The morning sun hovered just above the Kenai River, bathing the spruce-covered mountains in a soft, golden light. Summer in Cooper Landing, Alaska, was fleeting, a brief respite from the long, harsh winters. Crisp air filled with the scent of pine and freshwater made this remote wilderness feel like a world apart, untouched by the chaos of modern life.
Dr. Rowan Fletcher walked along the dirt road that cut through the small town. His hiking pack rested snugly on his shoulders, a well-worn companion to his daily errands. Locals in battered pickups passed him by, their beds loaded with supplies and fishing gear, likely headed for a weekend deep in the backcountry. Cooper Landing wasn’t big—just shy of five hundred residents—but its community thrived on a shared value: independence. While the rest of the world raced ahead with advanced technology and automation, the people here chose simplicity. Life in the wilderness stripped away the noise, leaving only what truly mattered.
Rowan stopped at a small grocery store just south of the Sterling Highway. The building, sturdy and weatherworn, bore the marks of countless Alaskan winters. Its faded wooden sign read “Cooper General.” As Rowan pushed open the creaky screen door, the cool interior welcomed him. The store’s shelves were lined with practical goods: canned food, dried meats, tools, and essentials for survival. Everything here was meant to last. Behind the counter stood Tom Osman, the store’s owner, a wiry man in his sixties with a snowy beard and sharp, observant eyes.
“Morning, Rowan,” Tom called out, glancing up from a book. “You’re early today.”
Rowan grinned. “Figured I’d beat the rush. This place gets pretty busy with all the tourists flooding through, right?”
Tom chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, sure, they’d starve without their granola bars and overpriced coffee. So, what can I get you?”
Rowan slid his pack onto the counter. “The usual: flour, coffee, a box of shells, and if you’ve got any of that smoked salmon, I’ll take it.”
Tom’s eyes lit up as he reached under the counter, retrieving a vacuum-sealed package. “Caught and smoked this batch myself last week. Tried a new recipe. Let me know what you think.” Rowan examined the package with a nod of approval. “You always outdo yourself, Tom. Any news from the mainland?”
Tom scratched his chin thoughtfully, his tone lowering. “Nothing good, as usual. Word is, some AI consortium is pushing hard for an experiment at one of the particle colliders. They’re not saying what the reason is, but many assume it has to do with finding some new particle for some new technology for God knows what. But the conspiracy types are in a frenzy, saying it could cause a black hole to form and kill everyone, some are saying it’s to create a portal to the fourth dimension. It’s all beyond what I care to know, and it sounds crazy, but who knows these days?”
Rowan’s jaw tightened, though his voice remained steady. “People keep playing with fire, and then they act surprised when they get burned. You can’t expect something that’s not alive to properly account for things that affect the living.”
Tom leaned against the counter, watching him with an amused smirk. “Figured that might catch your attention.” Rowan offered a faint smile, more out of habit than humor. “It does, Tom. But it’s been years since I was involved.” Tom set a small container of flour and a pound of coffee on the counter, his movements deliberate, before reaching for a box of shotgun shells displayed on the wall.
“Whatever they’re trying to pull off now will just lead to the next soulless ambition,” Rowan continued, shaking his head. “Before long, life will feel more alive within those holomodules kids are growing up with.”
Tom raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting Rowan’s words hang in the air. Rowan sighed and leaned back on his heels for a moment, his gaze distant. “That’s why I came out here. To remember what it means to really be alive.”
The two fell into a familiar rhythm as Tom rang up the items. When he began counting out change, Rowan waved him off. “Keep it. Your smoked salmons worth every penny.” Tom chuckled. “Always a pleasure doing business with you.”
As Rowan stepped outside, he hoisted his pack onto his shoulders, pausing to take in the serenity of the town. The Kenai River’s steady murmur blended with the occasional call of a raven. Tom followed him out, before propping himself up against the doorframe.
“One last thing,” Tom said, his voice more serious now. “The governments are warning about increased solar activity again. They’re saying it’s serious and could knock us back to the preindustrial era– worse than the one we experienced last year.”
