AN: Up to 20 Advanced Chapters on my Patreon
https://www.patreon.com/cw/Crimson_Reapr
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The following weeks blurred into a cadence of sparks, hums, and the slow unfolding of knowledge that made Mark feel like the world was spinning. These were all things he had kind of been excited to learn, but actually going through the process of learning them was nowhere near as fun or fulfilling as he thought it would be.
Anahrin's style of teaching was a little different from what he had expected. He didn't teach with endless monologues that would bore a student to death without allowing them to ask questions. No. He ensured that Mark would stay engaged throughout the entire session by following a rhythm of demonstration, questions, trials, correction, more questions, and finally silent observation as Mark tried his hand. The silence would allow Mark's mind to try to figure its way out of the concepts, testing his patience and increasing his understanding. He would, of course, correct any misconceptions Mark had about things until it clicked in Mark's mind.
The very first lesson was simple on the surface: power being the heart of a starship. Without power, nothing on the ship would function or be worth a damn. Not hull integrity, not propulsion, not even the smallest flicker of light in the void, hell, life support systems would be meaningless with nothing to power them. But the deeper Anahrin's instructions went, the more Mark dug, the more he realized that power wasn't just about providing something the juice it needed to run. A ship's power systems were all about balance, delicate control, and a respect for the forces of nature so volatile that they could tear a ship apart atom by atom if handled without care or with the wrong set of information.
Anahrin taught Mark about 3 main core types, each one more dangerous than the last.
"Fusion Reactors," Anahrin started one afternoon, "are what you are most familiar with. After all, it is the backbone of human ingenuity and shipbuilding. It is, as a saying I've learnt from digging into the web of information of your people, Humanity's Mona Lisa, when it comes to power systems. But let us peel back the layers, yes? The Mona Lisa is, after all, just a work of oily art on a canvas."
Mark straightened his back at the mention of the Mona Lisa. It was something he knew of from his previous life, but he realized that it was also something that had been preserved throughout the years in this reality. Most likely meaning that Mark hadn't reincarnated in an alternate universe, but rather, he had reincarnated in the same universe, just later down the timeline. He reached for the tablet he had been using to take notes and turned it on.
"The heart of a ship's fusion reactor is the containment core. That is the cage," Anahrin took a small pause as he pointed at the hologram projection floating in front of him on a device he had crafted using the student nanoprinter. He had introduced some terminals that had stopped working ages ago due to lack of maintenance into the printer for it to break them down and repurpose some of their material so that he could properly teach Mark.
After allowing Mark to get a good view, he continued. "This is the magnetic womb that houses the design, keeping it from destroying anything and everything around it. Every design, whether done by humans or by any of the other races of the universe, revolves around the following principle: plasma must be confined, squeezed, and tricked into behaving. You fail in this, and you have nothing more than an uncontrolled torch, tearing through decks like wet parchment. It is why the most armored parts of a ship tend to be where the reactor is housed and the bridge. You lose the bridge, and the ship is inoperable. Your reactor is breached, and you become a ticking time bomb floating through space, if you're lucky, that is. Reactions may be immediate or they can be cancelled if you shut off the reactor in time, but in the case of a catastrophic reactor breach, you'll barely have time to think, let alone shut a reactor down."
Anahrin sketched in the air with his long, clawlike fingers, the hologram zooming in as he weaved through it.
"Second, you have the injection system. Deuterium, tritium, or helium-3, which is most commonly used with fusion cores. The choice of fuel is not trivial as it heavily dictates efficiency, heat management, and even the maintenance cycles of the ship itself. Deuterium and tritium are cheap and effective, but they foul the machine quickly, demanding constant refits and pumping of the ship's fuel lines. Helium-3, on the other hand, burns cleaner, which is why it is so commonly used by humanity. However, only those making money off their ships or those with money to burn tend to use them, as it is quite expensive in relation to the other two options. However, with a civilization so entrenched in piracy, mercenary work, escorts, transport, and corporate overlords, the utilization of Helium-3 is but a drop in the ocean to your everyday captain."
Mark noted down everything Anahrin said, his mind acting like a sponge and absorbing the information being given to him.
