Designing a unified control system proved every bit as complicated, if not more so, than Tanya had expected. Every time she solved one problem, three new ones appeared. It was a never-ending cycle. Even after fifteen days of coffee, skipped meals, and half-sleeps in the workshop chair, she was still failing on all fronts.
She hadn't left the workshop in four days. The outside world felt too bright, too loud, too full of people who would ask questions she couldn't answer. Food cube would appear on her bench, thanks to Sage's intervention, but most went untouched. Her hands shook when she tried to hold things steady, and she'd started talking to the holographic displays as if they could argue back.
She was trying to be a programmer, a neuroscientist, and a control systems engineer all at once, and failing at all three. Even the people she'd contacted on the Extranet had come back with vague advice, journal references, or questions she didn't have the background to answer. She was supposed to be leading the way forward, and instead, she was drowning in her own diagrams and Ideas. She was starting to see why the University always encouraged students to use third-party or open source components.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered, flipping between holographic displays faster and faster, as if motion alone could conjure answers. One screen showed external neural mesh configurations, another displayed AI assistance routines and code, and a third blinked with the mechanical systems they were meant to control. "I'm designing three completely different systems and I can't make any of them work."
//Tanya, your vital signs indicate significant stress. Recommend rest and proper nutrition.//
"Don't." Her voice cracked. "Don't start. I need to figure this out. People are counting on me."
//Your current approach is unsustainable. Continuous work without adequate recovery reduces cognitive function by an estimated 40%.//
"Tell me something I don't know," Tanya snapped, rubbing her bloodshot eyes. Her head throbbed in protest. "But Red needs his arm, the beacon layers need intuitive control systems, and the black box navigation needs to be accessible to non-specialists. Everything's connected by the same interface problem."
It was the same argument she and Sage had been having for days. She knew he was right, but she was being stubborn. The unified system was the keystone for everything she wanted to build, and she wasn't willing to let it go. She wanted it perfect. She needed it perfect.
She forced herself back to the neural interface design, the diagrams wobbling slightly as her tired eyes tried to focus. Deciphering intent from neural signals was turning into a nightmare. The brain didn't think in discrete commands like deploy beacon or move arm left. It produced messy, overlapping storms of electrical patterns that changed not just from person to person, but inside the same brain depending on mood, exhaustion, and even whether the user had eaten breakfast.
"The mesh could be paired with chemical sensors to read neurotransmitter concentrations," she muttered, hands flying over the holographic interface. "Add magnetoencephalography(MEG) for a third data layer…"
Each addition looked elegant for half a second, that was until she zoomed out and realised she was building a Frankenstein's monster. Even the Latest MEGs needed to take up three cubic metres to detect the faint magnetic pulses of the brain. That increased the size of the control system. Chemical sensors meant permanent implants. Everything was becoming more invasive, more bulky, more expensive. Her dream of clean elegance was collapsing into a tangle of wires, coils, and unnecessary pain.
And even if she solved the technical side, who in their right mind would volunteer to test it? She was a twenty-something shipwright, not a medical authority. No review board on any planet would approve her running implants in someone's brain. It would take years to get an internal system approved, and that was using ethical testing. She didn't have that type of time.
While Sage had been helpful, they had also become stubborn about giving her any more support. She suspected they were obstructing her on purpose as they didn't agree with her decision.
Two paths sat before her, both mocking her. The non-intrusive version with external EEG sensors and a large MEG sensor being cleaned up by an AI picking up the slack was nearly doable, but clumsy, limited, and a stopgap that could be applied to ships.
The full invasive system with nanomesh implants, chemical readers, and magnetic detectors would be revolutionary, but far out of reach, technically and ethically. It was like holding two puzzles, one with missing pieces, the other requiring tools that didn't exist. Neither would assemble cleanly.
It was worse when she shifted focus to the software. Translating that chaotic neural symphony into precise mechanical commands? Impossible. Machine learning, real-time processing, failsafes for when the brain spat out noise instead of intent… the algorithms would collapse under it own complexity. She was sketching logic trees that looked like spiderwebs, tangling tighter with every addition.
//Suggestion: prioritise core functionality over comprehensive integration. Develop a basic neural interface first, then expand capabilities incrementally.//
Tanya slumped forward, burying her face in her hands. "I can't do this alone." Her voice was flat, tired. The workshop's displays reflected in her eyes like dozens of problems mocking her at once. The workshop around her felt like a prison of her own making, filled with solutions that wouldn't solve and problems that multiplied .
//Tanya, I am sensing dangerous levels of psychological distress. This isolation and overwork are damaging your ability to function.//
"I have to function," she whispered. "Everyone is depending on me to function."
This only confirmed what Amara had been saying all along: they needed people. Real experts. A programmer who lived and breathed adaptive algorithms. A materials scientist who understood biocompatibility better than she ever could. Someone who thought about ergonomics and human-machine interaction, who could translate all this into something normal people could actually use.
