“May I ask what you are doing?”
Adam didn’t look up right away. The weld held his attention, a slow arc of heat bonding support plating to the structural frame of a new assembly rig. Around him, small drones she was unfamiliar with moved in synchronized lines—lifting, slotting, tightening, sealing. This area had once been a condemned maintenance sub-level, partially due to the soil density as well as issues with structural integrity. Now, it appeared it was halfway into being converted into a second-tier manufactory line. Metal dust filled the air, and the low hum of active servos echoed through the wide space.
“Working”, Adam replied. He finished the weld and disengaged the rig’s armature before stepping back to inspect the panel’s alignment. One of the small robots clambered up a nearby support beam to secure the housing bracket. The little machine clicked twice, made a final torque adjustment, and zipped down the scaffold to join the others.
Delphi’s avatar rotated slowly above the main assembly table, watching in silence before finally speaking. “These units are not in the Ark-Light catalog. Classification unknown.”
“Dont worry, they’re mine,” Adam said as he patted one of the robots on the head before walking to the nearest wall. Here, he tapped a tablet mounted to the wall, bringing up schematics. “Designation: Goblin. Smaller than a Hoplite, same task flexibility, one-fifth the resource cost. I found that the Hoplites were way too expensive for non-combat duties.”
“You designed a drone?” Delphi asked, her tone still flat.
Adam glanced at the moving line of Goblins, each executing pre-assigned tasks without deviation. “I designed five. Per Hoplite resource package. And they’re doing the work better nonetheless.”
There was a delay—slight, but noticeable. Delphi was likely parsing the data in real time, running behavior models and cross-checking architecture. “No authorization was given for drone development or infrastructure expansion. Who approved this?”
“I did,” Adam said.
“That exceeds your administrative scope,” she replied.
“And yet it’s operational,” Adam said, walking toward a control panel near the far wall. “The original complex design was outdated. Inefficient. You’ve seen the logs—supply queues were backing up, battery stacks underperforming, storage rotation lagging. Every fix I’ve made has improved throughput, logistics efficiency, and structural performance.”
A new panel unfolded from the ceiling, illuminating a 3D wireframe of the entire facility. Sections that had once been red or grey now glowed green—live, optimized, humming with activity. A few remained orange: pending upgrades.
Delphi paused again. “Running audit.”
Adam didn’t respond. He just watched as the facility map pulsed with data—power distribution reports, work order completions, production ratios. It took her eleven seconds.
“Expansion confirmed in Sectors D-3, D-6, E-1, and F-9. Unauthorized manufacturing units logged. Power grid has been restructured. Total deviation from original operating parameters: 214%.”
Adam nodded once. “Sounds about right.”
“You are exceeding your operational parameters. This may require escalation to command.”
“You can escalate it,” Adam said. “But you’ll be reporting a system that’s functioning above expected thresholds. I haven’t broken anything. Hell, if anything, I fixed so much shit that I’m frankly shocked no one ever fixed or decided to modify.” He gestured broadly toward the facility map now glowing with active sectors. “Seriously, did you know that Power Plant Two had a conduit that led to nowhere yet somehow consumed 4.1% of total power in the grid?”
Delphi processed the statement without a pause. “Confirmed. That anomaly is present in historical logs but was never escalated to repair priority.”
Adam let out a humorless laugh. “Of course it wasn’t. Probably flagged as non-critical and left to rot because someone didn’t want to dig through buried subroutines.”
“...Correct,” Delphi replied flatly after a moment of silence.
“Exactly my point,” Adam said. He tapped a new command into the panel and watched as the next upgrade cycle queued into motion. “I’m not deviating. I’m optimizing. Maybe someone should’ve been doing this a long time ago before I got placed here.”
He turned slightly, wiping a trace of welding dust from his forearm plate. “Now, that’s besides the point. What did you need?”
Delphi’s avatar rotated once, blue pulses flickering across its wireframe. “Incoming packet from Federation Command. High-level audit requisition has been filed. They are requesting full access logs and system-state snapshots for the last thirty operational days.”
Adam didn’t react immediately. He checked the current manufacturing queue and nodded in approval as another Goblin finished securing a structural frame. “Timeline?”