"Then comes the regulation lattice," Anahrin said as he shifted the hologram to focus on another section of the reactor. "This is where most of your shipbuilders falter. However, I cannot fault them, as your kind is quite young and new to interstellar travel, and while they are working towards mastering fusion cores, they still have a ways to go. I took the time to analyze the wreckage of multiple ships on this planet while you learned patience, and I must say, it seems to be a common misconception amongst human shipbuilders that the reactor merely needs to burn. Reactors must also breathe. Power output is not meant to be a constant figure. A frigate weaving through combat will draw in jagged, irregular gulps of energy, while a freighter in transit demands a steady, slow heartbeat. Balancing these pulses without letting the reaction choke or flare is the art of lattice engineering."
Mark looked up from his notes, understanding dawning on him. "So what you're telling me is that this is where most catastrophic failures come from?"
Anahrin inclined his head. "Precisely. However, from what little I've studied of human reactors, they do not come from the reactor itself, but from the lack of breathing the reactor has. Ships that burn out mid-jump, warships that melt their own spines, being pulled out of FTL by a gravitational device, the culprit is nearly always a misaligned lattice." Anahrin let the glowing diagrams collapse back into motes of light. "Finally, you must take my following words to heart, entrench them in your mind. A reactor is never just a machine. It is the ship's heart, in the way that it feeds the necessary power to the rest of the ship, but it is also its stomach and lungs. It is key for ship engineers to know that when you design a vessel, you do not simply build around the reactor; you do not make a hull and then make space for where the reactor will go. No, you grow the ship from it. Every corridor, every bay, every weapon system bows to the rhythm of its core. To misunderstand that is to build a coffin with FTL capabilities, not a starship."
Mark leaned back, eyes wide in understanding. "They never teach you this at flight school... So… what you're saying is that the reactor doesn't fit into the ship, but rather, the ship fits into the reactor."
Anahrin smiled faintly. "At last, your brush has graced the canvas with its touch. Now I will briefly explain the following two to you: Antimatter Reactors and Zeron-Point Energy Extraction. Now, given the amount of information I was able to dig up from humanity's information webs, which are severely lacking in defensive measures, or rather, they're just primitive, humanity knows of antimatter reactors. However, they are merely theories on paper, and any attempted implementation of them has resulted, in, well... catastrophic failure. You take events in humanity's history like the Europa Containment Breach, the Andes Collider Meltdown, or humanity's greatest folly wrapped in so much falsety that I nearly spent 4 hours digging through before confirming my suspicions-"
Mark suddenly leaned forward, his face paling as he thought of the greatest natural disasters humanity had faced less than 100 years ago. "Event Horizon..."
Anahrin's eyes glowed faintly, a flicker of amusement but mostly solemnity. "...Yes. Humanity's most famous 'natural disaster.' Or rather, its most misconstructed lie." He let the words hang heavy in the air for a second before continuing. "Humanity's corporate leaders, along with your very own governing structures, claimed a random black hole appeared in the middle of a set of densely populated planetary systems, a grandiose and catastrophic cosmic accident, so indifferent and cruel... But no, reality is much, much worse. That abyss was not born from chance; it was no mere anomaly."
"It is why I'm unsure about how much to teach you. There are so many things humanity is not yet ready for. A glance at your history suggests a repertoire of accidents pressed on by ambitions that dwarfed actual understanding, this one forged by one of humanity's biggest corporations. Stellar Dynamics. Foolish, the bunch of them, truly foolish. Playing with antimatter containment at a scale far beyond their understanding, when antimatter itself is but a theory to humans. A reactor misstep so profound it nearly unstitched space itself... all the while I slept..."
Mark felt his stomach knot. "Billions died…" he muttered. "An accident that stretched over 12 different solar systems, almost 60 entire sectors were wiped out. And you're saying… that those greedy bastards caused that? That those who died weren't victims of the universe, but of human greed and lack of understanding?"
Anahrin nodded solemnly, his glowing eyes dimming as his brows furrowed. "As someone from a race of polymaths, I do not fault their attempts to discover what's behind the veil of the unknown. The search for knowledge and perfection is never-ending, and I even encourage it. However, the lives lost that day do not justify what was learned. And their actions after the fact? It is despicable to wrap the truth in the shroud of myth, to bury it under the weight of convenient fiction. And a populace too trusting in their leading figures, not even questioning the information they were given. But does it not make sense? Humanity is a species that toys with fire, burns itself trying to understand its intricacies, then swears the smoke and cinders were an act of the gods."
