Her problem, with the battery at least, was simple. She paused to take stock of her successes over the past few months, and there is dammed little to be proud of, She thought. I still can’t get it to quit overheating.
The heat is what causes the failures…and the faster the reaction, the more heat it generates and more heat it generates, the faster the reaction, until it spirals out of control and cooks.
This was the elusive little gremlin that plagued her for the past three months.
Somehow there must be a way to stop the energy curve from building so quickly. If I can slow the reaction down, the battery won’t generate so much heat.
After pulling her hair out devising unsuccessful ways to dissipate the excess heat, the idea for a possible solution finally hit her. The children she saw playing expended tremendous amounts of energy but could not maintain that level indefinitely.
They’d have to switch to a different game, something less energy intensive.
She ran the idea through her mind a second time.
Like the difference between running at full sprint and jogging, both will get you through a race. But only jogging will get you through without total exhaustion.
She thought about her new “Tortoise and Hare” principal as she headed across the lab to the coffee station, cups hanging in neat rows on the wall. She picked up the pot and started to fill it. As she turned on the cold tap, the faucet head fell off into the sink, spraying water in all directions and soaking her from the waist up.
She let out a small, startled yelp as she snapped the water off and uttered an unintended curse. Picking up a towel near the sink, she removed her glasses and dried her face. She attempted to screw the nozzle back on, but after several fruitless attempts she decided to just use it the way it was and leave the repairs for the maintenance staff.
She again opened the cold water valve and finished her chore. As she did, she noticed that the water coming from the tap was very agitated and pulsating wildly as it flowed.
She picked up the fallen piece and held it in position. She noticed this had the effect of reducing, but smoothing out, the stream of the water. “That's it!” she said, her voice echoing in the empty lab.
Dropping the damaged part back in the sink, she went to her computer, her mind suddenly ablaze. With the prototype battery already secured in the test chamber, she tapped several new commands into the keyboard.
That’s it! Adjust the collection grid. Larger grid-spacing, smaller charge...and a smaller charge results in less heat…I hope.
She prepared the new configuration and looked at her watch to time the test; it read 11:56 a.m. On the last trial of the battery, it lasted only eighteen seconds before suffering a complete meltdown.
I hope it works this time. If my guess is right, this will smooth out the energy stream and make it much more controllable.
She mentally crossed her fingers and started the test. The computer screens bathed her in an eerie green light as she monitored the reaction, now holding stable. She held her breath as the first ten seconds passed, then fifteen seconds. She prepared herself for the disappointment of yet another failure while she reviewed the past. She couldn't count the number of times that she had been in this situation with the prototype, only to have it collapse under the strain.
The key to success: don’t let the battery generate the heat in the first place! How could I have missed it! It’s so elementary. I can’t believe it took me this long to see it.
Her adrenalin flowed through her veins like hot lava as her watch showed twenty seconds. She looked at the read outs, the indicators all within acceptable levels. She noticed a slightly elevated power out put, but nothing critical.
Her nerves crackled in anticipation. Do I dare hope for success after all these years?
Two hours later she had her answer. The temperature and power output levels never varied by more than five percent, a resounding success. Just as she congratulated herself on her achievement, her blood suddenly ran ice cold as Jacks words flashed through her mind.
He said he’d personally assume control of the project!
She knew, now that a fully functional design existed, she had suddenly become expendable.
Anyone can duplicate the battery design with the data here in the lab!
Apprehension gnawing at her in growing bites, she also realized that any half-way competent engineer could marry this new technology to existing laser or other weapons systems, making the potential for disaster multiply exponentially.
Her terrified imagination began to run wild. In her mind's eye, she could see a web of armed military satellites orbiting the globe. With the unending power capacity of her batteries, she knew there would be no limit to their destructive capabilities.
The visions causing her stomach to flip in rolling waves of nausea, she also saw fleets of space shuttles, powered by her technology, armed to the teeth and placed in some admiral's hands in the name of “national security”.
The questions buzzed through her mind like angry bees.
How can I keep this awesome power from being misused? I couldn't possibly stand up to the military once they got their hands on it. What do I do? I’m just a scientist.
She thought of Tesla, Oppenheimer and Fermi and how the great contributions they made to science became perverted into the most appalling weapons ever created. She thought grimly of Westinghouse. She was well aware that the ‘electric chair’ device he built, only to demonstrate the dangers of Edison’s AC power system, quickly became the industry standard for a century of government-sanctioned murder.
I just can’t let that happen to the Ever-cell. I’ve got to figure out a way to keep it away from the military. God only knows what they’d do with it.
As she contemplated one terrifying scenario after another, she noticed that her hands were now shaking violently.
Jack’s words again rang thunder in her ears. She understood the success of the test must be kept secret at all costs. She knew, no matter how pure the intent, that no one could be trusted with this kind of power. She made up her mind to tell no one about the test or the working prototype until she could come up with a way to protect its integrity.
The problem with that plan…is I have no clue how to pull it off.
