January 1978 - Burbank, California
Vehicle 1's success meant funding. Lots of it.
The Pentagon wanted more. Vehicle 2 already in development. A full production program—what would eventually become the F-117—in planning stages.
The Skunk Works was expanding. New hires. Larger budgets. More contracts.
And new technology. The team was getting Apple II computers—the newest personal computers, just released in 1977. $1,298 each. Revolutionary: color graphics, 48K of RAM, built-in BASIC programming language.
Tommy got one for his desk. Not for serious calculations—those still required the CDC mainframe. But for quick programs. Data analysis. Spreadsheet work.
The democratization of computing was beginning. What had required room-sized machines a decade ago now fit on a desk.
Tommy wondered what his father would have thought. Rick had died in 1963, when computers were science fiction to most people. Now engineers had them at their desks.
Technology was advancing exponentially. Human wisdom, not so much.
Tommy got promoted. Senior engineer. Pay raise. More responsibility.
More work.
His visits with Sarah remained monthly. She was eight now. Smart. Asking questions he couldn't answer because of classification.
"Daddy, what exactly do you build?"
"Aircraft."
"What kind?"
"The kind I can't talk about."
"That's not fair."
"I know, honey. But those are the rules."
Sarah was starting to resent the secrecy. Starting to understand that her father's work was more important to him than she was.
Tommy could see it in her eyes. The slow withdrawal. The emotional distance growing.
History repeating. Tommy becoming his father despite every intention not to.
March 1978
Tommy was reviewing budget reports when he noticed something odd.
Meridian Technical Systems had won another contract. Avionics components for the F-117 production program.
Fourth time now Tommy had seen that name. And always: expensive contracts, extended timelines, components that seemed unnecessarily complex.
Tommy pulled every Meridian contract he could access. Laid them out on his desk.
1967: TriStar components 1970: Have Blue materials
1976: Flight testing equipment 1978: F-117 production avionics
Pattern visible now. Meridian appeared on every major Hawkey program. Always as subcontractor. Always winning bids despite higher costs.
Tommy thought about his father's notebook. The entry from 1958 about Meridian Holdings.
He pulled the notebook from home—against security regulations, but he needed to see it.
Rick's notes were detailed. Names connected to Meridian. Shell companies. Financial flows between defense contractors and banks and investment firms.
All dated 1952-1963. Fifteen years ago now.
But if the pattern his father had documented was real... had it continued?
Tommy started cross-referencing. Meridian Technical Systems incorporated in 1965. Two years after Rick died.
Parent company: Meridian Holdings.
The same entity Rick had been tracking.
Tommy felt something cold settle in his stomach.
Coincidence?
Or had his father actually been right?
He spent the evening in his apartment, using his Apple II to create a database. Typed in every Meridian contract he could find. Dates. Amounts. Programs.
The computer made it easy. Rick had done this work by hand, with index cards and notebooks. Tommy had spreadsheet software.
The pattern was clear. Undeniable.
Meridian appeared on every major defense program. Always as subcontractor. Never as prime contractor—that would attract too much attention. But always there. Always expensive. Always creating delays that justified cost overruns.
The perfect parasitic relationship. Feed on the host without killing it. Just enough inefficiency to profit, never enough to get caught.
Tommy printed out his analysis. Stared at the dot-matrix printout.
This wasn't paranoia. This was data.
April 1978
Tommy read an article in Scientific American about chaos theory.
Edward Lorenz's work on weather prediction. The "butterfly effect"—tiny changes in initial conditions leading to drastically different outcomes. Systems that were deterministic but unpredictable.
The article explained: nonlinear systems were inherently chaotic. You couldn't predict them precisely, no matter how good your equations were. The universe resisted control.
Tommy thought about Prometheus Protocol. His father's claims about wars being planned decades in advance. Korea predicted in 1947. Vietnam in 1944.
If chaos theory was right—if complex systems were inherently unpredictable—then how could anyone plan wars decades ahead?
Unless... unless you weren't predicting natural outcomes. Unless you were engineering the system itself. Creating the conditions that made specific outcomes inevitable.
Not fortune-telling. System design.
Like engineering an aircraft. You didn't predict what shape would work. You designed the shape to produce the outcome you wanted.
Tommy felt a chill.
Chaos theory said you couldn't predict complex systems. But it didn't say you couldn't engineer them.
If you controlled enough variables—political appointments, military budgets, media narratives, economic incentives—you could make "inevitable" outcomes that looked natural but were actually designed.
The butterfly effect worked both ways. Small changes, big results. So if you made the right small changes...
Tommy closed the magazine. This was dangerous thinking.
But he couldn't stop.
June 1978
Tommy told Dave Miller what he'd found.
They were working late, alone in the office. Tommy spread out the documents—Rick's notebook, contract files, his Apple II printouts showing Meridian's pattern.
"Look at this. Meridian on every major program. Always high-cost. Always extended timelines. And it's been going on for decades."
Dave studied the papers. "Okay. So there's a contractor that's good at winning bids. So what?"
"But they're not the low bidder. They're consistently more expensive. Yet they keep winning."
"Maybe they have better relationships. Better technical proposals."
"Or maybe something else is going on." Tommy pointed to Rick's notebook. "My father was tracking this company in the 1950s. Called it part of a 'Prometheus Protocol network.' He thought defense contractors were deliberately engineering conflicts for profit."
Dave looked at Tommy carefully. "Your father. The one who... had problems?"
"He died thinking he'd uncovered a conspiracy. Everyone said he was paranoid. But what if he wasn't?"
"Forsyth, you're going down a dangerous path here."
"What if the system is designed to maximize spending? What if programs are deliberately extended, costs inflated, wars engineered—"
"Stop." Dave's voice was firm. "You need to stop. Right now."
"Why?"
"Because that kind of thinking gets you fired. Or worse." Dave gathered up the papers, handed them back to Tommy. "You're a good engineer. You have a daughter who needs you. Don't throw that away chasing conspiracy theories."
"But what if it's not a theory? What if it's just... systems engineering applied to geopolitics?"
Dave paused. "What do you mean?"
"Chaos theory. You read about it? Lorenz's work?" Tommy pulled out the Scientific American article. "Complex systems are unpredictable. But that doesn't mean you can't engineer them. Design the system to produce the outcomes you want. Small interventions, big results."
"You're saying someone is... engineering wars? Like engineering aircraft?"
"I'm saying it's possible. Theoretically." Tommy looked at his data. "And this pattern suggests someone might actually be doing it."
Dave was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Even if that's true—even if everything you're saying is correct—what are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know."
"Exactly. You don't know. Because there's nothing you can do. If this is real, it's way above your pay grade. And mine. And everyone's except maybe God." Dave stood up. "Go home, Forsyth. Spend time with your daughter. Forget about this. Trust me."