Anahrin straightened his back, his eyes brightening once again as he quickly shifted and went back into lecture mode. "That is why I will teach you about fusion reactors. There is much to learn from them, too much to be understood, knowledge you'll need for you to grab the helm of your people's future by the neck and lead humanity to become the race it once was, to hopefully revive that fire of the Strathari that burns so dim in you. Antimatter reactors are perfection on paper, every annihilation of matter and antimatter yielding pure energy, no waste, no lingering byproducts. Pure and unadulterated efficiency wrapped in a volatile veil of destruction. In practice, you cannot leash the fury. You cannot contain it. Your regulators will collapse. You will fail, not because you lack understanding, but because you're meant to. Antimatter reaction does not merely burn; it erases reality."
"Heed my words when I warn you, Mark, you may not be human anymore by your DNA, but your mind and perspective are as human as they come. Do not," Anahrin's tone of voice changed from one of a kind professor to a very stern parent giving a speech to their child after they did the most ungodly thing possible. "I repeat, DO NOT make any attempt to utilize Antimatter Reactors, or anything dealing with antimatter. Unlike fusion, which consumes and transforms, antimatter annihilation leaves nothing to salvage. Trust me when I say this, my people unfortunately know the aftermath of antimatter failure far too well; it was strictly outlawed for a reason. Not even the brightest of minds attempted to glance at it, let alone its intricacies. There are things in this universe that are not meant to be discovered, let alone utilized. Promise me you'll never tamper with it."
Mark sat frozen, his stylus trembling in his grip, while Anahrin swiftly took two long steps and leaned in, coming within inches of Mark's face, his teeth clenched, desperation clearly etched on his face. "Promise. Me."
"I- I promise to never use anything relating to Antimatter," Mark stammered out in a single breath, his words coming out like he lacked air.
"I won't be here to stop you from breaking your vow in the future, but a man's words are what make the man. Just think of who you'll truly be if you break your promise to me..." An awkward silence settled between the two as Anahrin worked to reel in his emotions, straightening his posture again and retaking his original positioning. He sighed deeply before continuing with his lecture. "While I would prefer you learn to fully master Fusion cores, there is still another sub-viable option... As I said before, there is Zero-Point Energy Extraction. Humanity has barely scratched the speculation of Antimatter, and zero-point isn't within its wildest machinations. For many of my people, this was speculation, for it is not fire, not annihilation, but theft."
"Imagine drawing power not from fuel, nor matter, but from the very fabric of reality's constant hum. Energy stolen from the void itself, ceaseless energy, never-ending… but delicate. For when one plucks the strings of the vacuum, one risks unraveling the whole instrument." He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "It is… an art best left untouched until you are certain your hands will not tremble. I was one of the few blessed ones who managed to touch it, to practice with it. It was... inexplicable. The universe... it was as if the universe itself saw what I was doing and allowed me... allowed me to get a glimpse of its raw beauty."
Anahrin's eyes seemed to dance as they shifted in color and brightness. His blue eyes turned to soft purple, to bright glowing yellows, to deep purple, and then back to blue. "I say it is a sub-viable option for you... not because it is something one should attempt to do, but because within you is a spark of the universe's origin. Maybe, just maybe, it will allow you to discover the hidden secrets of zero-point energy extraction... However, I doubt that you'll live long enough to discover such truths..."
"If you do manage to find a way to live for as long as the Strathari, you will find that you become complacent with what you discover and what you achieve. Very few strive for more when they think they've reached perfection. It is what the overwhelming majority of my people did. They realize that there truly is no reward to perfection... There's only an end to pursuit. An end to motivation, an end to growth, and so you stop taking risks and discovering new things, thinking you've already reached the top. Why bother looking even higher when you're at the tallest peak? The few of us who sought to learn more than there was to teach were ostracized from society. 'Your talent in ship crafting comes once in a million years, keep yourself to that,' is what I was told by my compatriots. Discovering new frontiers for ship reactors was one of my pursuits, not because I wanted to be known for it, but because I knew perfection would never be achieved, there would always be something better, something to strive for. I wanted to take that leap for my people, but their complacency made it almost impossible to make any headway. And then came my diagnosis, and then came the end of everything I knew and called home. Xar'thul ve'nar, silithar khor, o'rak na'val. (Endless darkness, waiting silently, for the final breath I'll take.)"
Mark spent the rest of the day learning about fusion cores, their deepest intricacies, learning their pros, their cons, how to elevate them to a higher level, and how to revolutionize the fusion cores. By the end of the day, he had so many ideas, but no practical knowledge. Ideas were, after all, ideas. Trial and error were still necessary to grow in understanding, and it would take a couple more days for him to arrive at the point of testing and practical application.
