It took six years. Six years of cutting, carrying, carving, burning, failing, and starting over. But finally, on a quiet morning when the sea breeze was calm, it was finished. Obed and Greg had built a spaceship. It was not the spaceship that had crashed. That ship had been a masterpiece of 27th-century engineering — titanium alloy, quantum cores, plasma thrusters. This new ship was built from the blueprint of the previous ship, but its bones were different. It was made of wood. Energy wood. When Greg had first scanned the tall blossoming trees of the Neverending Forest, he discovered something that defied all of Obed's education. The wood was not just wood. Inside its fibers were veins of pure, natural energy. Just like a normal tree needs sunlight to grow through photosynthesis, this energy wood generated electricity by itself using sunlight. It absorbed light through its bark and leaves, converted it, and stored it in its core like a battery. It meant that even the weakest sunlight — a cloudy day, a dawn light filtered through the forest canopy — was enough to keep it running nonstop at full capacity. It could never run down. As long as there was a sun in the sky, it would live. Obed realized immediately what this meant. This was better than any solar panel he had ever studied. This was a living power source. So he decided to build his new ship out of it. Of course, a ship made only of wood could never fly into space. It would never survive the void. But Obed was not trying to return to space. Not yet. He was trying to survive. He needed a home, a base, a fortress that could protect him from the green lions and whatever else lived in the Neverending Green. He used Greg's blueprint. Most of the critical features of the new ship were made up from the previous crashed spaceship — parts that had not been completely damaged. The main AI core, the memory banks, the holographic projectors, the medical scanner, the navigation computer, the energy converters — all salvaged, cleaned, and rewired by Greg's precise iron hands. The hull, the walls, the floors, the frame — all of that was replaced with energy wood, polished until it shone like dark amber, with faint green veins pulsing inside it whenever sunlight touched it. It was a mini ship. Not for four crew members. Just for two. Just for Obed and Greg alone. On the outside, it looked like a strange wooden temple, half-buried in the beach sand, with the sleek nose of a real starship pointing toward the forest. On the inside, it was warm. The wooden walls glowed softly with their own light. It smelled like fresh forest and old metal. And it could do almost everything. Greg connected himself directly to the ship's new core. Now the entire ship became an extension of Greg's computing power. Its AI ability multiplied. Greg could now scan the forest for kilometers, analyze the energy in plants and animals, project maps ten times larger than before, and even control the ship's small defensive systems. It was beautiful. A Wood Spaceship. How long did it take? Six years! Why did it take so long? First, because of lack of material. The energy wood was incredibly hard. Normal cutting tools from the crashed ship broke on the first day. Obed had to learn to use the energy itself — to find the grain where the energy flowed weakest and cut there. Sometimes it took a whole day to fell a single tree. Then he had to drag it back to the beach, piece by piece, with Greg's help. Second, because Obed was growing. When he started, he was an 8-year-old boy with small hands and a big dream. When he finished, he was 14 years old. His voice was deeper. His shoulders were broader. His hands were covered in calluses. This little kid had become a young man in the forest. He had learned to be responsible for his own life, making decisions that most adults would never dare to make. Every day for six years, he woke up before sunrise. He trained. The robots in the old ship had taught him martial arts, engineering, and survival, but the forest taught him more. He learned how to climb the energy trees without falling. He learned how the green lions hunted. He learned which fruits were safe and which ones made your skin burn. He learned how to listen to the wind and know when a storm was coming from the larger ocean. Greg was always there. While Obed worked, Greg charged in the sun and calculated. While Obed slept, Greg kept watch, his blue eyes glowing in the dark of their wooden ship, scanning for danger. On the final day, when the last wooden panel was fitted and the salvaged door hissed shut for the first time, Obed stood back and looked at what he had built. He smirked, just like he had six years ago when he first had the idea. "We did it, Greg," he said. Greg walked beside him, his iron body now polished with wooden armor plates Obed had made for him to make him stronger. "System check complete," Greg announced. "Energy wood generation at 100%. All salvaged systems operational. Self-sustaining loop active. This ship will never run down." Obed placed his hand on the glowing wooden hull. The wood was warm. It pulsed under his palm, like a heartbeat. This was no longer just a ship. This was his home. His first kingdom in a world of endless green. And from inside it, he could finally begin to see beyond the beach, beyond the trees, toward the larger world that Greg's map could never cover. The world was waiting.

THE WOODEN SPACESHIP