“Yes. We received the zirconium frame for the outer shell yesterday.”
“What about the fuel source?”
“We have frozen pellets of deuterium and tritium in storage.”
Austin sits upright. “That’s good news for once. Here’s the plan. We should build a miniature reactor with an inner fuel core and an outer zirconium shell. If we can heat the device to one hundred million degrees, it should fuse the deuterium and tritium atoms and convert them to helium, releasing energy as a byproduct of fusion.” He pauses. “What about the ignition source?”
The room grows quiet.
Austin looks around. “How are we going to trigger the reaction? Kwame, have you found a laser?”
Kwame falters. “…well, Dr. Sanders, we can purchase argon and xenon units from the Fermilab.”
“Buy several of them.”
“…there’s one problem.” Kwame glances at his colleagues and pauses. “We don’t think those lasers will be powerful enough to initiate the reaction.”
“What?”
“They won’t heat the zirconium shell to 100 million degrees.”
Austin frowns. “That’s unacceptable. There must be something that can reach that temperature.”
Kwame trembles. “Based on our calculation, the only ignition source that would work is a gamma-ray gun.”
“Then go get one.”
“…they don’t exist anymore, Dr. Sanders.”
Austin slams his hand onto the desk. “You idiots! We’ve spent $20 billion acquiring a start-up company and now you’re telling me their designs won’t work?”
Team members look away.
“We were duped. The TransAtomic CEO looked me in my eye and told me they had found the solution. Instead, it looks like our investment just went down the drain.”
Kwame motions. “There’s one other possibility, Dr. Sanders. I talked to their Chief Scientific Officer. He said an alternative is to assemble our prototype within a nuclear fission plant. Based on their calculation, the energy from uranium should be enough to trigger fusion, just like in a hydrogen bomb.”
Austin laughs. “Are you kidding me? Last month the Tokai reactor in Japan exploded and killed a thousand people. The meltdown is spewing radioactive waste across Tokyo. Millions are going to die. You want to put this reactor inside one of our aging power stations?”
Kwame fidgets awkwardly.
“This project is toast,” Austin cries. “I will inform Dr. Andrews to kill the effort and we’ll move on.”
Diego speaks up. “Dr. Sanders, we need a solution. We are running out of hydrocarbons and the cost of oil is skyrocketing. Solar and wind aren’t substantial enough to replace fossil fuels, and nuclear power is disappearing. Fusion is the only option left. We can’t give up!”
Austin rolls his eyes. “Listen, we’ve hyped this for decades and wasted billions of dollars on failed projects. It’s nothing new. Every generation of scientists faces the same predicaments and setbacks. Frankly, I can’t see this technology ever working.”
Diego gasps. “Ever? But we have A.I. We can advance where others failed.”
“A.I. won’t solve our problem. There is a fundamental obstacle in our way. Do you know when nuclear fusion was first proposed as the answer to our problems?”
Diego shrugs.
“Over 150 years ago!”
Kwame leans forward. “Dr. Sanders, we’ve come a long way since then.”
“Have we?”
“Yes. Surely we can overcome the challenges.”
Austin shakes his head. “Let me teach you youngsters about the history of nuclear power.”
They listen intently.
“In 1905, Einstein predicted that energy and mass are inter-related in a beautiful mathematical equation—E=mc2. He speculated that tiny amounts of mass equated to large quantities of energy, but it was just a theory.
“Forty years later, Lise Meitner and Otto Robert Frisch split a uranium atom into barium and krypton in a process called fission. Strangely, the reaction products weighed less than the starting material. Where did the missing mass go? Remembering Einstein’s equation, Meitner and Frisch suggested that the matter had turned into energy. They put their ideas to the test in the form of a bomb. That seminal discovery led to the first atomic explosion and the dawn of the nuclear age. We split the atom and harnessed the power inside.
“That was supposed to solve humanity’s problems. A limitless supply of electricity and no more fossil fuels or global warming! Then came Chernobyl and Three Mile Island, followed by a dwindling supply of uranium. Optimism turned to dismay. So then what? Enter fusion, the next hope for humanity.
“It seems simple. Combine two atoms to form a new element with a reduced mass, with energy as the byproduct. This is how the sun works—every second it fuses 620 million metric tons of hydrogen into helium, releasing enough power to drive life on Earth. But there’s the problem—we cannot replicate the conditions inside the sun here at home. It’s a fundamental obstacle. We will never find an ignition source clean and strong enough to trigger the reaction. That’s the bottom line.”
Kwame lifts his hands. “What’s the alternative, Dr. Sanders? If we can’t solve fusion, what do we do for fuel?”
Austin sighs. “There is no alternative. We’ve done this to ourselves. We have built a civilization addicted to hydrocarbons, and once those fuels run out there is no other option. I don’t see any hope.”
“For the project?”
“For humanity. We are in the middle of an extinction event of our own making. The industrial revolution and the information era have led to this…a second dark age. The chickens have come home to roost. We could have avoided this years ago, and it’s too late now.”
“What about the Chinese?” Kwame asks. “How are they expanding their Mars colony? They must have abundant power.”
