The warm glow of a desk lamp cut through the late afternoon shadows in Linda Lou’s Lakewood office. Words were her trade—arranging them, polishing them, making them sing a song of competence and value. The only other voice in the room was a familiar one, streaming from her computer speakers. “…Linda Lou Patkin, Lakewood, Colorado, and her $200 show donation,” the host announced. A small, private smile touched her lips. Then came the familiar addendum, her weekly missive to the world: “And she always requests jobs karma and makes the comment worried about A.I.”

Hundreds of miles away, under the grey sky of the Puget Sound, Gordon Schroeder watched the ferry *Wenatchee* glide through its sea trials. To the politicians and press, it was a gleaming symbol of progress. To Gordon, a marine engineer who had worked on its conversion, it was a compromise wrapped in a press release. He had argued against this specific battery configuration, his concerns about thermal runaway in a saltwater environment dismissed as old-fashioned caution.

Later that night, the same podcast played in Gordon’s sparse apartment. He was a man of few words, and his donations were always anonymous, no note, no location. “And our last associate executive producer is Gordon Schroeder,” the host said, a hint of mystery in his voice. “We have no location for Gordon. We have no note.” Gordon felt a strange sense of comfort in his anonymity. He’d heard the name just before his—the resume writer from Colorado, worried about A.I. He felt a flicker of kinship. She was worried about a digital ghost; he was worried about 4,000 tons of steel and lithium-ion.

It took less than a month. The news broke on a Tuesday. The *Wenatchee*, the pride of the fleet, was pulled from service indefinitely after a "mechanical issue" while docking. Gordon felt no triumph, only a hollow ache of vindication. That evening, he found the website mentioned on the show: ImageMakersInc.com. He needed to update his resume, but it was more than that. He felt compelled to reach out to the other voice of caution. He attached his work history and added a single line to the email: "Some new things are just old mistakes in shiny new boxes."

Linda Lou opened the email the next morning. The name, Gordon Schroeder, was familiar from the podcast’s roll call. His cryptic message about "shiny new boxes" snagged her attention. A quick search brought up the news from Washington: the failure of the new hybrid-electric ferry. She saw the parallel immediately. A technology pushed too fast, a promise of a frictionless future that had, in the end, simply broken down. It was her fear about A.I. made manifest in steel and saltwater.

Their video call was scheduled for Friday. "So, Mr. Schroeder," Linda Lou began, her professional smile in place, "let's talk about your unique story." Gordon, a man with a quiet, steady gaze, surprised her. "Before we do," he said, "I want to talk about your note on the show. About A.I." The professional facade melted away. They talked for over an hour, not about keywords and career objectives, but about the relentless pressure for novelty over reliability.

Gordon spoke of the meetings where his team’s simulations were ignored in favor of a supplier’s glossy brochure. He described the quiet fear of being labeled a Luddite for questioning the "inevitable" march of progress. "They wanted a good story for the press," he said, his voice low. "They got one. Just not the one they expected."

Linda Lou found herself nodding, sharing her own anxieties. She spoke of the soulless, algorithm-generated resumes she’d seen, paragraphs of buzzwords that said everything and nothing. "My job isn't just about listing skills," she explained, her passion evident. "It's about finding the narrative, the humanity. An algorithm can't tell the story of why someone had the courage to question a bad decision."

After the call, Linda Lou felt a surge of purpose. She wrote Gordon’s resume not as a list of technical qualifications, but as the story of an engineer with profound integrity. Under "Key Accomplishments," she didn't just mention the *Wenatchee* project; she framed his role as "Provided critical risk assessment on emerging battery technologies, prioritizing long-term vessel safety and reliability over accelerated deployment schedules." It wasn't a story of failure; it was a story of courage.

Two months later, an email arrived from Gordon. He’d accepted a position as a lead safety inspector for new maritime technologies. "They said they were looking for someone who wasn't afraid to hit the brakes," he wrote. That evening, Linda Lou listened to the podcast. She heard her name, her donation, her familiar worry. Then she heard Gordon's name, still with no location, no note. But this time, she knew his story. She was still worried about A.I., but she wasn't worried about being alone.

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