The unified control system was the right vision. She knew it. But she also knew the truth she couldn't ignore anymore: she didn't have the expertise to build it alone. Even with her advantages. She looked at the time and realised she only had 3 hours until she met with Amara. Looking into the workshop mirror, she was shocked by the person looking back at her. Hollow eyes, pale skin and messy hair. Quick shower and some make-up later, she looked almost respectable for the meeting.
//This behaviour pattern is concerning. You are exhibiting signs of an acute stress reaction. Please consider speaking, cancelling the meeting and getting some sleep. //
Tanya, ignored the advice and went to the meeting anyway.
Amara had cornered her into attending the staffing meeting she'd been putting off for two weeks. The workshop had become her sanctuary, but Amara had been blunt: you can't run a company by hiding in your workshop.
When Tanya walked into the office, Amara was already there, arms folded, expression carved from stone. Beside her stood a familiar figure.
Red, though he introduced himself with the far less fitting "John Smith." Tanya decided immediately that she would never call him that. Red suited him better; solid, immovable, dependable. Not boring.
Beside him stood a shorter woman with fierce red hair, posture crisp and unyielding. Tanya felt herself being silently judged. "My wife, Valentina," Red said, resting his good hand on her shoulder with a mixture of pride and protectiveness.
"And these troublemakers are Emily and Lucia."
The twin girls peeked out from behind their parents. Early teens, already tall, likely from their father's, their mother's red hair framed faces full of frank curiosity.
Tanya forced herself to focus, to be present, to mask the exhaustion and panic clawing at her chest. Red wore his military-issue prosthetic it was functional, but crude to Tanya's eyes. The bulk of it disrupted his balance, his motions stiff. Tanya could see how he unconsciously shifted to rely on his biological arm for fine movements. Every time the prosthetic lagged, it made her itch to start redesigns right there in the conference room.
"I need to ask," Red said, tone serious, eyes unwavering. "Are you sure you want to hire me? I'm not exactly in peak condition anymore." He said as he waved his prosthetic arm around.
"John," Valentina cut in before Tanya could answer. Her voice carried the authority of someone who had steered a military household through deployment after deployment. "Stop underselling yourself. Take the job. It'll be good for you, and good for us."
Tanya hesitated, aware of the young eyes watching, then spoke carefully. "I won't pretend pity isn't part of it, as I do feel responsible for what happened. But more than that, I trust you. You've seen the kind of threats I'm dealing with. You don't need me to explain how serious this is."
She let that sit for a moment as Red picked up the subtext. Alien tech, conspiracies, government oversight, all things she couldn't spell out in front of his daughters, but Red understood anyway.
"Do you think I can actually handle this level of risk?" he asked quietly.
"For now, yes. And eventually, more than yes." Tanya nodded toward his prosthetic. "I have plans for that arm. Upgrades you probably haven't even imagined."
"I don't want charity," Red said, jaw set.
"And I'm not offering charity," Tanya shot back. "I'm offering experience, loyalty, and someone I know I can depend on. If anything, I'd be a fool not to hire you."
Emily finally piped up, unable to contain herself. "Are you really going to build Dad a better arm?"
"Emily," Valentina warned, but Tanya only smiled.
"Something like that," Tanya said, forcing a smile that felt like glass. "Stronger than his old one, if I do it right. But it'll take time."
Time she couldn't begin to guess at anymore, and solutions she couldn't find. Problems that multiply every day.
//Reminder: You are a shipwright, not a doctor.// Tanya didn't respond to Sage's comment as she was tired of the nagging.
That earned her a flicker of hope in Red's otherwise steady expression. He glanced at his family, then back to Tanya. "Alright. I'll do it. Security, protection, whatever you need. When do I start?"
"Immediately," Amara cut in crisply, already sliding a tablet across the table with contracts prepared. "We can arrange housing on the Furrow property, or accommodations in town."
"We'll sort living arrangements later," Valentina said practically. "For now, I want to know what kind of threats we're walking into."
Tanya and Red exchanged a look. Valentina was sharp, the kind who would see through any comforting half-truths. "The short version," Tanya said, "is that advanced technology draws attention. Not always the good kind."
"Corporate espionage?" Valentina pressed.
"Among other things," Tanya replied carefully. "Some of it you won't believe until you see it."
That was enough for now. Red signed the contract, his daughters whispering excitedly about the idea of an "upgraded arm." Valentina's expression made it clear she intended to be involved, whether Tanya liked it or not. Tanya maintained her facade, nodding and smiling while inside she was screaming that she couldn't even build a basic interface, let alone revolutionary prosthetics. She was berating herself for even suggesting she would do such a thing.
When the Smiths left, Amara motioned Tanya to sit. The warmth of family energy drained with the closing door, leaving only Amara's business persona.
"Now," Amara said, voice clipped, "we need to talk about staffing."
She tapped her tablet. "So far, every applicant has been either too inexperienced or has background check issues that make Davidson's people twitch. No one remotely close to the level we need for the plans you have."
Tanya slumped back into her chair. The exhaustion of her fifteen-day spiral was still in her bones. "So basically, it's just us. Again."
"For now," Amara confirmed. "And the companies I've reached out to? Half won't return my calls. The other half wants to see prototypes before they take us seriously. I can't even get them to entertain the idea of meeting us."
