by David Berko
“And now, you think you understand what makes a nuclear reactor as special as it really is? What can you tell me about a fusion reaction?” He seriously was asking an open-ended question for anyone brave enough to answer during a live keynote that would most definitely be televised on local networks.
No one nibbled so he let the video resume playback, meanwhile thinking to himself, eatcha heart out.
With camera magic the sun rose, clouds quickly scrolled by, which all led to a big orangy-red sunset that dazzled the screen for a brief minute. Then the word Sun followed almost predictably, setting the stage for the next buzz word to be dissected and torture tested by the minds of one and all in the audience.
“What makes the big ball of fire we like to call the sun so…bright?” the narrator’s voice from the video inquired. Techno music ramped up before he gave a rather cut and dry anti-climactic answer.
“Fusion.”
The video freeze framed and let those six little letters percolate into the minds of the viewers before the science behind it was explained.
“Show of hands,” Damion said into the microphone while the video droned on, “how many of you heard of or better yet, actually know what fusion is?”
More hands went up than he would have thought. But then again, it was UCLA--only the best and the brightest for such a cool school.
“…the sun’s temperature is quite astounding, all things considered. The big ball composed predominantly of hydrogen and helium experiences core temps of no less than 15.7 million Kelvins.”
Damion interrupted with, “And you thought summer was hot in LA or your vacation home down in the Keys….”
No one found the comment all that funny. But it was working. Getting college kids to pay attention for a school play much less a motivational speech was no small task. It took years of practice for Damion. This was what made him happy--fulfilled. Besides the girls and alcohol. Or so he thought those things gave him happiness.
“The reason for the intense heat on the sun is to ionize the surface’s plasma and charge the electrons. This transaction produces a tremendous amount of energy, however, this level of extreme heat is required constantly for fusion energy production."
To keep the show concise and to the point, the narration rather abruptly cut to the chase and left some of the technical details out in favor of asking an important question: "What are the benefits of fusion over fission then you might ask?”
Many intellectuals were just dying for the answer. Fusion had been a word making the rounds in the scientific community for decades. However, due to physical limitations and countless fatalities from unstable reactions, the technology was dismissed as “not doable” according to Popular Science magazine.
A little pictograph on one screen showed the linear progression from the discovery of the neutron in 1932 to the present. Different names and dates dotted the landscape leading to a big question mark with the year 2039 taking up the entire center display.
“Well,” Damion started to say, “I’ll be brief on the advantages over fission. I’ll start by outlining for you some of the negatives that coincide with this method of producing energy and show off how fusion overcomes the limitations of the imperfect fission process.”
All the PhDs in physics sat up in their seats bit and tall with a look of indifference written across their faces. They had secretly believed nuclear to be the answer to the energy sector’s shortcomings during their tenure at the universities they taught at, but the politically correct curriculum they were forced to teach refused to abandon clean energy, pie in the sky dreams of solar and wind. What Damion had to say could mean the world of difference to their inner-angst over the things they brainwashed students with. Fortunately for the billionaire the PC (politically correct) police were off duty and the show was all his.
--
Chapter 10
Dreamland, Nevada
He didn’t know if torture was where they were taking him. Would they waterboard or use flagellation? Pick your poison—they all were terrifying to him. Desmond shuddered. His fears were heightened by the familiar voice of Howard.
“Welcome to my world,” he said.
They had been walking down dark corridors leading away from the computer room where they had first made each other’s acquaintance. Desmond looked up and he still couldn’t make out where he was or what Howard’s world even looked like. Then the hum of electricity sounded and the lights instantly came on, causing Desmond to crouch and cover his eyes with an arm.
“Don’t be afraid Mr. Alakart.”
Desmond cracked his eyes that were previously scrunched. The room grew larger as his iris opened to a wider aperture giving the pupils access to the features of the space. It was a huge underground cavern hundreds of feet in height and several football fields in diameter.
“Stand,” Howard firmly gave the command.
Desmond shrugged and did so. He felt terra firma below the soles of his Sperries. Good, he thought, at least I haven’t been taken to their spaceship. He was joking, but he couldn’t help but look around in wonderment. There he was in the world’s most secretive hangar bay.
“Are you impressed?” Howard asked.
Desmond didn’t reply right away. He was looking at level after level of steel and glass offices built into the sheer face of rock on either side of the helipads that surrounded him. “Where are the planes?”
Howard chuckled. He looked up at one of the windows on the east side of the room. Then he snapped his fingers.
Red bulbs on the walls in the cavern flashed; the ground began to shake. Of the total twenty pads, twelve began to open like the jaws to a giant, unfathomably large beast’s mouth—twelve mouths. From their throats shot up camouflaged hovercraft armed with an array of exotic plasma and solid state lasers. These were fearsome birds of prey to be reckoned with.
Desmond instinctively ducked his head for cover.
Howard snapped his fingers again and the vehicles disappeared as soon as they had appeared. Again the ground shook and some dust and dirt rained down from the ceiling. Desmond quaked inside: His heart beat at an unhealthy rate per minute.
