September 18, 2019. L5 Anchor Station. The Lounge.
"Okay, let's review the shortlist," Judy said, swiping a holographic window onto the main table. "Out of thousands of brute-force attempts on the Ledger puzzle, we have exactly four successful decryption handshakes. I've run preliminary background checks on the IP addresses."
I leaned over the table, coffee in hand. "Who did we catch?"
"Candidate One is a post-doc at CERN," Judy read off her tablet. "Specializes in high-energy particle physics. Candidate Two is an aerospace engineer who got fired from a defense contractor for whistleblowing. Candidate Three is a theoretical mathematician in Mumbai, and Candidate Four is a quantum computing researcher in Tokyo."
Mereel frowned, looking up from his datapad. "That's a lot of math."
"Well, it was a math puzzle," Judy said defensively.
"That's exactly the problem," I realized, rubbing the back of my neck. "Look at this list. Physicists, mathematicians, aerospace engineers. We caught the exact demographic we designed the trap for."
"They are geniuses," Judy pointed out.
"They are," I agreed. "But look out that window. We are building a city in a vacuum. We don't need someone to calculate quantum states right now. We need someone who knows how to grow soybeans in a steel tube so we don't starve in six months. We need a chief medical officer who understands zero-G bone degradation. Your puzzle was a cryptographic phase-delay equation. A brilliant botanist isn't going to solve that. They're going to look at the code, realize it has nothing to do with cellular biology, and close the tab."
Mereel snapped his fingers. "Oh. We built a physics-nerd-trap, not a nerd in general trap."
Judy blinked, lowering her tablet. She let out a long sigh. "I built an IT filter. I literally asked a fish to climb a tree. You're right. We completely locked out the other sciences."
"Don't worry about it," I said, setting my mug down. "We just need to adjust our fishing gear. But how do we test a biologist securely? We can't just post 'Space Station looking for Space Farmers' on a university job board."
Mereel grinned, his gamer instincts visibly kicking in. "We gamify it. Or crowdsource it."
"Gamify it?" I asked.
"Citizen science," Mereel explained, sitting up straight on the sofa. "Remember that old space MMO we used to play? The developers actually partnered with real-world research institutes. They took raw data—like microscope slides of human cells or protein structures—and turned it into a mini-game. Players analyzed visual patterns for in-game rewards. They effectively crowdsourced cancer research to millions of gamers, because human pattern recognition is still better than brute-force algorithms when it comes to identifying visual anomalies in organic structures."
Judy caught on immediately. "We disguise our recruitment test as a data-analysis challenge."
"Exactly," Mereel said. "Archi, you have vast amounts of data on deep-space radiation effects on cellular mitosis, right?"
"I possess comprehensive theoretical models and raw data regarding exobiology, closed-loop ecosystems, and human cellular degradation," Archi confirmed over the speakers.
"Perfect. Strip out the classified origins," Mereel said. "Turn it into a raw, open-source dataset. We release it onto academic biology forums, bioinformatics subreddits, and medical research boards under a pseudonym. We present it as a theoretical challenge: 'Optimize this anomalous protein folding sequence.' Or 'Balance this complex botanical ecosystem with these specific atmospheric restrictions.'"
"And whoever solves it in the most elegant, unconventional way..." Judy smiled, her fingers already hovering over her keyboard.
"...gets a direct, encrypted invitation from Nomad," I finished the thought. "It filters for pure skill and outside-the-box thinking, regardless of their IT background."
"I am compiling the datasets now," Archi stated. "I will mask the telemetry to appear as a theoretical exercise in advanced microbiology and closed-system botany. Distribution to terrestrial academic networks will be completed in four minutes."
"Good catch," I said to Mereel. "We need a diverse crew. If we fill this station with guys like us, we'll probably end up accidentally turning the life support system into a giant espresso machine."
"Don't tempt me," Mereel laughed. "Alright. Now that we have people actually coming, we need a place to put them. Archi, bring up Phase Three."
Two Days Later. September 20, 2019. The Anchor - Hangar Spine.
While Judy and Archi were casting their new, highly specialized nets across the internet, Mereel and I focused on the physical reality of the station. If we were inviting guests, they needed a place to sleep, and a place to work.
We stood on the observation catwalk in the main hangar, looking out through the blue shimmering forcefield at the massive dorsal spine of the Anchor.
"Phase Three: The Residential Block," Mereel said, bringing up a schematic on his tablet. "Since we have localized artificial gravity plating, we don't need to spin a centrifuge ring to simulate gravity. We can build it as a solid, modular block."
"Keep it modular," I agreed, watching the silver mist of the nanite swarm go to work. They were extruding the dark gray, heavily armored outer shell from the raw materials the Mules had gathered. "Start with capacity for a hundred people. Standardize the apartments. Fifty square meters. A sleeping area, a wet-room, a small living space. I want them comfortable, not cramped."
"I have finalized the internal layout," Archi chimed in through our comms. "Each deck will have a localized 1G environment. I am also incorporating active acoustic dampening into the bulkheads to ensure privacy."
"And windows," I added. "People need to see the stars. Or at least the Earth."