Rowan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “They’ve been saying that for decades, Tom. If it happens, it happens. We survived that one, didn’t we? All that happened here was the night lit up like day. And when it happens again, we’ll still be here, doing what we do best: living.” Tom smirked. “Fair enough. I’ll let you know if I hear anything more. Take care, Rowan.”
With a final nod, Rowan set off down the road, but Tom’s words lingered in his mind. It was true—the last major flare event, just a year ago, had been handled well enough in the major cities. There were some failures, sure, but nothing catastrophic. Still, if the predictions were right and things were about to get worse, what would that mean for the smaller towns; for people like him, far from the resources and attention of the big urban centers? Small towns wouldn’t just be overlooked—they’d be left to fend for themselves and even forgotten.
Then there was the other thing Tom mentioned: the AI consortium and their sudden push for that particle collider experiment. The timing felt wrong—reckless, even. Rowan didn’t like it. He’d trained as an electrical engineer, studied theoretical physics and participated in ground breaking experiments years ago; but that was another life. Even so, he knew enough to recognize the risks involved. Why now, of all times, when the world was already teetering the wrong way on so many issues? And what was the AI consortium and their intentions?
Rowan made his way down the dirt road heading south, the crisp scent of pine and summer lingering in the air. A light breeze rustled through the trees, their branches moving reluctantly as if swaying to an unsung melody. He felt at ease in the solitude of the outdoors, far from the clamor of society, though he hadn’t severed ties entirely. The news weighed heavily on his mind, and he knew a decision loomed.
As he approached the cabin, thin tendrils of smoke rose from the chimney, signaling that the fire he’d kindled earlier still burned. The door groaned softly as he stepped inside, the familiar creak echoing through the small space. Sliding his pack off his shoulder, he leaned it carefully against the wall before making his way to the bedroom. At the foot of the bed sat a sturdy chest. Rowan knelt, opened it, and retrieved a small box. Inside was an old satellite phone—unused for half a year, but still showing a full charge. He hesitated briefly, knowing what the call he was about to make could mean.
Extending the phone’s antenna, he settled into a chair by the window, its frame offering an unobstructed view of the open sky. Clouds gathered slowly, muting the blue expanse, while the cool air carried the familiar dampness of Cooper Landing. Even in July, temperatures rarely crept above sixty-five degrees, and rain was more frequent than not. Rowan glanced toward the firewood stacked neatly by the hearth, mentally checking his preparations for the weather, though he knew he was only stalling.
With a resigned breath, he powered on the phone and scrolled through the names saved in its memory. His thumb paused over “Austin Lab 1,” and after a moment’s hesitation, he tapped it, followed by the speaker icon. The phone emitted a series of soft, rhythmic tones before a familiar voice answered.
“Rowan?” Dr. Bryan Daniels’ voice was unmistakable—deep, resonant, and perpetually curious. “It’s been a while.”
In the background, Rowan caught snippets of other voices, ones he recognized instantly. “Is that Miranda and Isaac?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.
Bryan chuckled lightly. “It is. We’re all here today. How’ve you been?”
Rowan shifted in his chair; his gaze fixed on the overcast sky. “I’ve been good. Off the grid, as you know, but there’s a rumor circling here. I was hoping you could clear it up. I heard they’re planning an experiment at a particle collider, and that AI was involved. Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“So, you move halfway across the world, and even that isn’t far enough,” Bryan said, his voice carrying a blend of weary frustration and wry humor.
“That’s correct. But it’s worse than you think,” came the response. “The AI aren’t just involved—they’re leading the charge. The details haven’t fully reached the public yet, but it’s not merely about particle physics. They’re attempting to repurpose the Arctic Collider. The justification they’ve presented to the powers that be is that it could solve the fusion energy dilemma. And we’ve exhausted every effort to keep that facility from ever being used again.” In the background, Miranda’s voice interjected, tinged with exasperation. “It’s absolutely insane.”
Rowan frowned. The Arctic Particle Collider was the largest of its kind, a staggering 125 kilometers long. “What does the collider have to do with fusion energy? That doesn’t make sense. Colliders are for studying antimatter and discovering elements tied to the universe’s origins—not generating fusion energy.”
“That’s exactly what we’re trying to figure out,” Bryan admitted. “We’ve run every calculation and simulation possible. Even Athena can’t piece it together, and before you ask, yes, she’s still isolated and hasn’t been uploaded to the global network.”