Howard knew the look of fear he saw in the programmer, for he too had been through a similar experience twenty years prior. “Mr. Alakart, would you join me over in the locker room? We need to give you a few tools before we begin the tour.”
“Okay…?” Desmond’s syllables feebly dribbled out.
One minute Howard was thirty paces away, the next he was within striking distance of the programmer. Desmond felt the older man’s breath on his skin.
“Relax champ,” he said, “we’re not gonna kill you. Only if you force our hand. But I trust that won’t be an issue?”
Desmond emphatically shook his head.
“Good! This way,” the man directed, quickly walking in a westward direction to what looked like a baseball dugout. There were stairs that Howard took two at a time which left Desmond trailing at a distance.
Again, Desmond couldn’t hide his shock at the eighty- five-year-old’s sprightliness. “How are you still so active at your age?” Desmond asked looking straight at the man’s gray hairs.
“That’s a lesson for another day. You’re still young and need not learn the secrets of the old just yet. Hey, try this on for size sport.”
Before Desmond could open his mouth to ask what it was or why, Howard read the look and took action into his own hands. “You ask too many questions kid,” he said slapping the pack onto the young man’s back.
“What--a jetpack?!” Desmond began to fret. He hated heights.
“Uh-huh. It’s controlled with your voice. Watch.”
Desmond stared in disbelief. There Howard was giving the command for liftoff of five meters and the turbines on his back swiftly obeyed.
“Kid, I can’t give you a tour with you still on the ground,” Howard shouted over the noise.
The programmer on the ground nodded his agreement and gulped. He look
ed down at his toes, full of regrets. What was one more to add to a growing list though? Here goes nothing, he sighed. “Go parallel to that of Howard at five meters,” he instructed the jetpack. It agreed with him instantaneously and jolted Desmond off his feet to a hovering posture next to the Old Man of Dreamland.
Desmond did a full scan of his surroundings. It was like all the oxygen had been sucked out of him in all the excitement. But to his amazement, he was getting used to his new extension of freedom already.
Without a word Howard put his toes together like a scuba diver and pointed for an exit on the southern end of the hangar.
Desmond cried out, “Whoa, are you trying to shake me?” He had to give the throttle a healthy twist to keep the pursuit up.
“We don’t got all day junior. There’s a lot to see,” Howard shouted over his shoulder.
“Okay then,” Desmond responded, wondering what the “lot to see” meant for him.
Howard used his arms as turn signals, first extending his right arm indicating they were about to take their first turn.
The air breezed by the two men as they sailed sixty feet off the concrete floor and deep into the bowels of the installation. As different sights and intersections whizzed by, Desmond realized it was an underground highway he was on through the heart of the fabled Dreamland. At first he thought his eyes to be playing tricks on him. But as they flew for greater distances, seeing was believing.
“This is where a significant portion of the field testing is done,” Howard gestured to their right.
Desmond dared look and slowed down a bit. Bright orange balls of fire, plumes of smoke and shrapnel flying met his gaze. It was astonishing! Weird out-of-this-world vehicles and soldiers were blasting targets and performing high speed maneuvers in a fish bowl type of space. It was all very much controlled and chaotic at the same time.
“Are those DEW’s they fire over there?” Desmond was referring to what they just passed.
“Directed energy weapons? Of course!” Howard roared. He grinned and sounded like a salesman:
“But wait, there’s more!” The old man did a tight barrel turn to the right and nearly lost Desmond who was tagging along at a slack pace.
Whoa! Desmond thought. Again, he couldn’t believe how agile an eighty-five year old was! Normally they make you give up the keys to a car in your old age…
“You comin’ or what?” Howard said impatiently.
Desmond put on a burst of speed and floated right alongside the Old Man. “Howard?”
Howard didn’t hear his name being called because his phone was going off. “Let me take this,” he unashamedly apologized to no one. “Hello?....Oh hi, babe. I’m givin’ our latest recruit a tour….Yup. When can I call you back? I will. Love you.”
Desmond was completely enraptured with Howard. He couldn’t hide his utter astonishment at how the man got around the block.
“I promise I’ll tell all if you promise to put those eyes back in your head--you rubbernecker!” Howard chided Desmond.
Desmond’s voice caught and suddenly he felt extremely awkward.
“We’re gonna go to Building B now, Desmond. Hang on!”
The programmer looked up ahead and thought about putting on the breaks because a solid stone earthen wall was approaching so quickly he feared it was too late to slow down. At the last moment the wall became a door to the outside world and a gust of wind blew Desmond’s wispy blonde hair every which way. The sand and dust swirled off the desert floor.
“Are we in the Sahara?” Desmond queried to his senior.
Howard smirked and didn’t answer. The Old Man made the motion for two security patrols that were waiting to join the formation on the right and left.
Two desert camo speedbikes buzzed up and took positions ten meters on either side of Desmond and Howard. They looked like storm troopers inspired by George Lucas’s imagination.