When he went to sleep, Mark could envision himself changing the way humanity traveled through the stars, the speed at which they did so. He envisioned himself as a leader, one who would ensure loyalty not only to himself, but from his people to their fellows. A utopia with a lack of greed. But he knew that greed knew no bounds, and it was impossible to eliminate it; if he grew to the heights he imagined, he would need to work around it, find a way to keep it in check.
The next days came, and Anahrin's focus slowly shifted from power systems to support systems: auxiliary power units that seemed like mere backup generators at first, but Mark came to understand were lifelines. "No matter how perfect you may think your creation, or you may know your creations to be, you must never trust a single core," Anahrin said firmly one night, his voice harsher than usual. "The thing about cores is that they are unpredictable; the greatest measuring tools will never let you know if or when they'll fail. Systems read patterns, and if patterns shift, then you get an indication of an upcoming failure. What happens when you don't get a pattern for a system to recognize and warn you? You become a sitting duck for anyone who wants to try their luck with your derelict vessel as you await with your emergency beacon for someone to decide you are worth the detour and haul you to the nearest station. It should be common knowledge; however, humanity chooses not to implement it, believing bigger is simply better. Having two or more cores allows you to not only be able to do more, but to still have the ability to keep on pushing forward if one day one were to fail. That being said, ensuring all cores are working in synchronization and on the same wavelength is key. A single reactor is practical, indeed, but one should always hope for the best and prepare for the worst."
From then on, Anahrin allowed Mark to get some practice in, having used the nano printer to repair the virtual learning space in the nights while Mark slept. It had come together little by little, but once it did, it allowed Mark to learn how to handle reactor cores, the implementation of multiple cores, power distribution networks, and energy storage. Mark's new mind had allowed him to delve through the information Anahrin was feeding him. While Anahrin considered the speed of Mark's learning to be abysmal, especially for such primitive technology, Mark felt like he was flying through all of these concepts that humanity had yet to fully grasp. He found himself tracing lines of luminous conduits across scale projections of ships, understanding that the networks weren't just wires and pipes; they were the veins of a living body. He was rerouting energy to different modules depending on demand, shifting load between core, storage, and reserves with a logic that was part engineering, part intuition.
What fascinated Mark the most was energy storage. He had thought of batteries as dull boxes, but before him they now stood as monuments of science. Compact energy cells that were not the size of conventional human cells, the smallest of which were 5-meter by 3-meter boxes, and only growing in size depending on the ship. Instead, these were about 5 feet long and 1 foot tall, and each could hold enough power to level a city. Capacitors shrunk from their hulking masses to the size of coffins that discharged in blinding arcs. Anahrin guided him through their nuances: capacitors were meant for sharp bursts of power and rapid acceleration, while batteries were used for steady, sustained usage by the vessel through long stretches of need.
In one demonstration, Anahrin dimmed the entire chamber that housed the virtual learning space and showed him what happened when a capacitor array misfired. The sudden release of energy cracked through the air like thunder, leaving Mark's ears ringing and his heart hammering. Though it had just been a holographic representation, the sight had entrenched itself in the deepest parts of Mark's mind. "This is why you always test ten times before activating these," Anahrin said calmly, as though he hadn't just scared ten years off Mark's life.
There were many failures throughout Mark's learning process of the power systems. In the virtual space, he had once miscalculated an energy transfer matrix and ended up blacking out half the room he was virtually in. Another time, he pushed a capacitor array too quickly and sent a discharge back through the network, earning himself a nasty jolt that somehow transferred to the real world, leaving his arm numb for hours. But Anahrin never scolded his ways, instead joining Mark in the virtual practice and reminding him from time to time: "Trial is like a forge. Your errors are the hammer. Your patience is the anvil. A working end result only comes from errors tempered by patience to right your mistakes and try again."
By the end of the three weeks, Mark's head spun with equations and schematics, but there was a burning desire behind his eyes. He understood how a vessel breathed, how it fed, how it stored and released energy like some colossal beast built of circuits, cores, and fields. But he lacked other understanding, and he yearned for more. He would lose himself in the things he learned, quickly forgetting that he only ate and drank once a week. His frustration mounted as he realized that he was missing so much knowledge, and only God knew how long Anahrin had left. But he would do his best to learn and create something worthwhile. The foundation was already there, burned into his bones by repetition, mistakes, and Anahrin's unyielding insistence on patience.