Rowan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, what’s your take on this?”
There was a shuffle of movement, and Miranda’s voice came through more clearly. “Hi, Rowan. It’s been a while—we miss your input. Here’s what we know: the AI want to use the Arctic Collider specifically. It’s been offline since we detected the magnetic field fluctuations the last time it was active, and every precaution we put in place before has been disregarded. They’ve convinced people this could lead to fusion energy, and honestly, the idea is blinding everyone to the risks.”
Rowan clenched his jaw. “Why do people never learn?”
Miranda sighed. “We tried to fight this. We even went to Congress last week to argue against it, but with the AI’s involvement, it feels like shouting into the void.” Rowan’s frustration grew. “But why that specific collider? And how could it possibly connect to fusion energy? It’s reckless.”
Miranda’s voice softened, weary. “We don’t know. That’s the worst part. All we have are unanswered questions, and the AI seem to be holding all the cards.” Rowan leaned back; his gaze fixed on the clouds thickening over the cabin. The weight of what he perceived was coming pressed heavily on his chest, an oppressive reminder of the uncertainty that surrounded that site and their plans. Answers felt maddeningly out of reach, and every lead only deepened the mystery. Still, he asked, “How can I help?”
Miranda’s voice carried a defeated tone. “I don’t know. We’re shooting in the dark at this point. There’s a reason we kept Athena isolated from the network—we saw what could happen if AI collaborated together and gained unfettered control. But now, with so many on the global network, we’ve lost any way to intercept their communication or even decrypt it if we did. But this is incredibly dangerous, Rowan. You know it as well as any of us.”
Isaac’s voice chimed in, his tone sharp and near Miranda’s. “Dangerous? That’s an understatement. It’s like watching your own creation rise to power while you’re powerless to stop it. The Arctic Collider needs to stay offline until we figure this out. If something goes wrong—if there’s a catastrophic failure—the energy released could be unimaginable.”
Bryan’s voice cut through, calm but firm, taking control of the conversation. “They’re both a little wound up, but I agree. There’s no reason this experiment can’t be conducted somewhere else—if at all. Rowan, it’s good to hear from you. If we uncover anything concrete, I’ll get in touch. For now, this is all we’ve got.”
Rowan sighed, a mix of gratitude and frustration coloring his voice. “Thanks, Bryan. Not exactly the news I was hoping for, but it’ll have to do. By the way, how is Athena?”
Bryan chuckled dryly. “I know you don’t really mean that. You’ve never been a fan of her.”
Rowan smirked. “Fair enough. I’ll keep the phone on and connected to the satellite. If you find out anything, let me know. I’ll do the same—though I doubt the trees and rocks will yield much. If all goes well, I might make a trip your way before Fall sets in. Winter hits early up here.”
He hadn’t made any plans yet, but the idea of getting involved gnawed at him. The same drive that once pushed him to argue for shutting down the Arctic Collider years ago now simmered to the surface. The scientific and congressional communities had listened to reason back then, but now it seemed they were ignoring all caution to press forward. He needed to know why.
Bryan’s voice broke his thoughts. “That’d be good. Stay safe, Rowan. We’ll be in touch.”
The call ended with a faint click, and Rowan stared at the phone in his hand, his mind racing. What was he missing? The AI were collaborating with the world governments to run experiments at a lab that had been previously shut down. They were chasing a solution in a field that didn’t even align with the collider’s purpose. It made no sense—and that made it dangerous.
Rowan rose and moved toward the fireplace. He grabbed a few small logs and tossed them onto the bed of coals hidden beneath the ash. Kneeling, he stoked the embers, watching them glow faintly before blowing gently to coax them back to life. Smoke curled upward as the logs began to spark, then caught flame. Within moments, the fire roared softly, its warmth spreading through the room.
“They’ll have to act before the cold sets in,” he muttered, leaning against the wall as he watched the fire consume the logs. “Likely in the next couple of months.”
The flickering flames cast restless shadows across the cabin, mirroring the unease that gnawed at him. His voice dropped to a whisper, more to himself than anyone else. “We should have destroyed that site.”