"For the private quarters, I designed simulated windows," Mereel added. "You don't want a hundred glass weak points in the hull. So the outer walls are solid titanium composite, but the interior walls feature high-resolution OLED panels hooked up to external cameras. You can look out at the void, or if you get space-sick, you can set the window to show a beach in Hawaii. It helps with the claustrophobia."
"Smart," I said. "Archi, what's the ETA?"
"Construction of the primary framework and environmental sealing will be completed in eight hours. Interior detailing, plumbing, and wiring will require an additional twelve."
I tapped my hand against the railing. We were actually doing it. We were building a village in the sky.
My comm-badge beeped. "Surgrim," Judy's voice came through. She sounded slightly out of breath.
"Did Vance find us?" I asked.
"No," Judy said, a wide smile evident in her voice. "Our new trap just got a hit. Someone blew through the botanical ecosystem anomalies in less than forty minutes. Archi says their pattern recognition is off the charts. They didn't just balance the ecosystem, they completely optimized the nitrogen-fixation cycle."
Mereel and I looked at each other. "Well," I said, turning back toward the Nomad's airlock. "Looks like we just found our first farmer."
The Nomad. Command Lounge.
When we walked into the lounge, Judy was staring intently at her monitor.
"The alias is 'GreenThumb_88'," Judy said, looking up. "The IP is bouncing through seven different academic proxies, ending somewhere in Northern Europe."
"The solution provided is flawless," Archi confirmed. "It elegantly bypasses a bottleneck I had assumed was a hard physical limit. This individual possesses a profoundly intuitive grasp of organic chemistry and botany."
I looked at the screen. The automated protocol had already triggered. On GreenThumb_88's computer, wherever they were on Earth, a simple, black terminal window had just popped up.
"They're staring at the terminal right now," Judy whispered. "What do we say?"
"We need to verify them," I said, pulling up a chair next to her. "We need to know they aren't working for a defense contractor."
I reached over and tapped the keyboard.
[Nomad_Actual]: Your solution to the nitrogen-fixation bottleneck was elegant. The model you solved isn't theoretical.
We waited. The blinking cursor on the screen felt agonizingly slow.
Then, text appeared.
[GreenThumb_88]: Who is this? The variables in that dataset don't exist in standard environments. The radiation parameters match a non-atmospheric vacuum. Are you testing for orbital agriculture?
Mereel grinned. "Smart."
I tapped the keyboard.
[Nomad_Actual]: Yes.
There was a longer pause this time.
[GreenThumb_88]: Nomad? If this is a prank, it's not funny. If it's a government honeypot, I'm logging off.
[Nomad_Actual]: No government. We have a secure facility in L5, unlimited power, and zero oversight. We need a Chief Botanical Officer.
[GreenThumb_88]: Prove it. Anyone can spoof an IP.
I stopped typing and looked at Archi's visual avatar. "Archi. Give me something harmless but impossible to fake. And remember we're talking to a biologist. They can't verify encrypted NASA telemetry."
"Understood," Archi replied, his avatar pulsing slightly. "I am currently overriding their secondary workstation monitor. I am bypassing their local firewall and streaming a live, uncompressed optical feed from the Anchor's external cameras directly to their screen. No terrestrial network could handle this resolution from this distance without my routing algorithms."
"Showoff," Mereel muttered approvingly.
We waited in silence. I imagined a scientist sitting in a cluttered office on Earth, ready to pull the plug on their router, only to see their second screen suddenly fill with a breathtaking, impossibly clear, live view of the Earth suspended in the black void of L5.
The cursor on our screen blinked rapidly.
[GreenThumb_88]: ...That's not CGI. The cloud formations over the Atlantic match the current live meteorological data perfectly. And there is zero latency.
I leaned over Judy's shoulder and took the keyboard again.
[Nomad_Actual]: I am Surgrim. This isn't just a job interview. It's an invitation. If you are willing to leave Earth, we have an empty laboratory with a very good view waiting for you. Are you tired of writing grant proposals?
The cursor blinked steadily in the silence of the Lounge.
[GreenThumb_88]: Pack light?
[Nomad_Actual]: Pack whatever you need. We have the space. Send your coordinates. We will pick you up in 48 hours.
I closed the connection and leaned back in my chair, a smile breaking across my face. "Well, we have our first researcher."
"Great," Mereel said, crossing his arms. "Just one minor logistical question. How exactly are we getting them up here? The Mules are automated mining boxes with zero life support. I'm not stuffing a brilliant botanist into a freezing titanium crate. So we need a taxi," Mereel concluded, his engineering brain already shifting gears. "A dedicated passenger shuttle."
"Exactly," I nodded. "Keep it simple. No complex fusion reactor, just high-density battery banks and standard anti-grav drives. It needs full atmospheric life support, seating for a few passengers, and maybe a one-ton cargo capacity so they can bring their equipment."
"And stealth," Judy added. "Active radar-absorbent plating and thermal dampeners. If this is a secret pickup, it needs to stay secret."
"Archi," I called out to the empty room. "You got all that?"
"A vehicle of those specifications is almost insultingly rudimentary, Surgrim," Archi replied, his tone dripping with synthetic boredom. "I have already generated the blueprints based on your parameters. Given the lack of a complex power core, the nanite swarm can print a fully functional, battery-powered stealth shuttle in less than twelve hours."
"Perfect," I said, standing up from the console. "Start printing, Archi. Looks like we're starting a taxi service."