“Our enemy uses nuclear energy. They have mastered the fuel cycle and their spacecraft have miniaturized nuclear reactors. Our rockets are driven by combustion.”
Kwame hesitates. “…can we purchase one of their portable fission engines?”
Austin chuckles. “You can try to steal one and risk death. The Chinese certainly will not sell one to us. I doubt they’ll help their enemy.” He laughs aloud and the room grows quiet. “Your intentions are good, but unfortunately the tides are against us.”
An awkward silence sours the atmosphere as team members look away. Seeing his employees dismayed, Austin changes the subject. “Speaking of China, this morning I received a phone call from the CIA about an encrypted radio message from Mars. Looks like our enemy has developed a new communications system for their space colony.”
“What does it say?” Diego asks.
“We don’t know. The NSA wasn’t able to crack the code. They want us to decrypt it.”
“Let me take a look,” Kwame says.
Austin points. “I sent the source files to Anil this morning. Anil, can you share the encryption with the rest of the team? We have five days to solve it.”
Anil looks around the room. “I’ve already decrypted it.”
Austin’s eyes widen. “What? Why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt the meeting.”
Austin smiles. “Well, what is the gist of the message? Can you translate it for us?”
Anil stares at the screen. “Actually, it’s in English, not in Chinese.”
“Saying what?”
“It appears to be a song.”
“Play it.”
“Sure, take a listen.”
Austin leans closer to the laptop. “I can’t hear it. Can you turn up the volume?”
Anil taps his device and rock music blares. “Deep down Louisiana close to New Orleans, Way back up in the woods among the evergreens, There stood a log cabin made of earth and wood, Where lived a country boy named Johnny B. Goode.”
Austin’s brows furrow. “What the hell?”
“Go, go, Go Johnny
Go, Go, Go, Johnny, Go, Go, Go, Johnny B. Goode.”
Kwame looks up. “That’s ‘Johnny B. Goode,’ an old rock song!”
Austin appears confused. “The Chinese encrypted a 1950’s classic hit? They must be bored or out of their minds.”
Laughter breaks out.
“About that,” Anil replies. “The encryption method is entirely new. It’s the most complicated code I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s not our problem,” Austin says. “Just send me the key and I’ll forward it to the CIA. Case closed.”
“That’s the problem, Dr. Sanders. It isn’t a standard 256-bit key. I don’t believe the Chinese sent this message.”
Austin squints and rubs his eyes. “Well, what the hell is this about?”
Anil beams his display onto a wall. “Take a look. I logged onto JPL’s portal and traced the source of the radio signal.”
“How do you have access to the Jet Propulsion Laboratory?”
Anil smiles. “My wife works there, Dr. Sanders.”
“Right,” Austin nods. “Forgot about that.”
“Take a look at this map. Here is the origin of the message. You can clearly see that it’s not coming from Mars.”
Austin gawks at the projection. “Who the hell sent us this?”
“It seems to be coming from Barnard’s star, six light-years from Earth.”
Austin looks Anil in his eyes. “Then why is the message in English?”
Anil shrugs. “I have no idea, sir.”
Silence overtakes the room.
“You have five days to figure it out.” Austin gets up at walks towards the door. “Folks, unless you find a power source, I will put an end to Project Titan and move on. There’s no point in wasting our time.”
The team broods as their boss leaves the room.
4.
“FELINA, open that bottle of champagne.”
Manos Kharon sits at a gold-plated desk in his top-floor Manhattan office. Along the wall, his face graces the covers of ten framed magazines, one of them headlined “CEO of the Year.” Above the collection, a virtual ticker streams financial data in empty space. A live holographic feed of the Oval Office occupies the center of the room and a caption runs below it. “President Hughes to speak momentarily.”
Felina picks up the bottle. “A $20,000 vintage? What’s the occasion, Mr. Kharon?”
“Another win,” Manos says with a smirk.
Felina twists the cork until it explodes into the ceiling, spilling the bubbly onto her leather high heels. She pours it into a flute.
Manos grabs a tissue, bends over, and wipes her shoes, staring into her eyes. “Let me clean that for you.”
“That’s nice of you, Mr. Kharon.” She leans forward flirtatiously. “What success are we celebrating?”
“The Google victory.”
She smiles. “Sounds like a big one for GoldRock.”
“Massive. The Information Tariffs were months in the making. It means that our investment in the tech giant will finally pay off. With my help, their profits will soar immediately.”
“They are lucky to have you, Mr. Kharon.”
Manos sips the champagne. “Yes, they are. Let me ask you a question. Imagine an oil company giving away their precious commodities for free. What kind of business is that?”
“A failed one.”
“Exactly. Google freely gives away data as they lose billions of dollars. It’s the most incompetent business model I’ve ever seen, and it’s time for change.”
Felina whispers in his ear. “You’ve struck again.”
“Not quite yet.” He lights a cigar. “We’re not at the finish line and there’s more work to do. We need to develop Google’s new business strategy. Their executives are waiting for our next steps.”
Felina pouts her lips. “What can I do to help?”
“Get my Chief of Staff on the line. We need to finalize our action plan.”