“Switching to HUD and mobile communications mode,” Desmond’s vehicle’s personal computer spoke up.
“What?” he replied, startled.
A little visor snapped across the bridge of his nose and a disc suctioned itself near the cartilage of his earlobe (bone conduction headphones). Desmond’s eyes experienced an over-stimulation of images and flashing lights on the translucent display. Mostly, the information was about trip details and a radar map with the friendlies around him identified by green dots. He almost missed what Howard communicated—now he understood the meaning of sensory overload!
Howard spoke through the microphone that was in his molar: “Hangin’ in there Sparky?”
Desmond smiled for the first time in a long time. “Um, yeah!” He let out a whoop and did a maneuver with his jetpack.
“These aren’t toys, kid, they’re transport. Let’s continue with the tour, shall we?”
“This base is unfathomably huge! What else can there possibly be to see?”
Oh, you have no idea, Howard thought to himself.
--
Chapter 11
UCLA keynote—2039
“What if I told you we could do better than harnessing the sun’s energy from solar panels…what if I told you we could create an energy source like the Sun’s….Don’t believe me? Get ready for a new chapter in nuclear physics.” Behind Damion was footage of the sun and its solar flares erupting from the surface, all caught by the good and faithful Hubble Telescope.
Curls of plasma, scorching hot, appeared to go right through the speaker in glasses-less 3D cinematography. Of course the crowd was used to 3D movies that had been playing in theaters for decades, but the sheer power of the sun was awe-inspiring and worthy of admiration nonetheless.
“Wouldn’t you want the power plant by your home to be as efficient and produce even a fraction of the energy found on the sun?” Damion laughed. “Trust me, it’s not as scary or daunting as they would like you to believe. I’ll tell you why.”
He looked up at the screen to control it with an eye gesture the software knew.
“Unlike fission reactors and other power plants that generate steam which is captured to crank turbines and produce electricity—very inefficiently I might add—fusion reactors on the other hand combine two isotopes from the hydrogen element and from that generate a tremendous current. The fuel source for a fusion reactor? Not coal, not uranium, nor plutonium…but water. Sound too good to be true?” He waited for the right moment. “My ride to work today runs on fusion.”
Accolades. The student body was going hysterical. The alumni in attendance rose to their feet and put their hands together.
Damion smiled. “I’m not done yet, I’m not done yet,” he said triumphantly. “I know you Californians are all about clean energy. Zero greenhouse gas emissions…? Done! Welcome to the wonderful world of fusion reactors.”
A good old-fashioned slide with all the high points of the talk revealed the exciting potential of the billionaire’s new vision:
-No risk of meltdowns
-No radiation
-Zero greenhouse gases
…
“This is our shot folks. At space exploration, at saving the ozone layer—telling the petrol moguls where to shove it.” He got a good chuckle from everyone and even a hearty amen. “But that’s not even the good stuff,” Damion continued, whetting their appetite for more. “Check it out.”
The stage went dark and the video board loomed large; a pulsating beat rose to a crescendo to highlight the awesomeness of what came next. A colorful rotating 3D diagram showed what looked to be a cylinder dropped into the engine bay of a car, plane, and boat: the three primary modes of transportation.
“Ladies and gentleman, this isn’t an evolution, it’s a revolution,” Damion stated rather emphatically. “And what’s even more exciting is this…” he made a gesture and the screen refreshed with an image that said in bright red letters: “Mars 2040.”
A trip to the red planet had been the butt end of the culture’s jokes aimed at the space community. However, this time
around Damion proved more convincing than the visionaries that had gone on before him. Instead of showing cheesy animations of a rocket launch, Damion discreetly chose footage of probes and other attempts by man to descend on the planet’s surface. He wanted to build up interest and enthusiasm from the public to put into a resurgent space program that could go places and reach for the stars. Oh, there had been the usual roadblocks of presidential policies, lack of private investment and scuttled missions due to unforeseen complications, but Damion had a fusion reactor powering tomorrow’s vehicle. Mars was only the beginning.
--
After two hours of sweat, effects, and good speechmaking—Damion handed down his vision to the young minds that would run companies and build the fortunes of Generation Unstoppable. That was after all the de facto name given them by historians from Generation Y (circa ‘90s). This new crop of offspring threw off the yoke of cheapened public education for something higher caliber and weightier.
Universities across the land faced the unfamiliar bum- rush of radicals demanding for better education without the expense. Teachers' pensions were in jeopardy and tenured profs were looking for another job. The ram-rod movement seemed to gain momentum. One by one places of higher education rolled out deep discounts and all-time low registration fees. Education improved, too, as the broke school system learned to adjust its standards in order to save face or go extinct.
Academia would never be the same, but would America be the better for it? Sadly things that were set in motion long before weren’t about to be derailed by a nascent interest in better schools. This was good, but it was nowhere near the response needed to throw the liberals out on the streets and replace them with honest men of integrity that could govern a nation bursting at the seams with problems still waiting for answers.
