“Power Does Not Sleep.”
The dreadnought is not merely occupied.
It is inhabited.
More than 1,800 souls live aboard the USS Providence, forming a floating hierarchy that mirrors — and quietly dominates — Seward below.
The Providence operates on a strict, segmented model:
Upper Command Decks – governance, strategy, and power
Midship Habitation – families, officials, specialists
Lower Operational Decks – crew, security, logistics
Restricted Black Levels – intelligence, detention, classified systems
Movement between decks is controlled by biometric clearance.
Even the President cannot access certain compartments without escort.
President Robert Estes does not live lavishly.
He lives deliberately.
His quarters are modest by pre-collapse standards, reinforced and functional. He wakes early, eats with his family when possible, and begins briefings before dawn.
His daily routine includes:
Situation reports from all four powered cities
Intelligence threat matrices
Reclamation progress updates
Resource flow and loss reports
Civilian morale assessments
He is never alone.
He is never unwatched.
He knows this—and accepts it as the cost of command.
High-clearance families aboard the ship live in controlled comfort:
Converted officer quarters
Shared dining halls
Structured schooling for children
Mandatory psychological evaluations
Children are educated with a federalized curriculum:
History framed around collapse and recovery
Civic duty emphasized above personal ambition
Military service normalized as expectation, not option
They are safe.
They are also being shaped.
The crew of the Providence operates on rotating shifts that never fully stop.
They sleep in bunks.
They eat in silence.
They work under constant readiness.
No one aboard believes the ship will ever leave the bay.
Their mission is not movement.
It is presence.
Public discipline is rare.
Private correction is not.
Those who violate protocol may:
Be reassigned to lower decks
Lose family visitation privileges
Be transferred to Seward ground operations
Disappear into intelligence custody
The ship feels calm.
That calm is enforced.
If the Providence is the heart of the new America,
the Federal Intelligence Directorate is its nervous system.
The FID does not answer to Seward.
Seward answers to it.
The FID exists to:
Preserve continuity of federal authority
Identify and neutralize destabilizing forces
Shape survivor societies toward compliance
Prepare regions for reclamation or eradication
They do not gather information.
They decide outcomes.
The Directorate is divided into five primary divisions:
Watches the population.
Tracks civilian sentiment
Identifies dissidents early
Inserts informants into survivor enclaves
Recommends removals, relocations, or “interventions”
DSD analysts are the reason:
Some people are denied exit permits
Others are quietly promoted
Certain enclaves receive aid while others starve
Redhaven is under active observation.
The Beacon is flagged as a contested asset.
Evaluates factions, leaders, and power centers.
Grades survivor groups by usefulness
Profiles leaders psychologically
Simulates conflict outcomes
Advises whether to manipulate, co-opt, or destroy
Albert Yemin is listed as:
“Unstable but functional. Short-term utility. Long-term liability.”
No action yet.
Just preparation.
This division deploys the criminals.
Recruits high-risk individuals
Offers pardons for service
Drops teams into destabilization zones
Operates with full deniability
These operatives:
Sabotage infrastructure
Eliminate leaders
Provoke conflicts
Create openings for federal assets
They are not soldiers.
They are weapons that burn out quickly.
Controls information.
Intercepts radio traffic
Monitors power usage patterns
Tracks vehicle movement
Spoofs signals and false broadcasts
The SSB can:
Simulate distress calls
Hide entire communities from detection
Make cities appear abandoned
Make abandoned cities appear alive
Nothing transmitted in Redhaven goes unheard.
The Directorate’s final word.
The CEU handles:
Treason
High-level dissent
Information leaks
Asset refusal
When the CEU arrives, there are no negotiations.
Their actions are logged.
Their names are not.
Most people in Seward never meet an intelligence officer.
They just notice:
Their neighbor moved
A ration assignment changed
A job opening appeared overnight
A ship departure was canceled
Intelligence doesn’t rule through fear.
It rules through adjustment.
The official narrative says:
“We are holding the line until America is ready to return.”
The truth is quieter:
America is being reassembled, piece by piece,
and not everyone will be included.
Aboard the USS Providence, life is orderly.
Predictable.
Safe.
And every person aboard understands something unspoken:
They are not just survivors.
They are stakeholders.
The ship does not sail because it doesn’t need to.
The world will come to it—
either willingly,
or in pieces.