Since the root of the problem had been identified, there was no reason to burn more fuel. Bill called an immediate end to the test. The two drone swarms—the massive main body and the smaller scout group—quickly banked, gained altitude, and rendezvoused in Sector 4.
Once the groups merged, they followed their pre-programmed descent protocols, landing in organized waves in an open clearing. Recovery teams were already on the move, while specialized techs headed into the valley to hunt for the units that had gone down in the trees.
The hardware itself was cheap, but the onboard data was the real prize. Even though the systems were designed to auto-wipe during a catastrophic failure, they weren't taking any chances. Recovering the wreckage was a matter of security, and it didn't hurt for keeping the local environment clean, either.
Despite the "logger" incident at the end, the test was a massive win. The research team sent the data up the chain immediately, and it wasn't long before the congratulatory calls started rolling in from the institute and the higher-ups in D.C.
Along with the pats on the back came two specific directives. First, they were to prep a highlight reel and a technical summary. After a security review, these materials would be released to the media as a high-tech "gift" to the nation for the upcoming October holidays. This explained why Bill had been pushing the schedule so hard—they had to have a win before the press cycle started.
The second directive was for Bill to pack up the data and bring his core R&D team back to D.C. for a high-level seminar. The cleanup and logistics were left to the juniors. Nick had assumed his part was done and was ready to catch a flight back to Anxi with Terry, but he found his name right at the top of the "core personnel" list.
Though he wasn't thrilled about the extra travel, he knew he couldn't exactly say no to a government summons. He sent Terry and the rest of the techs home and hitched a ride with Bill back to the capital.
Nick expected a casual debrief over coffee, but he was dead wrong. The seminar was a heavyweight event. In addition to the brass from the research institute, there were military generals and a room full of experts—including six or seven members of the National Academy of Engineering. It was clear the Pentagon was treating this technology as a game-changer.
During the meeting, Nick played the role of the quiet observer. Bill and Professor Maddox handled the presentation, showing off the data that proved the system was effectively combat-ready. The results were earth-shattering; this wasn't just a prototype anymore—it was a functional weapon system.
With the cards on the table, the room stopped speaking in hypotheticals and started talking strategy.
The most obvious application was the Swarm Strike. The data proved that a swarm could be deployed via cargo planes, bombers, or even fighter jets. Once released, thousands of micro-suicide drones would loiter over a battlefield, autonomously identifying and marking targets.
Even the most advanced missile defense systems would be useless. You can't shoot down ten thousand buzzing targets with a multi-million-dollar interceptor missile. It's a math problem the enemy can't solve.
The second scenario involved Ground Support. Infantry units could "call in" the swarm like digital artillery. Instead of waiting for a slow-moving air strike, they'd have a cloud of loitering munitions ready to dive-bomb any sniper nest or armored vehicle in seconds.
The third, and perhaps most terrifying, was Saturation Attacks on naval assets. Imagine a swarm of ten thousand drones launched toward a Carrier Strike Group. Current Aegis defense systems are elite, but they are designed for missiles, not a literal cloud of a thousand points of contact.
Until someone invents a viable directed-energy weapon or a localized EMP, this technology is effectively an "unsolvable" offensive move. It was the ultimate "Keep Out" sign for maritime defense.
As the gravity of the tech set in, the room's collective gaze shifted toward Nick. He sat there looking impossibly young, a twenty-two-year-old who had built the future of warfare in his garage over a few months. He'd broken the existing rules of the battlefield.
And the Air Force Equipment Research Institute had bought the rights for pennies. The envy in the room was palpable—Bill Dye had basically stumbled into the technological equivalent of a winning Powerball ticket.
The ideas kept flying. Some talked about Distributed Networking, using the swarm to create an emergency 5G grid over a disaster zone or a battlefield. Others looked at Deep Reconnaissance, using thousands of tiny eyes to map every inch of an enemy fortification in real-time. By the end of the day, it was clear: Nick hadn't just built a better drone; he'd handed them a brand-new sharp weapon.