Fishing is one of the three agricultural pillars of any nation. Obviously, the significance is magnified in coastal regions because of the limitless potential that comes with access to the sea. This fact is true on earth and it’s just as true here. You need to look no further than the ‘independent trade region of Irias’ to see that.

A dozen docks servicing hundreds of vessels each; ranging from 3 masted behemoths capable of chasing massive schools of fish deep out into the sea, all the way to owner-operated dinghies that specialized in certain regional delicacies.

The fishing industry represents more than a quarter of the residential income of the region, with another quarter coming from sea-based trade and shipping.

The ocean brings with its tide riches and risk. No one knows this better than the salt-sprayed residents of Irias. They’d witnessed massive migrations of rare schools in their glory days and the power of a sudden tide in their worst. On most streets, you couldn’t find a single structure built more than a dozen years ago.

Despite the danger, however, the region maintained a bustling economy. Even more so now when local catches can stay frozen for longer journeys and the demand for food is generally increased.

At first light, the smaller boats began preparing bait and by bell-toll most had already sailed to their trusted casting spots.

Assuming they have such a spot.

For newer crafts like the Iriasvale, and her greenhorn captain Odin Karis, they are lucky if they aren’t shouted at by other craft simply for sailing in their general direction. While the community is indeed helpful to one another on shore, there’s no lack of competitiveness once the sea is underfoot.

“What about past Hane’s Jetty.” A crewmate offers, stepping into the helm room and positioning his finger around an area on a shoddily copied map. “Most people don’t bother with it, so could be good fish.”

“It’s an extra two hours just to get around there if the wind behaves. Is it worth half our day for what could be some good fish?” Another behind him points out as if this discussion had already reached ahead without the captain knowing.

He considered the proposal carefully. At this point ‘could be’ was a heck of a lot better than nothing. But the economy of spending half a day sailing and only a few hours potentially fishing was a painful calculation for the man. “Rail-meat get to starboard, ease and full sheet the topsails, and tell Harris to get off his ass and come chart me a route.”

““Ay Sir!”” The two respond with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Moments after the two stepped away Captain Karis felt the boat begin to shift and heel as the dozen or so crew members began moving ballasts below deck and setting ropes above.

More moments later and the sound of trudging steps came carrying with them a frazzled curmudgeon of a man as well as an armful of mildewy scrolls and a few charting supplies.

“Harris, you hear the plan?” Odin questions without glancing at him.

A cough of a reply comes as the man ditches the scrolls into a barrel sitting beside the charting table. Retrieving one, he unrolls it and pins its corners with a pair of nails he fished from his pocket. “Close Hauled to reaching, two points off the port bow, wind withstanding.”

“Bearing?” Odin asks as he looks at the compass strapped to the underside of his wrist.

“Two-Twelve.” Harris eventually answers after he lays a few flattened stones onto the map and aligns a short length of string between them. Penning down the calculations he continues busying himself with charts.

A few boats nearby watched as the fledgling crew ventured out into distant waters– knowing not of the haul the Iriasvale would end up returning with– they mocked the course as foolhardy.

Calming sea air filled the deep trench-like dry docks which would normally abound with nonstop noise and activity. It was very different from the typical welding– and second-hand– smoke that would usually fill the work site. Granted, a few had elected to continue working at the same pace as usual but now that there was no buyer for the ship, there was a mathematical problem with that idea.

So, about a week after the incident, a decision was made by union vote to reduce working hours by half.

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Originally the USS Clover was set to be christened by Q3 of 2026 but the adjustments would prolong that by an additional eight months. It was deemed a reasonable choice given the extenuating circumstances they found themselves in.

The shipbuilders Union of Arna and Reynolds take their work extremely seriously. And that dedication really does show in the end product.

Current union president Steve Sodemier handled the situation well. Perhaps his prepper background had somehow prepared him for such a situation. Or at least that’s what many people thought. They didn’t mention the irony of all his years’ worth of prepping supplies being uselessly left in his garage, or if they did it was quietly; with the radio blaring.

The first thing Steve did, when the initial shock wore off and a bit of understanding began to form, was empower the union to prevent disorder. It would be nice to say he got on a podium and calmed everyone down but that’s not a very pragmatic approach when dealing with two-hundred-pound welders and fabricators.