Chapter Six
After finishing his rounds, Murphy arrived back at the mail room. Stepping through the grey steel doors, he surveyed his “kingdom” with a critical, roving eye.
Tucked back in the corner of the 28th floor, the mail center served all 500 employees of Diversified Research Inc. with both internal and external correspondence.
The portly man basked in bright rows of fluorescent lights and the hum of voices added to the drone of machinery, the gentle vibrations the lifeblood of his world.
Murphy erroneously felt his position at the head of the department gave him an equal standing within the company’s political hierarchy.
His eyes fixed on Charlie Davis, the most recent hire under his direct control. Davis flitted in and around the cubicles and sorting machines, loading letters and moving packages onto carts for distribution. Davis saw Murphy enter and wove a path across the busy floor, intercepting Murphy at his office door. The younger man handed him a clipboard.
“Mr. Murphy, I prepped the afternoon deliveries and got all the outgoing packages ready to be shipped. I need you to sign-off the packing slips so the messenger can take them.”
Only twenty-two, lean and tall, Davis was a bright kid who learned fast and moved faster. One of the senior managers had already twice requested his transfer as an assistant.
Smart and ambitious.
The burning envy turned Murphy’s stomach rancid.
Little cockroach!
He signed the papers and handed them back to Davis, eyes finally falling on the door to his “private office”.
Originally a large storage closet, he’d commandeered the room and furnished it to give himself an illusion of prestige unwarranted by his position
or talent. While the tiny box lacked an exterior view, the small room did possess one unique quality that no other office in the building had. Located next to the security system closet, with the elevator shaft on the other side, it put him in a position of almost total privacy. The remote location also gave him access to all the equipment in the adjoining space, including phone lines and video surveillance feeds. Within a week of taking the office, he had his eyes and ears on everything that went on at Diversified.
Between the phone and video taps he installed and the mail he routinely read, he easily put together groups of sensitive and valuable documents, selling them to the highest bidder. This little side-line had made him a comfortable living for the past five years, but the ambitious malcontent still yearned for something more.
Moving inside, he locked the door behind him and closed the blinds, blocking out any observance from the drones populating the rest of the cube farm on the other side of the wire-reinforced glass.
Containing only the few…and barest…necessities, the office showed not one shred of personal warmth. It boasted no family photos, no office knick-knacks and few of the creature comforts common even in today’s modern, minimalist workspaces.
He lowered his sizeable bulk into the chair and unlocked the large side drawer of the utilitarian steel desk. Inside rested a small but very sophisticated audio/video recording device. The drawer also contained the two other things he wanted hidden. One was a bottle of the best Tennessee Sour Mash Whiskey money could buy and the other was a small bag of very high-grade cocaine. He dumped out a small mound of the fine white crystals and sniffed them through a rolled-up twenty-dollar bill.
The drug slid through his system like a monorail train, numbing his nose as he turned on the wall-mounted plasma screen.
He took the bottle from the drawer and after dumping the cold coffee from a chipped cup, poured himself a drink, sagging deeper into soft folds of his leather chair. Leaning back against the chair’s groan of protest, he put his feet up on the edge of the desk.
My favorite time of the day, he thought, a conspiratorial grin emerging on his round, piggish face. The work’s all done, yet plenty of time to do a little snooping. Let’s see what’s going on.
Activating the video link, he looked for anything his real employer would be interested in. He watched the screen expectantly as it cycled through the feeds. Concentration high, he basked in the bird’s-eye view of the unsuspecting people going about their jobs, completely unaware of his voyeuristic intrusion on their privacy.
Seeing her appear on the screen, Murphy stopped the automatic rotation on the scene in Jenny’s lab.
If she only knew, he thought, mocking the image on the viewer. See, you’re not as smart as you think you are.
He stared lasciviously as she donned her white coat, the starched fabric covering her ample curves. God, that’s one good looking woman. Too bad she’s such a stuck-up little bitch. He watched her intently as he sipped the whiskey, pornographic thoughts running rampant. Maybe she just needs the right man to tame her.
She darted from station to station around the lab, her agitations obvious to the man watching. His curiosity rising in a steep curve, he ransacked his desktop for the remote control and turned up the sound. Jenny’s soft voice came from the monitor’s built-in speakers, floating across the office.
“I can’t believe it. It finally works, after all this time, it finally works.”
He watched as her demeanor visibly changed. She began to move around the lab with swift precision. Something big had just happened, he could feel it. He continued to observe the action, trying to remember what she was working on…and then it came to him. The Ever-cell project. That’s it.
He didn’t know all the details, but he knew that if it worked it could power a car and that meant that everyone in the world would want one. His heart did an evil little two-step as he contemplated the monetary possibilities. This could be the big one, the one that puts me over the top.
The cocaine and the drink were momentarily forgotten in a rush of adrenaline while he quickly punched buttons, activating the DVR. Leaving the machine to its intrusive task, he went to his computer and tapped franticly at the keys, calling up the company’s research information data base.