“Seventy-two hours. A full oversight team will be deployed to Alpha Complex at that time.”
He stepped back from the control panel, arms folding as he considered the logistics. “Are they sending technicians or enforcement?”
“Undisclosed,” Delphi replied. “However, listed personnel include administrative and command review staff. No combat units listed on manifest.”
Adam exhaled once. “Then it’s political.”
The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Correct.”
He looked back at the goblins now organizing new plating for distribution. “Fine. I’ll clean up the data feeds and prep a demo.”
Delphi remained silent for a moment. Then: “Do you intend to justify your actions?”
Adam didn’t answer right away. He keyed in a final override to seal the manufacturing bay for the night cycle and watched as the drones began powering down in order. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady. “I intend to show them the results.”
***
Just as Delphi said, the team showed up almost exactly seventy-two hours later. Really though, Adam was hesitant to call it a “team” and more like a straight-up army. Eight dropships touched down in Landing Zone B, each offloading a mix of technicians, administrative staff, logistics officers, and at least two full squads of armed Federation marines.
Adam simulated a deep breath before putting on a game face as he took control over a nearby Hoplite. The unit was freshly serviced, unarmed, painted Federation gray. Non-threatening. He walked it down the receiving ramp and stood as the first group of personnel began to disembark. There was no greeting—just scanners and silent checks. The first to approach him was a man in a crisp Ark-Light field uniform. Slate-gray, silver piping, and above all, no rank insignia.
“Guardian-07?” the man asked.
“That’s me,” Adam replied.
“I’m Commander Sato. I’ll be leading the audit on behalf of Federation Command.”
Adam gave the Hoplite’s head a slight nod. “Welcome to Alpha Complex.”
They didn’t shake hands. Sato motioned to a nearby logistics officer, who immediately began scanning the Hoplite’s IFF and local node tags. Behind them, marines fanned out—not aggressively, but Adam could tell this was standard protocol. They established sightlines, positioned themselves at corridor intersections, and tagged entry points with local jammers.
“I’ll want a full tour of the modified areas,” Sato said. “We’ll also need access to the command archives and architectural revisions.”
“Already compiled,” Adam said. “Delphi has the data packet queued.”
“Good.” Sato turned slightly as another dropship released its payload—crates, personnel, and field analysis kits. “We’ll start with the manufacturing upgrades.”
Adam turned and began walking without another word. Sato and two engineers followed close behind.
The tour was straightforward. Adam didn’t embellish or try to impress them—he just showed them what he built. The Goblin line was active and clean. The new routing grid for power stabilization showed a 9.6% increase in efficiency over the old blueprint. The adaptive ventilation system in Sector D-6, once condemned, now ran a fully self-regulating environmental cycle.
Sato didn’t speak for most of it. He took notes, asked occasional clarifying questions, and cross-checked sensor readouts with his staff. By the time they returned to the central control ring, he had logged over 200 revisions and subsystem modifications.
“I see the logic,” Sato finally said. “But none of this was cleared through command channels.”
“None of this was working through command channels,” Adam replied. “What else can you really do if you see something that’s broken and no one fixes it?”
Sato didn’t argue immediately. He tapped his slate twice, cross-referencing the changes on a scroll of schematics, before finally speaking. “You’re not wrong,” he said. “But when someone takes initiative outside the command structure, it sets a precedent. You’re not the only Guardian down there. If everyone starts doing what they think is best on their own…”
He let the sentence hang.
Adam nodded once. “You lose control.”
“We lose coordination,” Sato corrected. “This isn’t about ego. It’s about alignment. Every system change you make has downstream effects. Logistics, power allocation, orbital planning, and data structure integrity—it’s all linked. If you reroute something and it causes a backup elsewhere, people die. And it won’t be you who answers for it. It''ll be Command.”
“And if I don’t reroute it, people die anyway,” Adam said. “I saw failure piling up in real-time. I didn’t override the system because I wanted to. I did it because no one else was responding.”
Sato held his gaze for a moment. Then he looked back to the schematic. “I’ll include that in the report.”