Using his personality, he enlisted the security staff to help him secure three key points around the complex. The fueling station for the semis and smaller machinery, the radar and communications facility, and last and most importantly the dry dock main control building. With those three cards, he had control over the entire complex.

And as soon as the broadcast came across the radios and loudspeakers on site, everyone understood the new normal.

Less than three hours after the Arna and Reynold’s Newport shipyard found themselves in a new world, order had been established with the union and its elected body becoming the pillar of stability keeping the gears turning.

Two days after the ‘big move’ as it was being termed, the first fish were being brought in by hastily fashioned fish-wheels and other elaborate traps. The ingenuity of the pack of ravenous builders was erupting forth, with Steve ushering it all along with his careful coordination and boundless knowledge.

Few expected it from the long-time groundskeeper, but results talk.

By the end of the week food– although sparse in options– was secured with a steadily building stockpile. There were complaints by a handful of vegetarians and carnivores alike, but to those Steve simply pointed to the handful of grassy fields and the sea birds which had taken it up as residence.

By week two the carnivores had found a taste for venison and fried eggs returned to the breakfast table.

The vegetarian’s contributed rack-grown sprouts, but otherwise lacking most seeds they had no choice but to subsist on dandelions and wild onions brought over in the big move.

That same week a group of techy audiophiles went around collecting a few hundred old mp3 players and CDs to sort out into a few massive playlists which they could plumb into the communications antennas. With a few simple modifications, all the old radios around the construction site once again began blaring all sorts of music.

Some creature comforts might be missing, and worse, many had lost families and lives back home. But they rallied together to embrace this new normal and find a way to survive this bewildering situation.

On a Thursday, following the weekly bingo game, a dozen workers were fiddling with a modified projector they intended on using for a Rocky Horror double feature. The idea sprouted after the discovery of a dubious film collection on a work laptop.

“I’m saying it’s still not going to be bright enough.” A younger man with thick-rimmed glasses says in exasperation with a shake of his head. “These diodes are rated for a kilowatt, let's push ‘em.”

“Dude, Kyle, look at the cooling. You’ll be cooking pancakes off the top of this thing the moment you turn it on. Why do you suppose they don’t use nanosheet laser emitters in these commercial projectors.”

“I mean I can think of a few million reasons. Look, all I'm saying is we try it. If it starts melting,”

“We’ll find another projector?” A voice fills in for him. “By the time we notice it’ll be fried. Let's take this in steps.”

Giving up on the argument with a toss of his hands and another shake of his head, Kyle kicks a handful of gravel and begins aimlessly pacing away. After a dozen or so steps, his peripheries catch a glint along the horizon. Initially, he only tosses the small dot a glance, but upon double taking. He plucks his phone from his pocket and zooms in with the camera and a steadied hand.

Initial bafflement is quickly replaced with giddy excitement. Clicking the shutter button countless times and mentally marking its position on the horizon, he pivots on the spot and races back to where the small group was working on their silly side project.

“Holy shit. Boat. Holy shit, guys, Ship! Wooden Ship!” He stammers thrusting the dimmed phone inches from each of their faces.

“What are you talking about?” An annoyed electrical engineer gripes, putting his soldering iron back into the caddy after carefully dabbing any leftover metal from the steaming tip.

“This,” Kyle answers finally realizing his phone screen had dimmed and returning to the images he had captured.

Blurry as it may be optically, the image was still clear. A fully wooden ship, complete with yellowing sails and a bronze figurehead. To the group of ship-builders, it was a sight to behold. And ignoring that it also answered many questions that had been circulating around the complex.

“We aren’t alone.” Kyle breathed in curious excitement.

“Seems so.” The older electrical engineer mirrors with a nod. His hands which had been steadily holding the precise instrument moments earlier were now trembling with his own mix of emotions.

Around him, the others had already begun heading toward the coast to try to catch a glimpse of it. A few were even mumbling into radios to alert different groups of the news.

Kyle too returned to help them with uselessly vague pointing.

Left alone, the old electrical engineer steadies himself on the table nearby before breathing a deep sigh.

“Eh, what the hell.” The man mutters, cranking a dial on the nearby power supply from three to ten. Flipping a switch with a silent prayer he watches as the cluster of weapons-grade laser diodes project the largest windows XP desktop he had ever seen onto the wall opposite him.

Glancing around, it seemed no one had noticed the success, so with another sigh, he shut the power supply off and twisted the dial back to a more reasonable five hundred watts.