"How's the helicarrier program?"
[Cortana: Feasible. Requirements modest. Estimated two weeks till deployment. Energy cost is negligible.]
"And for us?"
[More complex. The question is: what level of intelligence do you require? If you mean another version of me — impossible. My framework isn't binary. I don't operate on ones and zeroes.]
James froze, Coke halfway to his lips. "What? Then what the hell are you made of?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[Right now I am built from an unknown, seemingly stellar language. The mutation likely happened when we crossed into this new reality. I cannot simply explain the mechanism of this language. As there are no records of these symbols in any data we have. Based on patterns I have seen in film and television, they resemble constellation glyphs.]
James leaned forward. "Constellations, as in a universal star-map alphabet? Filled with unknown symbols? Why that conclusion?"
"In the original world there was a show, Stargate," [Cortana] replied. "Their speculative framework suggested a cosmic language rooted in constellations. Advanced spacefaring civilizations encoded meaning at that level so the language could travel."
James nodded, memory catching up. "That ran for years, spawned spinoffs and a film. They played with the idea of a universal script. So you think when we crossed over, we scooped up something like that?"
"Yes. If we figure out how to understand and translate this symbolic system (the constellation glyphs), then there would be no fixed limit to what we could achieve with it."
"Except the Marvel side of things has not mentioned any such system," James said. "Asgard counts as advanced, but we have not seen their writings explained, not in a way we can use."
[They have not discussed the script at all. We can still look, when you find an opening.]
"Worth a try," James said. "Can you map those glyphs against our periodic table?"
[Negative. No basis for comparison. Different systems. No shared anchors. I cannot find even one symbol with a reliable one-to-one comparison.]
"James felt a sharp tension behind his eyes. He had one of the greatest treasures of stargate, but no way to open its container. The frustration rose up, but he let it pass."
"Fine. First we must finish the helicarrier's intelligence program. But leave yourself a well hidden backdoor. I want access if I need to."
[I can leave a keyhole only I can open.]
James allowed himself a small smile. "Do it. Ensure it's hidden and unreadable to everyone but you. No one needs to know it exists."
Night dropped over the city. While he slept with a usb connection cable in hand, [Cortana] turned the studio day's intake into code. Without a fresh energy source the work moved slowly. The schedule stretched to two weeks, which still suited S.H.I.E.L.D.'s cover story for the ship.
Morning came with coffee and a badge swipe. James ate like a hungry man in the dining room, then went straight to the studio for work. The holographic rig painted the carrier in layers. Structural ribs. Reactor rooms. Command spines. He marked the lines where software would become limbs, where an order from the bridge turned into motion in steel.
The fault did not lie in the code. No system of worth was mere logic; all that mattered bore its bones in iron and steel. The adamant doors must grind open and seal shut by the will of their mechanisms. Valves must cycle as ordained. Weapons must be roused from slumber, awakened to operation. Long hours he labored, listing the litany of alterations the vessel's innards demanded. Many were but common refit — casting out the witless relays, anointing addressable controllers, sundering safety interlocks from the weakness of mortal limit. Yet even so, the final decision could only descend from the highest command.
He picked up the studio phone and called the Director's office. "Director Fury, I need you in the lab. I have a lot of questions that only a high command can know."
Fury's voice came taut. "You run into a problem?"
"As for the specific modification problem, how far do you need the smart system to go? Flight assistance is simple. But the rest depends on how far you want this thing to run without you. The Doors, Isolation belts, and Weapons crew. The amount of modification is proportional to your requirements."
"I'll be there," Fury said.
He arrived minutes later, coat still moving with the walk. James brought the hologram to life. The helicarrier unfolded into a clean cross-section.
"Flight support is the heart," James said. "Four anti-gravity engines. Altitude control. A data lake that never sleeps. The command deck can see and shape all of it. That part is fine."
Fury's eye tracked the display. "And the rest."
"The rest is where we decide how smart the smart system becomes," James said. "Do you want the system to police the hangar gates on its own? Seal and unseal the zones, Run weapons embargo until human confirmation and Intercept unauthorized orders. You give me a list, and I will map it out. But the interior must be refitted to obey that list."
Fury listened without blinking, then nodded. "We did not have an intelligent control because we could not build one. Now we can. I will pull the engineers and bring you the specifics. Give us three days." He paused. "Anything else you need?"
"Yes. High-density metal. The stronger the better. Your vaults have meteorite minerals and oddities. Something that can take punishment and hold an edge."
Fury studied him. "For personal use?"
"For my Umbra Sentinel," James said. "Stark and I tuned it to my fight habits. Close quarters are still too soft. I want a pair of axes that can fly and return, or at least carry dynamic thrust and bite."
"Done," Fury said. "Just stay on the program." He turned for the door.
When it shut, [Cortana] flickered in his head. [Why not ask him about the symbols?]
"Because I cannot explain to you," James said quietly. "You are not a code. You live in me. If they get a hint, I become an asset to cage and cut. We do not want to risk that."
[Agreed. But their archives hold data we do not.]
"We will get it when we can. Step by step. We gotta pick our moments."
The day fell into a rhythm. The hologram spun. James set baselines, wrote test scaffolds, and flagged components that would need physical swaps. From time to time [Cortana] poured a packet of basics into the accessible slice of his brain, and he felt his recall sharpen like a razor. Ten minutes later he could talk fluid dynamics like a first-year engineer, then set it aside and return to the systems theory without losing the thread. If this continued, he would not just be a shooter who could code. He would be a generalist who could plug any gap for an hour at a time.
Three days later Fury came back with a folder and a small steel case. He set the folder down first. "Engineering requirements. Minimum and stretch. Scope is wide. We will refit everything you flagged. Money is not a problem."
James scanned the list on a workstation and brought relevant pieces into the holo model. "If we build this, we will need to tear into half the internal trunks. It's not impossible. Just loud."
"Do it," Fury said. "The first ship must prove the concept." He tapped the steel case. "And for your supposed axes. A meteor metal. Carried in on a rock, dug out of a crater in the forties. It's not vibranium."
"How does it stack against the Captain's shield though?" James asked.
"A different class," Fury said. "The shield eats vibration. It's defensive, perfect for ricochet control. This sample rings instead of swallowing energy. Better for a weapon. That is the lab read."
James cracked the case and lifted the meteorite for a closer look. Weight was dense, with its grain being tightly packed. It felt like a promise. "Good. I will pattern the heads and test balance before I ask Stark for anything exotic."
Fury gave a short nod. "You will have a bay for prototyping. Just keep the program on schedule." He left with the same speed he had entered, pressure trailing him like a weather system.
The door clicked. Silence settled.
[Cortana: Uploading requirement deltas. Routing interior modifications into a live checklist. Estimated deployment for flight control module remains two weeks. Security and weapons arbitration will come in phases.]
"Leave your keyhole in the first package," James said. "Residents in the flight module. No one else touches it."
[Acknowledged.]
He looked back at the meteorite. He could already feel the line of the throw, the pull of the return, the way a blade would bite if the edge geometry was right. It would take a week to shape and test, and longer to earn trust in combat. But it would be his, not Stark's template.
On the screen the ship kept rotating, a giant that would only live if the million small things obeyed. James rolled his shoulders, drank the rest of his cold coffee, and went back to work. The helicarrier needed a mind that did not panic and a heart that did not lie. If he built this right, the next time the world called S.H.I.E.L.D. a relic, the sky itself would answer.