“Will do, Mr. Kharon.” She rushes from the room.
A projection of the American President appears in the room. Manos increases the volume of the holographic video and listens to the speech from the Oval Office. “My fellow Americans, the War continues to challenge us. Across the world and in space, our enemies engage in hostile activities, threatening our American existence. They use our own technology against us, hoping we will cower under pressure. They hoard the world’s supply of water and energy, trying to starve our citizens. Thanks to your sacrifices, our foes drift closer to defeat...”
A soft ring echoes from a speaker. “Mr. Kharon, Seth is ready for you.”
“Thanks, Felina.” Manos lowers the volume of the broadcast and places the Vision smartglasses on his face. In his view, he clicks a green icon and his tanned, thirty-something Chief of Staff appears in a live video feed.
“Seth, how are you?” Manos asks.
“Mr. Kharon, I don’t see your face.”
Manos moves his ashtray, revealing a small black cube on his desk. “How about that?”
“Yes, I see you now. How can I help you, sir?”
Manos reclines in his chair. “I want to talk to you about the Google initiative. Have you formulated their new corporate structure?”
“Yes, let me pull up my notes.” His eyes flicker across the screen. “Last time we discussed imposing a fee for Google search. You proposed a subscription model where users would pay monthly to access the web.”
“That’s right. Have you calculated the best price?”
“$999 a month.”
“I like the sound of it. What are the profits from this plan?”
“Based on my calculations, yearly earnings will jump by $60B.”
Manos raises his glass. “Perfect! Listen, it’s important that the fee is adjustable. Users in other countries must pay more than Americans.”
“I see. Is this related to the War?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“Apologies. Well, we can vary the price based on location or currency. That’s simple.”
Manos puffs the cigar. “Wonderful. I like your proposal, Seth. Great job!”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Let’s proceed—please send your plans to the Google management team so they can implement it.”
Seth hesitates. “…there is one caveat.”
“What’s that?”
“The $60B projection assumes there are no changes to the company’s user base. The actual profits could be lower.”
Manos frowns. “What do you mean?”
“It’s difficult to predict how the new rules will change consumers’ habits. The average American may not want to spend $1000 a month for Google search. They might abandon the platform and turn to the dark web.”
“What’s our bottom line in that scenario?”
“Google’s brand may suffer irreparable damage. It could even kill the company.”
Manos slams his fist on the desk. “That’s unacceptable! I cannot tolerate a loss on my investment. If you want to keep your job, you better find a solution.”
“I already have.” Seth beams. “I propose a different model.”
Manos sips his champagne and walks to a window, peering into Manhattan. The city’s floodwater merges with the East River. In the distance, the cables of the Brooklyn Bridge peek from the water surface. “Well, what’s your answer?”
Seth gestures with his hand. “Instead of subscriptions, we should implement an ad-based model.”
“Ads?”
“Yes. We can expand advertising on the Google platform.”
Manos scratches his forehead. “I don’t see how that scales.”
“Consider this. Ninety percent of the world’s population uses Google’s operating system on their smartglasses. We can stream content continuously to billions of users.”
Manos’s eyes widen. “Endless commercials in your view…”
“Exactly, sir. As of now, Google’s advertisements are limited to YouTube TV and Chrome. We can extend
that to the rest of the interface. Users will watch clips all day long, and a recurring subscription removes them from view.”
Manos rubs his chin. “What’s the profit potential?”
“Based on my calculation, a $1000 monthly fee and the extra ad revenue translates to $80B in annual income.”
Manos laughs. “Brilliant! Make it $5000 for the Chinese and Russians.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will this scenario decrease the Google user base?”
“Not likely. Once people get used to constant ads, they will forget they lived without them.”
Manos perks up. “I like what I’m hearing. Let’s proceed with this strategy but with some conditions…”
“What’s that, sir?”
Manos sips more champagne. “There will be no option to skip advertisements.”
“Of course.”
“And you can’t mute the commercials.”
Seth is silent for a few seconds. “Is that a bit extreme, sir?”
“What do you mean?”
“You will force non-paying users to listen to blurbs all day long.”
Manos rolls his eyes. “Well, that’s the whole point. You have to force-feed people to get them to enjoy life. Promotions improve well-being.” He puffs on the cigar. “And besides, it’s a small sacrifice people can make for the War.”
Felina walks in. “Mr. Kharon, you have an important call from the government.”
“Seth, I have to run. Polish the ad model and send it back to me ASAP. We need to get it to the Google management team.”
Manos answers the other call. A bearded man appears sporting a navy blue suit pinned with an American flag. “Gareth!”
Gareth Allen salutes. “Kharon, how’s my old pal?”
Manos smiles. “Doing well, my friend. Nice to hear your voice. How’s the CIA treating you?”
“Can’t complain. Your absence is sorely missed, Manos.”
“I’m better off at GoldRock.”
“Can we tempt you to return to Langley?”
“Not in a million years, Gareth. Working with you was great, but my government days are over. I’ve paid my dues.”
Gareth chuckles. “Save a spot there at GoldRock for me. I’m retiring soon.”
“You got it. How can I help you?”
Extinction 6 Page 3
