by J. J. Lorden
Like so many of Texier Quantum’s proprietary advances, the battery was possible because of nanitics, the science of manipulating things with nanobots, or nanites, at an atomic level.
Bendik had helped Jerry Gibson and his Bethel team develop a molecular composite of graphene and silicon that could handle the massive power densities required. Then set them to solving the problem.
Their solution was elegant. Using existing Texier nanotech, they’d created a design that impregnated the needed graphene into huge swaths of underground areas where silicon was already present. The nanites separated the needed silicon from the soil and moved rock and dirt around, assembling the warehouse sized batteries completely invisible to the outside world.
It was a non-invasive, clean, cheap, easily repeatable design that allowed a single person to build, in a week, something that would traditionally require trillions of dollars, thousands of people, and years of construction to complete. If they could even build it at all. It was Bendik’s kind of design.
Pete continued, “At the current charge-up rate, those will be at full capacity in the next 60 days. The thermal converter team says it would be best to be operational by that time, as a full shutdown of the converters would take 11 days and getting them back online would be an additional 9 after–” Bendik raised a hand to forestall the rest of that report–he already understood.
“That gives us plenty of time. We should be drawing power well before sixty days–just so long as you keep construction on schedule.” He grinned roguishly. Pete drew in a breath; the man could be incorrigible sometimes.
“How are we looking on our 2E and 1G reserves?” Bendik asked, referring to their tunneling and construction nanites.
Pete responded, “Our reserves are nearing two hundred percent of currently deployed units. And, with the good doctor’s improvements to the hive-mind software, our rate of loss is also down by 17%, which has significantly boosted the reserve growth rate.”
“Good, good,” Bendik acknowledged. “You’re still expecting to move on tomorrow?”
Pete looked back at his data and then reached out toward the transparent concave wall, pulling the information he wanted into his display. “Hmmm… today, actually. I’m about done here; I have only the lowest level left to inspect. I’ll do that with the site operator, who’s just getting on the lift now. He’ll be here in five minutes.”
Bendik looked away on the projected image, seeming to consider something. “Who is it?”
“Alvin. He was our first volunteer... responded within minutes of my sending the job request. Given his level of competence, I’ve made him team lead and after completing his preparation, I plan to hand the training of the other site operator’s over to him. I still want to do physical walkthroughs with all of them, so unfortunately it won’t save that much time.”
“Do you have a lung for him?” Bendik asked.
Pete pulled a black, oval case from a pocket. “Got it. And despite your short warning,”–he leveled a flat stare through the link at his boss–“I have them for all the site operators. They’re all volunteers with crystal-level clearance contracts. In fact, I’ve got a list of more than three dozen reserves; it seems everyone can sense something big is coming and they want to be part of it.”
“Good, that’s good.” Bendik nodded.
“Yes,” responded Pete. “The reserve list is great for our compressed timeline, we may end up needing them. Because of the crystal protocol, we already had full bio-genetic workups on everyone. By the time they each arrive to assume their posts, they’ll all have a full kit: lung, panic suit, two immersion suits, and an immersion pod waiting; all genetically matched.”
“And primers?”
“Alvin took his yesterday; the others will be taking theirs today.”
“Good, good.” Bendik grinned. He was glad of the turnout, but not surprised. He loved his company and his people–bringing them together was the greatest achievement of his life... so far.
That wasn’t what elicited the grin though–it was the barb Pete had leveled at his timeline. “Didn’t have much choice on the timing, did I, Pete? We were flying a bit blind until the good doctor showed up, weren’t we?”
The comment was all too true, and Pete shook his head in wonder. He understood Bendik better than anyone alive. Because of that, he had blindly trusted Bendik’s certainty that the man they now knew as Doc, had existed, despite all prior evidence to the contrary.
Somehow, the good doc had a more advanced understanding of LPE tech than Bendik. He was their Rosetta stone. Someone who knew what they’d been struggling with and how to solve the most difficult issues.
Pete knew, despite all the evidence, that End’s certainty hadn’t been false bravado or a wild gamble. Bendik had just reasoned it out–somehow. The man simply thought deeper, more logically, and more strategically than everyone else alive. Well, everyone except for the good doctor.
And, that was the exact point Pete boggled over. These logical leaps and technological advances were the province of only two living people–two people who were now working together. It was beyond Pete’s comprehension.
They’d been running full speed off a metaphorical cliff until the appearance of the good doctor. The master nodes, immersion pod towers, thousands of miles of bore tunnels, and all the infrastructure support for the system. All of it built before they fully understood how to make it work. Built on the back of Bendik’s deduction that he would find the help needed.
And the man himself, the doctor, their missing link, with his thick build, affable nature, square-trimmed beard and coke-bottle glasses was nearly something out of fantasy himself.
Quirky appearance aside, the astounding rapport he shared with Bendik and his just-in-time contributions were undeniable. And Pete trusted Bendik, so despite his inability to make the logical connections himself, he had faith that the good doctor was the real deal.
