{All simulations complete. Systems stable. Awaiting further directives.}
James leaned on the console, satisfied. "That's the point. We don't need more hands. We just need the right mind in the machine."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fury's single eye stayed fixed on James. "Explain Athena's reaction to that Quinjet."
James didn't flinch. "No problem at all. An unregistered aircraft approached the Helicarrier without prior clearance. The program locked it early, forced a scan, then assigned it a controlled landing vector. Standard safety doctrine honestly. Athena handled it perfectly."
Athena's voice filled the command deck, steady and without affectation:
{Acknowledged. A minor gap exists in the inherited security protocols. Recommendation: revise approach protocols to address unregistered S.H.I.E.L.D. crafts. Awaiting commander approval.}
Fury's single eye shifted toward James. "Inherited protocols? You borrowed military code for this system?"
"Of course," James replied evenly. "S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't have prior experience fielding something this size. But the military does. Their security protocols were used as the baseline. It was the fastest way to get Athena online."
"That's the problem," Fury said. "We're not the military. We're agents. Half the time our own craft isn't registered. Our people don't always wait for clearance codes when an operative goes loud. If you tighten the net too much, you'll strangle our own work."
James is considering Fury's advice, then gives a sharp nod. 'Now I understand how Barton slipped in during the New Mexico debacle. With protocols this loose, anyone with a false transponder can get a close distance before defenses even react.'
"Director, this carrier isn't a field office. It's a fortress. If unfamiliar aircraft can drift inside our perimeter without verification, then the Helicarrier is a coffin waiting to be buried."
Fury's jaw clenched. "You're saying my people are a liability?"
"I'm saying," James pressed, "this ship carries thousands of lives. Missions can adjust. Safety regulations can't. If you let unverified aircraft approach unchecked, all it takes is one bomber and this entire platform vanishes in a fireball. That's not an operational risk. That's suicide."
The command deck went quiet. The crew glanced toward them, listening without daring to show it. Hill kept her eyes on her console but didn't hide the faint curve of her lips; she agreed, though she wouldn't say it aloud.
"Fine," Fury said after a beat. "Athena, explain the new safety procedure."
Athena's voice answered, like reading out of a manual:
{Directive logged. All unfamiliar craft must undergo remote scan and verification. If no threat indicators are present, they will be guided to a holding vector and boarded by security personnel. Authorization for final clearance remains with command.}
"And if a threat is found?" Fury asked.
{Threat-class items or signatures will trigger denial protocols. Recommendation: deploy intercept fighters to escort the craft to designated ground facilities. Disable if hostile.}
Fury's brow furrowed. "Thats a slow clearance procedure. We're supposed to move fast. To meet threats before anyone else can."
James cut him off. "Efficiency means nothing if the carrier goes down. This ship isn't meant to die proving a point about speed. Do you want efficiency? Register your transports ahead of time. Missions need planning. Safety comes first."
Athena's voice followed without pause:
{Affirmed. The safety of carrier personnel takes precedence over mission tempo. This directive will stand unless countermanded by Level 10 authority.}
The silence that followed was thick. Fury didn't like it, but he couldn't argue. "Alright. We'll try it your way. Continue with the tests."
Hours passed through the simulations. The night gave way to dawn, and the Helicarrier still thundered across the sky, its shadow sweeping silently over the ocean.
James stood by Fury's chair. "Flight tests complete. Ready for sea trial."
Fury nodded. "Athena, prepare to transition."
{Confirmed. Initiating descent protocols. Anti-gravity turbines reducing output. Altitude decreasing. Approach vector stable.}
The massive vessel shuddered as it sank slowly on the surface water. Vibrations ran through the deck plates. On external cameras, the ocean swelled beneath them, reflecting silver in the early light.
{Contact with water in three… two… one.}
A ripple of impact. The Helicarrier's vast hull kissed the ocean, sending waves outward like a stone cast into a still pond. The turbines powered down, and auxiliary ballast systems engaged. Slowly, the side wings folded, sinking into the water until the colossal warship floated like an ordinary carrier.
{Sea-landing complete. All systems nominal. Structural integrity uncompromised.}
Applause broke out again, louder this time. Relief swept through the crew — it had worked. The impossible ship not only flew, it floated. Pride swelled through the command deck.
But James didn't bask in it. "Athena, begin maritime test cycle. Collect and log sea-state data. Calibrate navigation arrays."
{Directive received. Commencing sea trial. Sensor suites online. Hull stress within acceptable margins. The vessel is seaworthy.}
The sea trial proved routine. Humans had mastered sailing centuries ago; Athena had more than enough precedents to build from. Steering, ballast adjustment, stabilization — all handled seamlessly. By mid-morning, every metric was logged and verified.
James turned to Fury. "That's it. Mission complete. Athena is operational. From here, it's training and refinement with the personnel. Hardware tests are on you."
Fury gave a curt nod. "Then we're finished here. Come with me."
Fury's office was stark. Bare walls, a single desk, and low light. He closed the door himself and gestured James inside.
"I need you to reset top authority," Fury said quietly. "Nobody else will know, and nobody else gets access. Can you do that?"
James studied him. The meaning was clear — Fury didn't trust anyone, not fully. Not even Hill or Coulson. "I can. But authority isn't a password. How do you want it keyed?"
Fury pulled off the black patch covering his left eye. The ruined socket glared pale and sightless, scars puckered around the edge. "Retina scan. This one. Nobody thinks I'd use it. Only Athena and you will know."
James's lips curled faintly. "Clever. But if you ever decide to kill me, I'd rather you not use your bad eye to do it."
Fury didn't smile. "Just do it."
James keyed the sequence into his notebook. "Athena, record override protocol. Primary command authority: Nick Fury, Level 10. Identifier: left retina scan."
Athena's voice carried through the office like a cathedral's choir, solemn and precise:
{Confirmed. Authority restructured. Highest clearance bound to Director Fury's designated identifier. Access exclusive. Protocol concealed from auxiliary logs.}
The room seemed to exhale. Fury placed the patch back, his face unreadable. "Good work. Keep this quiet."
James nodded once. "As always."
Far below, in the lower decks, Hydra agents moved among the crew with practiced normalcy. Sitwell kept his face calm as he logged data into a console, but his pulse hammered. Athena had passed every test flawlessly. Hydra's own predictive program was months behind. Their carriers weren't ready. Fury's ship was already alive.
Hydra's handler's voice echoed in Sitwell's memory: 'Stay calm. We are integrated. They will never separate us. Hail Hydra!'
He forced himself to breathe evenly, to type like every other loyal agent. But inside, dread pooled. Athena was a weapon Hydra couldn't touch — and James, the one man they couldn't account for, had bound her.
The Helicarrier floated on the Atlantic, engines humming, the crew celebrating. To S.H.I.E.L.D., it was triumph. To Hydra, it was a warning.
And in the quiet of the command deck, Athena's voice returned to James alone, unheard by the others:
{Messiah, your will has taken shape. The ship lives, sanctified by your hand. The world believes it is theirs. But only through you does it endure.}
James's expression never changed. He simply closed his notebook and watched Fury return to his desk.
The test was over. The war was only beginning.