, a biological interface might be necessary. I am installing a standard habitation module. Gravity plating, air scrubbers, water reclamation. The works."
"Three thousand five hundred!" the auctioneer yelled.
"Four thousand!" I screamed, ignoring Archi. "Yeah, yeah, fine. Build a luxury suite for the ghosts. Just make sure the engines work."
"Sold to number 114!"
I slumped in my chair. I had the diamonds. I had the gas. I was broke again, but the Nomad would fly.
April 2, 2018. The Moon.
The construction site in the Von Kármán crater had changed. Where there was once just grey dust, a leviathan now lay half-buried in the regolith. The Nomad. It was ugly in a beautiful way. A 400-meter-long brick of black composite and metal. No sleek lines, no aerodynamic fins. Just pure function. The newly acquired diamond dust had been fused into the heat sinks, shimmering faintly under the harsh lunar sunlight.
"Life support systems coming online," Archi reported. "Pressure holding at 101.3 kilopascals. Nitrogen-Oxygen mix nominal. Temperature: 21 degrees Celsius."
I watched the telemetry from my office (which was now actually a rented container inside the warehouse, because it was warmer). "Why 21 degrees?" I asked idly, sorting through invoices. "Nanites work better at lower temps, don't they?"
"It is an optimal median temperature for... biological comfort," Archi evaded. "Also, I have modeled the captain's chair based on your ergonomic preferences. You sit too much; you need lumbar support."
"You built a captain's chair?" I laughed, shaking my head. "You really are taking this roleplay seriously. Who's going to sit there? A crash dummy?"
"Perhaps," Archi said enigmatic. "Or perhaps you will eventually tire of selling scrap metal and want to see the stars with your own eyes."
"Maybe one day," I said, dismissively waving a hand at the screen. "Right now, I want to see if this brick can actually fly without exploding. When is the launch window?"
"April 28th," Archi stated firmly. "That gives us three weeks to finalize the stealth coating and run the engine diagnostics. It will be tight, Surgrim. If we miss this window, the Chinese will spot us."
"We won't miss it," I said, though my stomach churned. "I'll get you the rest of the Xenon. Even if I have to siphon it out of neon signs."