He looked back at the video projection, processing his thoughts. Then in an uncharacteristic display of emotion, he broke protocol. “You are fucking unreal sometimes, do you know that? I mean… I’m so good at making esoteric connections that I broke the Yeeves deductive scale, but I literally cannot follow your logic. It’s beyond human.”
Pete ran a hand across his facial scruff, shaking his head as he did. “So yes, now in hindsight, sure it makes sense. Would we have found the good doc without first building this whole thing? Maybe. Given enough time, we would have. That’s beside the point, though, End. No one else on the planet would have even gotten anywhere near needing to make the leap we made.”
Pete looked away, shook his head, and continued. “No, it’s more than that. Nobody else is even aware that this–” He gestured around the subterranean chamber. “–kind of thing is even possible.”
Through the connection Bendik looked fondly at his friend. Pete was looking away though, shaking his head slowly and didn’t see it.
Pete exhaled and nodded, smiling acceptance. “And, that’s why I love you, you brilliant bastard.” His attention went back to Bendik, and seeing Bendik’s warm amusement, Pete’s face turned crimson.
Bendik laughed out loud and the sound filled both spaces half a world apart though they were. Pete relaxed and coughed to clear his embarrassment.
Settled, he made to finish the briefing. “Right, so I’ll finish the even circuit, obviously skipping eight. It should only take three days if I hand training over to Alvin. Then I can start on the odd circuit. Or, if you need me to return sooner, I can put that on Alvin too, he can handle the walkthroughs.”
Bendik’s amusement calmed and he focused on the business at hand. “I’m not certain if it’ll be more urgent for you to be in Maine or inspecting nodes.” He rocked his head from side-to-side, weighing the option, then made up his mind. “I suspect I’ll be needing you up in the woods, so give Alvin a rundown on the inspection protocol.”
Pete watched as the athletic 60-ish man leaned forward in his seat and moved his hands in well-practiced
motions similar to his own holo-manipulation forms: efficient, purposeful, and smooth. Won’t be long till he doesn’t even need those anymore. And not long after that before I won’t either, Pete thought as he watched silently.
He was suddenly struck with how foreign this would appear to anyone else. Where is the limit? Is there a barrier we can’t pass? When will my reality be so different from a typical person that I look alien? Are we already beyond that point? His musings were written in his expression, and Bendik picked up on it.
“Hey, Pete, you knock that crap off. You’re better than that. We won’t remove ourselves from humanity–someone has to lead the way out of this dumpster fire, and that’s us, bud. Without us, the damn leghoppers will have the world by the nut sack. So get off it. Stop pouting, or I’ll jump through this holo-call at you.”
Pete’s philosophical musings ended. Bendik had the right of it, and he knew it. His intelligence had always set him apart, always created a separation between himself and nearly everyone else–at least until he met Bendik.
Compared to that separation, this gap between his current experience of living and that of everyone else on earth was an ocean. Even being so vast, it needed to be more if they were to succeed.
If they could push the gap just a bit further, they had a real shot at bringing others along.
So, his was the burden of the trailblazer, and he’d carry it without complaint. Honestly, his charge was to support the real trailblazer, ensure he had a solid mind to bounce things off of, keep him company, and handle the plethora of details that the man’s prolific powers would be wasted on.
He nodded once as he snapped out of that headspace. “Dumpster fire, leghoppers, and saving the world’s collective nut sack.” He smiled. “You got it, Hefe.”
Bendik groaned through the connection. “I swear, Pete, you’re spending too damn much time talking to Olli–the two of you are nearly insubordinate.” He turned to regard his data readout with a smirk on his lips. “I need to get in a pod before too much time passes in-game. I’ll be unavailable for a few days. Max will be with me, though, and he’ll have an ear open to you. So use the QI to contact me if something happens beyond what we’ve allowed for.”
“Yes, sir. I will, although I’m sure we’ll be able to handle things.”
Bendik nodded, stood up, and walked toward the double-door framed into the rear wall of the metal container he used as an office. A biometric lock beeped, and they opened into thin air and a twenty-five-foot drop straight down.
A black, gull-wing-style car door materialized and opened into the space, revealing the deep brown leather interior of what looked like a high-tech tour-bus.
Just as Bendik was about to cross the threshold and end the call, Pete spoke. “Oh, and End…”
“Yeah, Pete?”
Pete wore a boyish grin. “Good luck. Have fun. And, get phat loot.”
“Ha! Thanks, Pete. I plan to.” Then he ducked into the floating vehicle, and the link disconnected.
4
Beta Test Morning
Austin’s Home
Outside Raymond Maine
May 7, 2064—World Seed plus 17 hours, 22 minutes
Austin climbed into his cherished N
The frame and body-panels were a unified shell made of adaptive materials capable of being programmed to change shape. The tech was one of many innovations pioneered and closely guarded by Texier Labs.
The faster the car went, the entire body dynamically shifted to minimize drag and maintain optimal downforce.
Above 200 miles per hour, even the slightest twitch on the wheel triggered micro wings to deploy across the hood, roof and rear quarter panels causing the NexU to stick and corner like it was lassoed to a pole.