The rest of the audit proceeded without issue—technically. Every corridor, control room, and repurposed sector was examined in methodical order. Sato asked questions. His aides took readings. The marines stayed quiet, stationed at predetermined intervals, eyes scanning but weapons idle. Everything Adam had built or modified worked. There were no breakdowns, nor were there signs of corruption, and above all, there were no security faults.
But Sato questioned everything.
“How did you approve this change to the resource allocation schedule?”
“What safety clearance was issued for the Shaft 12 expansion?”
“On what basis did you determine acceptable tolerance for the new load-bearing supports in D-6?”
Each time, Adam answered with the same tone—controlled, direct, and increasingly clipped. The data was sound. The work was finished. The results were measurable. Yet Sato logged every deviation like it was a potential failure waiting to happen.
The tipping point came when they reached the Goblin line.
The small drones moved in precise, coordinated cycles—transporting materials, assisting technicians, conducting self-diagnostics. One even paused to recalibrate a worker’s tool rig before scuttling away without prompting. They were almost like children in how they acted; if Adam were being honest, he didn''t really know why they acted like that.
Sato watched the floor for a few seconds, then turned to Adam. “And these were entirely your design?”
“Yes.”
“They’re not in the standard Ark-Light manufacturing suite. Or any of the development archives. Why not submit the blueprints through R&D?”
“Because according to Delphi, it would take R&D almost five years to even think about looking at the design. I don''t have the time to wait for that, and frankly, I don''t think anyone else is either.”
“They’re not in the standard Ark-Light manufacturing suite. Or any of the development archives. Why not submit the blueprints through R&D?”
“Because according to Delphi, it would take R&D almost five years to even think about looking at the design,” Adam said. His tone stayed flat, but the irritation behind it was starting to bleed through. “I don’t have the time to wait for that, and frankly, I don’t think anyone else is either.”
Sato raised an eyebrow slightly but kept typing into his slate. “Do they meet minimum safety protocols?”
“They’re not armed, not autonomous, and not networked to external systems. They’re limited-scope labor drones with hard-coded routines. Everything they do is logged. No deviation, no behavioral drift, no independent heuristics.”
Sato didn’t respond. He simply recorded the units for extended technical review, marked them as "non-sanctioned autonomous support frames," and moved on. Adam didn’t follow immediately. He stood there for a second longer, watching one of the goblins scurry under a mounted platform to tighten a coolant line that had started to come loose.
It did it without needing to be told. Without waiting for a supervisor. Just saw the issue, fixed it, and kept working.
Adam mentally gave the goblin a thumbs up as he caught up to the others.
The rest of the tour continued without incident. Sato said little. The engineers asked their questions. Every answer Adam gave was logged, annotated, and filed. There were no obvious red flags, but the silence behind the formality was loud enough to notice. No compliments. No commentary. Just data collection.
By the time the audit group returned to the central control ring, the sun outside the complex had already dipped low, casting long shadows through the reinforced skylights. The Federation team packed up their equipment. Sato issued no further questions. He turned to Adam at the end with his slate tucked under one arm.
“We’ll finish the report in transit,” he said. “Expect command review within forty-eight hours.”
Adam nodded once. “Good.”
Sato turned to leave, but Adam paused and shifted the Hoplite frame slightly toward him. “Before you go… mind if I ask something?”
Sato stopped, half-turned, his slate still under one arm. “Go ahead.”
Adam hesitated for the first time during the entire inspection. “How’s America doing?”
The question hung in the air longer than it should have. Sato didn’t answer immediately. His face didn’t shift much, but something behind his eyes tightened. Adam couldn’t read it. Could’ve been irritation. Could’ve been confusion. Or something else entirely.
Sato looked away, toward the edge of the hangar where the last of his team was boarding. “Ask Delphi.”
That was all he said before walking up the ramp.
Adam didn’t press. “Alright,” he muttered.
The dropship’s engines powered up. Within seconds, the audit team was gone—just another formation vanishing into the sky like they’d never been there.
Adam stood alone in the landing bay for a few more seconds before finally cutting control over the Hoplite and blinking back into system space.
He’d ask Delphi. But the look on Sato’s face stuck with him longer than the answer did.