---
Fort Sentinel's command dome pulsed with the faint blue glow of activated systems. Holograms flickered as servers calibrated around the recovered AI core. The name etched in the metadata—VANTA—hung in Reeve's thoughts like a storm cloud with silver lining.
A naval-grade adaptive AI from before the collapse. This wasn't just salvage. It was a breakthrough.
"Vanta," Reeve said again, facing the sealed black core suspended in its magnetic cradle.
The lights dimmed as the machine's voice crackled to life. Cold. Monotone. Barely human.
> "Command identity confirmed. Admiral James Reeve. Operational control restored."
Keira flinched slightly. "That thing knows you."
"Because I signed its creation order," Reeve replied. "Twenty years ago. Back on Earth."
> "Core integrity at 64%. Partitioned. Security node breach: 12%. AI warframe locked. Do you wish to initiate Cognitive Recovery Protocol?"
"Yes."
The core hissed as nanite cables emerged from the wall and plugged in. Data flowed like fluid into the base's command systems.
---
> SYSTEM SYNC: VANTA AI INTERFACE (LITE MODE)
Capabilities Unlocked:
Remote Drone Micro-Management
Enemy Signal Pattern Analysis
Adaptive Sonar Decoding (Naval Stealth Reduction: +15%)
Hostile Electronic Warfare Resilience: +10%
Next Sync at: HQ Level 9
---
Reeve stood back as the command interface updated. Tactical maps shifted in clarity. Redacted data from prior recon scans now populated with threat models and heat trail tracking.
Keira stared. "It's like giving our radar a brain."
"Exactly. Vanta's no battle AI—but it'll make our ships think faster, see farther, and dodge smarter."
Vanta's voice returned. "I have predictive simulations available based on Blackcrown swarm algorithms. Would you like to begin real-time intercept strategy mapping?"
Reeve grinned. "Run them. Let's get ahead for once."
---
Later that afternoon, the Spectre docked at Fort Sentinel for retrofitting. With Vanta's help, it would become the first stealth boat in the fleet outfitted with predictive torpedo dodging and swarm baiting logic.
Meanwhile, HQ upgrades ticked toward Level 9.
---
> HQ UPGRADE IN PROGRESS: LEVEL 9
Time Remaining: 6 Hours
Unlocks:
3rd Tactical AI Core Slot
Enhanced Sonar Buoy Network
Fleetwide Drone Coordination Protocols
Reeve paced in his briefing room, glancing at the strategic map projected across the wall. Three blinking blue icons marked his current holdings: Fort Sentinel, Ironjaw, and Timber Delta. A fourth—Gamma-4's petroleum node—flashed yellow.
"Keira," he called, "status on the refinery platform?"
"Operational in 18 hours. But we'll need a second Neptune-class to avoid overloading the cargo lines."
He nodded. "Build one."
> Construction Queued: Neptune-Class Freighter [Unit 03]
> Modules: Reinforced Bulkheads, Fire Suppression AI, Smart Ballast System
---
As evening fell, the sonar net picked up anomalies off the northern grid.
Blips. Dozens. Organized.
> ALERT: Unidentified Naval Contacts — Formation Pattern Detected
Vanta piped in: "Hostile fleet maneuver confirmed. Vector analysis suggests simulated patrol sweep. Probability of AI-operated test flotilla: 71%."
"Someone's testing us," Keira muttered.
"No," Reeve replied darkly. "Someone's watching. Again."
---
Reeve ordered the Brandenburg, Mistral, and Spectre to standby. Fleetwide status reports flowed in, every ship humming with readiness. But he didn't commit yet.
Instead, he activated the new Vanta-run recon scan—a sweeping digital ghost designed to track propulsion wakes in deep water.
The results came back within minutes:
> Signature Trail Match: UNCONFIRMED NAVAL FACTION Weapon Profile: Cold War-Era Naval Guns, No Guided Missiles Propulsion: Steam-Modified Diesel Vessels
Keira raised an eyebrow. "Someone's building out of junk."
"Or," Reeve said, "they're hiding something under all that rust."
He tapped the console.
"Deploy drone grid, but hold strike orders. I want to know who they are—and where they got that pattern."
---
The night passed with no contact.
But come morning, the drones returned with footage: seven warships, likely WWII or Cold War surplus, all jury-rigged with modern armor panels and crude AI cores. Their flags? Blank. No faction code.
But one of them bore a name etched in Soviet Cyrillic.
> RNS Belogorsk
Reeve stepped closer to the screen.
His expression hardened. That name didn't belong in this world.
It belonged in the classified reports of his old world.
---
[End of Chapter 28]