At the top end, its theoretical maximum downforce would literally tear any other vehicle apart. Unfortunately, cornering at this theoretical top speed would cause any human to black out and, if sustained, turn the driver’s internal organs to jelly.
Simply put, the NexU was sci-fi come to life.
The NexU was born when, in a highly abnormal move, his father’s company had partnered with a small, ultra-high-end custom-car manufacturer to build a limited run of one hundred and twenty-one of the truly extraordinary machines.
The car company, named Trancend, was thus responsible for introducing the world’s first fully adaptive vehicle, in a category of its own: the Altra-car.
The machines were cryptically named N
The name was said correctly, N is less than XU, but the company owner had never explained it, and since it didn’t really roll off the tongue, the machine was called the NexU.
The partnership propelled the boutique company to massive success, and a year after the NexU’s arrival, Trancend announced the first mass-produced Altra-car, the PhoenixL, pronounced Phoenix fifty–or just P-fifty.
Mass production wasn’t exactly an accurate description, as they only made one thousand fifty-one of the Phoenix cars. At a quarter billion each, half the NexU’s price tag, the profits hauled in by Transend’s brilliant but shy founder, K.A. Knowles, were legendary.
In truth, the P-fifty was a gussied-up but less capable version of the NexU. It had two more cup holders, a colossal stereo system, and the auto-deploy six-point harness was optional. Those, along with a long list of other performance compromises, simply meant it was the poor man’s NexU.
There were rumors that the published performance numbers of his NexU understated its real capabilities. But given the ungodly numbers: 547 miles per hour top speed, 0.37 seconds zero to sixty, and a forty-one-degree climb capability–most people thought the rumor of hidden performance was propaganda drummed up by Trancend to build the brand mystique.
Austin knew the truth; most people were wrong.
Mr. Knowles had personally delivered every NexU to its buyer at a black site in Germany, where he did two things with each of them. First, he’d instructed them in operating their new Altra-car in both of its most extreme potential environments. A mountain course and on a road track. Then he’d overseen their signing of an unprecedented non-disclosure agreement, binding each buyer never to demonstrate the unpublished capabilities of the vehicle to anyone.
The buyer and one other person were allowed to sign the agreement, and the biomarkers of those two were master-keyed to the car. Only when they were sitting behind the wheel was the full capacity of the vehicle unlocked.
Anyone else added to a NexU’s allowed driver list would be operating a governed machine with its max capacity limited to the published specs—a strange and suspicious agreement to be sure, and the definite origin of the rumors.
The penalty for violation? Automatic repossession with no refund. With a half-billion dollars and the loss of a legendary vehicle looming over their heads, the owners respected Mr. Knowles NDA, nobody talked.
After the sale and delivery of the P-fifty cars, Knowles sold his company and disappeared. But he’d left behind the NexU, and the incredibly lucky few cherished them.
Austin was one. He was damn proud to own one of its limited production. When getting into the car, he felt like a kid boarding his very own starship; his heart still raced every time. He loved that he was the key and the vehicle knew him.
Today was no exception and he climbed in grinning. In eerie silence, the NexU came to life, harness straps crawling over his shoulders, ribs, and hips before locking together over his sternum and pulling him snugly into the plush cockpit. Austin grasped the wheel and rolled away from his cabin.
His mind floated on a sweetly peaceful and focused cu
rrent of emotion. Even anticipating the joy of tearing his way through miles of curving backwoods roads, he still reveled in the serenity curated by his morning activity.
Returning from the lab late and exhausted, he’d slept like a rock for 6 hours, which was good for him. After a breakfast dense with greens and saturated fats, he’d spent the early morning standing over his pedals during an intensely technical climb followed by an exhilarating single-track descent through the dense forest.
After wiping down his bike and hanging up his clipless shoes, Austin labored for hours, swinging his favorite hammer, a 2.4-pound, square-faced smithing rounder, and sweating over his Revolutionary-War-era forge and massive 450-lb swiss anvil.
The cardio push of the climb and thrilling hyper-focus of the descent drove out all the nerves. Subsequently, the raw physicality of the smithing grounded, calmed, and balanced him. Combined, they produced a body-connected existence in the moment, mind free from incessant thinking.
The old-fashioned blacksmith work was an indispensable part of this process, as the benefits of the exercise were fleeting without it.
Not all hammer-and-anvil work was good for grounding. It needed to be challenging. This was why Austin loved forging bladed weapons. To do it well, edged weapons required every bit of his attention.
The ways to screwup and ruin a blade were many and varied, each of which he was well acquainted with. It had taken him years to reliably draw a hardened bar into a weapon without overheating it, over-thinning it, working it underheated, or making any number of other potential mistakes.
Any single blunder could ruin hours of work and require the smith to re-smelt his material and start over. He didn’t make those mistakes often anymore. His technique was clean and controlled. Trying to do too much too fast always ended in the scrap heap.
Lessons learned from scrapping a piece he’d spent hours crafting taught lessons that stuck.
He took great joy working metal with fire, tongs, and hammer, shaping it to his will and transforming steel bricks into fine and deadly weapons.