"Prototypes," Tanya muttered. "I don't have them yet, as I haven't solved the problems."
"Exactly." Amara leaned forward, staring at Tanya intently. "Which is why I'm recommending we focus on showing something at the Trexlor show. If we can show something real at the trade show, the conversation changes. Investors, partners, even talent. If you can show them something new, we won't have to chase them. They'll come to us."
Tanya rubbed her temples. The walls of problems she'd been spiralling against suddenly loomed taller. Staff shortages, technical nightmares, looming deadlines. It was all chicken and the Egg. She needs more resources but couldn't get the resources without them.
And she knew Amara was right. They needed to stand on a bigger stage.
Amara slid another file across the desk, this one marked with the emblem of a stylised starship framed by laurel leaves. "Here is some information on the show. Annual event, held on Trexlor Prime, a Core world with more money, media, and political eyes than you can imagine. It's the largest shipbuilding exhibition in the Empire. If you want Furrow Inc. to be taken seriously, this is where it happens."
Tanya skimmed the dossier, half-dreading what she'd find. "I've heard of it. Isn't it just—"
"—a circus for rich people to show off their toys?" Amara finished with a thin smile. "Yes. But it's also where every shipwright, manufacturer, and investor worth knowing comes to network. The deals made at Trexlor shape the market for the entire year."
Tanya flipped through archived displays, her frown deepening. Stylish racing vessels with wings like knives, orbital pleasure yachts dripping in chrome and luxury, sightseeing cruisers with panoramic domes built for Core-world tourists. Scattered among the excess were functional freighters and ferries, the kind of workhorses that never won prizes but always made money.
"None of this looks like what we're building," she muttered.
"Exactly why it's worth going," Amara said. Her tone sharpened with that edge Tanya had learned meant she was trying to teach her something. "Think about it. We're not going to out-luxury the Core, and we're not going to out-speed the racing leagues. But we can show something different. A ship that solves problems instead of just looking pretty. A system that opens space to more than the top one percent."
"And you think anyone there will care about a beacon deployment module?"
Amara shook her head. "Not by itself. But a working prototype? A demonstration showing how your technology can be scaled? That gets attention. Investors don't fund ideas; they fund proof. Trexlor is where we prove you're not just a backwater prodigy who lucked out. It's where you become someone the Core has to take seriously."
Tanya tried to relax, but there was tension prickling in her neck, and her heart couldn't slow down. "So the plan is: I finish something impossible, we drag it across half the Empire, and then try not to get laughed off the stage by people who think innovation means adding another hot tub to their yacht?"
"That's the risk," Amara admitted. "But the opportunity is bigger. We get the right eyes on our work, and suddenly, recruitment gets easier. Top engineers start sending us applications instead of us sifting through amateurs. Manufacturing partners start calling us instead of ignoring my messages. And most importantly—" she tapped the dossier for emphasis—"we get leverage. Right now, every negotiation we're in is defensive. Trexlor could flip that."
Tanya closed the file slowly, staring at the glossy image of a silver racing yacht frozen mid-jump. She could almost hear Sage whispering about prioritisation, about not letting emotion drive her choices. Yet, It didn't happen. She wondered if Sage was letting her make this decision or they were tired of being ignored.
But Amara's logic was unrelenting: they needed visibility, credibility, and allies, and Trexlor was the fastest way to get them. She could feel Amara watching her, waiting for enthusiasm or at least agreement. She managed to nod.
"Alright," she said. "Trexlor it is."
Alone in the workshop that night, the facade finally cracked.
Tanya sat surrounded by holographic displays showing everything she couldn't solve, couldn't build, couldn't make work. The neural interfaces mocked her with their complexity. The control systems laughed at her amateur attempts. The algorithms twisted into incomprehensible knots.
She'd promised Red a better arm. She'd committed to showing prototypes at Trexlor. She'd built a company around technologies she couldn't actually create. Everyone believed in her, trusted her, counted on her.
And she was failing at everything.
The shaking in her hands spread to her whole body. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps. The workshop walls felt like they were closing in, filled with problems that bred more problems, solutions that remained just out of reach.
//Tanya, your distress levels are reaching critical thresholds. Please seek immediate support.//
"I can't," she whispered, then louder, "I can't do this! I can't solve any of it! Everyone thinks I'm some kind of genius, but I'm just a girl from Eden-Five who got lucky with an Alien AI!"
The words tumbled out between gasping breaths. "Red is going to spend the rest of his life with that crude prosthetic because I can't figure out neural interfaces. The beacon networks won't get built because I can't make the controls intuitive. Nothing I promised is going to work because I don't know enough, I'm not smart enough, I'm not—"
Her voice broke entirely. She slumped forward, burying her face in her hands as fifteen days of suppressed panic and exhaustion finally overwhelmed her completely.
//Tanya, you need help. Please reach out to someone you trust.//
Through the tears and shaking, one face came to mind. Not Amara with her business concerns, not Red with his expectations, not her mother with her worry.
Her father. Patient, steady, who'd taught her that sometimes the best way to solve a problem was to step away from it entirely.
Maybe it was time to go fishing.