I’d better find out what this project is all about.
An hour of diligent reading later, he turned off the computer and rummaged through the desk drawer once again, this time removing a disposable cell phone. He touched the buttons, supremely confident his real employer would be very interested in this latest development. Listening to the computer-generated rings, he began formulating a plan to “acquire” the plans for the Ever-cell and if he could arrange it, the battery itself. He leaned back in his chair and smiled, silently taunting Jenny's image on the screen.
All that time, you thought you were better than me. Just think, in just a few days I'll be rich and you’ll be up the proverbial creek. I kinda like the symmetry in that.
The rings stopped after three, giving way to the clear, crisp tones of a man’s voice. “Hello?”
“I need to meet with you…right away,” Murphy said, trying to keep the excitement racing through his veins from bleeding over into his words.
“Don’t be stupid,” The irritated voice on the other end chastised angrily. “We can’t afford to be seen together. It’s too dangerous. I’ve told you that before. Don’t call this number again.”
“Don’t hang up,” Murphy quickly continued, hoping his quarry hadn’t abandoned the conversation. “You’re going to want to hear this. Trust me.”
The impatience remained thick in the voice. “So, tell me now…if it’s so important it can’t wait.”
“I can’t go into this on the phone,” Murphy said, his nerves tingling in anticipation. “Meet me at the usual place in an hour.”
“I said, I’m busy today,” The statement fell like a boulder, the words weighted with annoyance at the disturbance. The speaker continued, noticeably obstinate and still clearly apathetic. “I can’t make it.”
Murphy’s tone climbed an octave, the anxiety edging into the words. “Clear your schedule. What I have to tell you is worth it.”
The mystery voice fell silent. The only sound on the line was the small puffs of his steady breathing.
Murphy’s mind raced as he changed his tack, voice now taking on a hushed, conspiratorial air. “I’m telling you, this is big,” he paused, dangling the chum before the wary shark. “It’s probably the most important…and most profitable…meeting you’ll ever have.”
The bait disappeared with a small grunt and an undisguised warning traversed the wires.
“You better not be over-estimating your importance,” the voice said. “I don’t like wasting my time.”
Murphy swallowed hard, gripping his emotional reigns tighter before speaking again. “I promise you, you’re not wasting your time.”
“Fine,” the voice growled, thick and menacing. “I’ll be there in an hour. Don’t disappoint me…and don’t make me wait.”
While Murphy concocted an elegant and forceful reply, he heard the pronounced “Click” of the connection being broken before he could launch any retort. Bastard!
Pointing the remote at the monitor screen, he cut the power, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. He downed the last of the whiskey in the chipped cup and blew one last line of coke before he dropped the bag back into the drawer. Rising from the chair he donned his coat, closing the door behind him as he left.
He boarded the elevator and pressed the button for the basement parking garage. The car seemed to be descending at a crawl, allowing plenty of time for his mind to run through all the things that could go wrong at this meeting.
The only way to deal with Phillip Temple is from strength. I can’t let him see any fear or indecision. If I do, he’ll pounce on it…and I’m toast.
He examined his quickly coalescing plan, carefully reviewing each facet for any possible flaw. He took several cleansing
breaths and steeled himself, his rodent-like sense of impending danger tingling uncontrollably.
The elevator doors slid open, dropping him off at parking level 1. He stepped into the cold of the afternoon air, the exiting vehicles creating a steady, chilling breeze as they rolled by. The frigid nip stung his cheeks as he walked, his footsteps masked by the noise of passing cars.
He touched a button on the keychain in his hand and a faint “chirp” echoed off the cinder block walls. A few yards away, the locks sprang open on a white convertible and its taillights flashed in electronic recognition.
Climbing behind the wheel of the BMW Z-3, he turned the key and listened to the comforting whine of the turbocharger, blipping the throttle several times to warm the engine. While the motor settled down to a quiet throb, he replayed the conversation with Temple in his mind. It struck him as odd that someone as greedy as Phillip Temple wouldn’t jump at the chance to own this, or any other, new technology with so much profit potential.
Why is he being so paranoid? After all, he must know Ryan…and her work. I’m offering him the deal of a lifetime. What’s the problem?
The tiny convertible tip-toeing along the icy roads, Murphy drove in heavy silence. He considered his “employer-turned-unwilling-partner” and his possible ulterior motives, all of them dangerous, some of them potentially deadly.
He’s got something up his sleeve! I can feel it. No doubt, he’ll try to screw me, he thought acidly as the city rolled by, streets and shops decorated in festive red and green holiday trim. I’m not going to let that happen…not again, not on something this big.
He looked out his right-side window at the steel gray waves of the Atlantic slowly coming into view between the buildings. Frosted with whitecaps, the crashing breakers were a sinister, symbiotic partner to his dark musings. Not one to trust in others, being completely untrustworthy himself, Murphy planned for the worst-case scenario as he made his way east toward land’s end…and his destination.
Chain Reaction Power Failure Book I Page 4
