The Yukon winds had started to change. The air carried a sharper edge, whispering that winter was no longer a distant worry it was on the horizon. Evan stood atop a rise overlooking the bustling Sentry Mining camp, a cold breeze biting at his coat. Below, excavators chewed through frost-hardened earth, workers loaded trucks with ore, and thick clouds of breath lingered in the early morning air.
Inside the weighing shed, Carter, the mine's operations chief, greeted Evan with a clipboard full of tallies.
"Gold's coming in heavy this week. You want the numbers?"
Evan nodded. "Let's hear it."
"Almost $2 million worth at today's prices," Carter said. "But I know you're still holding, not selling."
"That's right," Evan replied. "Gold's going up. We'll sell when it peaks. Until then, we mine and we store."
After making sure the workers were paid generously and on time Evan toured the site. The new dormitories were nearing completion, equipped with heating and insulation for the brutal months ahead. A medical post was stocked and staffed. Sentry Mining wasn't just digging gold; it was becoming a year-round operation with infrastructure to match.
But Evan wasn't done.
He returned to the port in Haines to oversee the next stage of his empire. Two boats, freshly purchased, had just arrived. Gleaming hulls, reinforced for ice, and outfitted with top-tier equipment.
They joined his growing fleet:
Blue Runner – Commanded by Mason, a deep-sea hunter with a reliable track record.
Snow Queen – Led by Captain Lowe, a crusty old fisherman with thirty seasons behind him.
Storm Tide – One of the new additions, fast and high-tech, perfect for dangerous winter runs.
Northern Queen - A larger vessel with massive cold storage and longer endurance.
Each ship bore the Sentry Mining insignia, even though they hauled crab, not ore. For Evan, the distinction didn't matter. Gold came from land or sea. And the sea was about to be generous.
Captain Lowe approached, looking at the newly berthed Storm Tide. "You serious about putting her out this season?"
"She's built for it," Evan said. "And we're not missing the crab boom."
He looked over the harbor. The town was already buzzing about his plans. Sentry Mining was hiring again. Two dozen more crabbers, engineers, dockworkers. His name carried weight now, not just in gold, but in jobs, wages, and confidence.
"You're becoming a regional power," Carter had told him earlier. "That's not just money. That's reach."
Evan smiled. He knew it. And winter hadn't even hit yet.
The crisp smell of sea salt mingled with the burn of diesel fuel as Evan stood on the dock, watching his fleet come to life. The harbor in Haines buzzed with last-minute preparations. Deckhands tied down gear, cranes loaded bait crates, and fuel trucks lined up beside the boats. The crab season was imminent, and Evan's four vessels- Blue Runner, Snow Queen, Storm Tide, and Northern Queen were ready for war.
Evan boarded the Blue Runner first, greeted by the ever-charismatic Mason.
"She's purring like a kitten," Mason said, patting the wheelhouse affectionately. "Loaded up, tuned tight, and the sonar's been updated with that fancy tech you had shipped in."
Evan nodded. "Good. You'll be our lead ship scout ahead and mark the zones once the season opens."
"You got it, boss."
Over on the Snow Queen, Captain Lowe was in the middle of a loud conversation with a new deckhand.
"If you don't know how to sort male from female crab, you'll end up costing us a fine and your job," Lowe barked. "This ain't a tourist boat."
Evan chuckled and let the man do his thing. Lowe had been fishing these waters longer than Evan had been alive he knew how to keep a crew tight and the haul legal.
That afternoon, the four ships departed the harbor in a staggered formation. Evan stood on the deck of the Storm Tide, wind cutting across his face as the coastline fell behind. He wasn't captaining, just hitching a ride out with the crew to experience it first hand.
The plan was simple: arrive early, find the best fishing grounds, and be positioned for immediate deployment the moment the official season began. They'd hover near the crabbing zones, ready to drop pots the moment the clock struck open.
The journey to the Bering Sea took them through increasingly rough waters. Seagulls tailed the fleet, hoping for scraps. Onboard, the men joked about "feeding the fishes" and drew lots for who'd puke first. A rookie on the Northern Queen won by a landslide and was still pale a day later.
The Storm Tide handled the waters beautifully. Sleek and modern, it glided over the swells with ease. Evan explored every inch of the vessel: automated pot launchers, deep radar systems, insulated sleeping quarters it was a floating fortress.
By the third day, the fleet had reached their staging area. The Bering Sea was vast and moody, the water dark like obsidian. They weren't alone. Dozens of boats dotted the horizon some smaller independents, others representing big seafood companies from Alaska and beyond.
"This place is a gold rush every season," Mason said over the comms. "But they're not ready for how deep we're pushing."
The crew settled into a rhythm of waiting. The boats bobbed on the sea, the hum of engines giving way to the occasional shout or laugh. Evan spent his time moving between ships, checking equipment, talking to captains, and fielding satellite calls from Carter back at the mine.
He kept his system HUD running in the background quietly scanning ocean temperatures, migratory patterns, and sonar blips that suggested early clusters of king crabs gathering. The system estimated this would be one of the most lucrative crab seasons in years.
That evening, the crews gathered over encrypted radios and shared a round of drinks strictly controlled, of course. The Snow Queen held a poker game with stakes in chores and crab-cleaning duties. On the Blue Runner, someone played an old harmonica, and Mason grilled freshly caught fish over a makeshift grill on deck.
"We may not have land," he said to Evan as he flipped the fish, "but this here's our empire."
Evan smiled. "I like the sound of that."
Two days before the season opened, a massive storm front appeared on the radar.
Wind speeds were climbing, and the seas turned violent. Smaller boats nearby began retreating to the Alaskan coast, but Evan's fleet hunkered down. His vessels had been built for this. He made sure the crews double-secured every pot, winch, and cable. Anchor drills were run. Engine rooms were checked.
The Storm Tide took the brunt of the swell first. Waves slammed the hull with thunderous force. Inside the cabin, Evan held onto the bolted table while the crew rode it out. They were used to it he wasn't. He fought down nausea with a grimace.
"This'll pass," the captain said. "Just the Bering reminding us who's boss."
By dawn, the storm had rolled eastward. The ocean calmed just enough, and a brilliant curtain of northern lights shimmered across the early morning sky. The crews stood in awe. Even the saltiest of the crabbers had to admit it was beautiful.
When the radio finally crackled to life with the official crab season greenlight, chaos unfolded.
Evan gave the go-ahead: "Drop pots!"
The crew jumped into action. Massive steel crab pots, already baited and stacked, were winched overboard and launched into the sea with thunderous splashes. One after the other, all four boats deployed with precision. It was a coordinated ballet of steel and saltwater.
By nightfall, the first retrievals had begun. The pots came up heavy. The deckhands couldn't believe their eyes full pots of massive king crabs. The kind of haul that set records.
On the Northern Queen, a pot broke its winch due to the weight. Mason had to radio Evan with an incredulous report.
"Boss, we got a problem."
"What is it?"
"There's too many damn crabs. I don't even know where to stack them anymore."
Evan laughed, shaking his head. "Then call back the Snow Queen and redistribute. We're not wasting a single leg."
It was only the first day, and the profit estimates were already hitting the half-million mark.
If the season kept up, they'd be pulling in millions.
And Evan? He was already thinking ahead to processing, to freezing, to exporting. Crab was just another gold rush. And this time, he owned the mine and the sea.