Over the next few days, Nick hunkered down with the expert group for a series of intensive seminars. The sessions were heated, as they debated the best ways to port the H1's intelligent voice tech into a high-stakes military environment.
The consensus was clear: a human-like voice interface could provide combat units with vital data in real-time. By moving away from dense, visual-only displays and toward a natural broadcast, the system could significantly reduce pilot fatigue, allowing them to keep their eyes on the target rather than on their gauges.
Given that the inspection was led by the Air Force Research Lab, the focus remained squarely on aircraft. After several rounds of simulations and demos, the team was sold—the AI assistant was a definitive force multiplier for any pilot in the cockpit.
But despite the glowing reviews, Liam couldn't just sign a contract on the spot. There was a mountain of red tape to clear. The expert group's job was to vet the tech and draft a recommendation; the actual decision-making power sat higher up the chain of command.
Still, looking at their history of successful collaborations, the deal was all but a sure thing. Before heading back to D.C., Liam told Nick to start prepping and to wait for the green light.
Launching a major defense project wasn't as simple as shaking hands. It required massive logistical prep—securing space, hiring specialized staff, and allocating funds—not to mention the classified security protocols that came with a military contract.
Nick knew the drill, but he had a math problem to solve. Once the project kicked off, he'd have to pull his top engineers off their current tasks, which would inevitably stall the consumer side of the business.
He had to move fast. He needed to use this downtime to hire and train a fresh wave of talent while pushing the current R&D cycle to a point where his "all-stars" could be freed up for the military contract.
The bottleneck, as always, was Nick himself. If he couldn't find the time to lead the charge, nothing moved. His current roster was talented but still green; they lacked the high-level experience to fly solo on the core logic. Nick still had to be the one in the trenches, coding the critical infrastructure and guiding the process every step of the way.
And he wasn't the only one who knew his team was valuable. Ever since the H1 launch—and even back during the swarm tech development—rival companies had been circling his engineers like sharks.
They'd already lost a couple. Two promising developers had been poached from the swarm team by a competitor.
The move backfired on the poachers, though. While those two had worked on the project, they'd never touched the core engine. The "secret sauce" stayed locked in Nick's head. What they walked away with was just the surface-level stuff.
Realizing how vulnerable they were, Tyler had stepped in before Nick even had a chance to worry. He'd locked down the staff with ironclad NDAs for anyone touching sensitive data and non-compete agreements for the lead architects.
But Nick was a realist. He knew that in the tech world, a non-compete is only as strong as the lawyer defending it, and the liquidated damages were pennies compared to the value of the IP.
At the end of the day, you can't just sue people into staying; you have to earn their loyalty. You have to make them want to be there.
Usually, that requires a charismatic founder with a decades-long track record. Nick, a kid barely out of college, didn't have that resume yet. Instead, he led by example. He out-coded them, out-worked them, and showed them that by following him, they'd be learning things they couldn't find in any textbook at Google or Apple.
Then there was the vision—the "carrot." Nick and Tyler promised the early team that once the company hit its milestones, the people who built the foundation would be rewarded with a massive slice of the pie through stock options and equity.
For a true engineer, though, the paycheck is secondary to the "holy grail": the sense of achievement. By producing two world-leading technologies in under a year, Militech had proven it was the place to be if you wanted to change the world.
Nick's deep knowledge and his "mad scientist" vibe had earned him a loyal following. His team believed that with Nick at the helm, the next "big thing" was always just around the corner.
Of course, the material perks didn't hurt. Nick made sure the compensation was top-tier. Even by the standards of tech hubs like San Francisco, Seattle, or Austin, the salaries were competitive.
In a city like Tampa, where the cost of living was a fraction of Silicon Valley's, those salaries went twice as far. His engineers lived like kings, which was a powerful incentive to stay put.
Nick also adopted the "Big Tech" office culture—flexible hours, a relaxed environment, and premium perks. He wanted to win their hearts by making the office a place they actually enjoyed.
And finally, there was the ultimate incentive: the equity plan. It was the carrot dangling just out of reach, and its release depended entirely on Nick.
Even with all the perks, Nick knew some people would always be looking for the exit. That's why, when he built his core project teams, he only picked the ones who were stable, loyal, and proven. Anyone who seemed flaky or underperformed was relegated to non-essential roles.
With a new Confidentiality Department on the horizon, Nick was building a fortress. In a world full of competitors trying to cut corners, he knew that if he didn't protect his "castle," all his hard work would eventually be for nothing.