Spheria (19 page)

“The problem,” said Max, “is the exclusivity. Nobody seems to care about the research we’re doing. They want the technology for other purposes.”

“Mate. Are you telling me no other organizations or wealthy individuals want to move us light-years ahead in the fields of anthropology and sociology? That they don’t want to provide inroads into how our brains actually work?”

“None that we’ve found.”
 

“Then you're not looking hard enough. Do a TED talk or something. Get some press. This isn't a secret. We need people to know about it, and to know that they can be a part of it. They can be a part of helping us understand how the mind works.”
 

“But I’m actively working on the project,” said Max. “I don’t have time to market it.”

“Max,” said Graham, “if you want this project to survive, you’ve got to do what is necessary. Wear many hats. Do you think I have a business empire because I focused only on programming algorithms, or on a single company? No. I build. And I take the earnings and build more. I build upon success after success after success. This is what you have to do. Dana can help you. That’s why I hired her. Dana, this is your specialty. Get out there and drum up funding, and teach Max how to market.”

“We’re trying,” said Dana, “we really are.”

“Well, try harder.”

Max sat there dumbfounded. Graham just looked back and forth at them.

Finally, Dana asked, “So you won’t give us anything?”

“Listen, I’m reasonable, and I do care about this project. How about I match any funding you get? This way it will go further, but you still need to get funding on your own. It’s up to you both to make this project work. I have faith you can pull this off. You are two of the most talented individuals I know. You just need to apply some kung fu!”

“Kung fu, indeed,” said Max.

“So we have an understanding. Thank you for stopping by, but I must excuse myself now, I have some work to do. Tammy will show you out.”

As if on cue, the woman from the kitchen appeared beside them.

As they walked down the plank, Max paused and turned to Dana. “That didn’t go the way I had hoped.”

“No, but it could’ve been worse. At least he’s willing to put more money in. We just have to come up with a strategy to get new investors.”

“I've got a couple of ideas,” said Max.

“We need all the ideas we can get, or we both will be looking for new jobs before we know it.”

Chapter 21 - Cat and Mouse

“I shall argue that strong men, conversely, know when to compromise and that all principles can be compromised to serve a greater principle.” - Andrew Carnegie

Rain pelted the windshield as the black sedan approached the slick pier. The headlights shut off as the car rolled through the darkness. The incandescent glow of New London on the horizon and the marina at Shaw Cove were the only light sources. As such, they barely provided enough to avoid driving into the river. The northern horizon was completely obscured by the hulking silhouette of a Virginia-class submarine docked next to the pier.

The driver leaned to the right for a better look. The blurry photonics mast waved through the raindrop covered window. It was one of the new smaller low-profile masts, designed to resemble a traditional periscope. This eliminated the previous towering mast that rendered them easily identifiable to enemies.

This mast was unique in submarine design. It consisted of an array of cameras connected to the body by fiber optic cables. The connection eliminated the need to have a hole penetrate the hull, thus strengthening the structural integrity of the entire craft. The driver wondered if this one had a 360-degree camera installed.

The driver glanced at the car’s navigation display again. It read, “Pier 3, Electric Boat, Groton, CT,” confirming the destination. Toward the end of the pier was an enormous yellow crane designed to lift massive cargo, from submarine parts to shipping containers. Next to this was a haphazard assortment of cargo containers. The car came to a stop beneath the crane. A couple of small bulbs illuminated the area, making the darkness even more imposing.

The door opened, and the driver emerged, pulling on a dark green hooded rain jacket. The concealed figure skulked around the car toward the containers. There were several types and colors, but all were the standard twenty-foot-long variety.
 

The driver wandered among them, finally finding, by feel, a corrugated container. A quick illumination by cell phone revealed that this container was red. It was the one.

Looking at an email on the phone display for reference, the hooded driver tapped the pattern on the end of the crate: dot-dot-dash-dot, dot-dash-dot, dot, dot, dash-dot-dot, dash-dash-dash, dash-dash.

Immediately, the squeaking sound of a bolt sliding sideways was audible. The door of the crate creaked open a sliver. A dim gray light spilled onto the pavement and the figure outside. The driver tightened the hood, providing even better facial concealment.

“In. Now!” came a booming voice from inside.

The driver darted through, and the door immediately closed. A hulking figure in a Navy uniform latched the bolt, then turned to face the newcomer. The four stars on his shoulder indicated his rank.

“You idiot! Why the hell is your cell phone on? And parking under the crane’s light was a moronic thing to do!” The man glared at the shrouded figure, the hood making eye contact impossible. Admiral Troy Miller was an imposing man. Standing at almost 7 feet tall and with a torso like a redwood, he was enough to scare the ghost out of anyone. He used his physique frequently to his advantage.

“Sorry, I couldn’t see anything,” a nervous and fearful voice returned.

“That’s the point. You aren’t the only person out there with eyes.”

“Sorry.”

The admiral pointed at a chair. “Sit,” he commanded.

The visitor’s gaze followed his finger to the chair, which was one of two in the cargo container. The remainder of the space was lined with tables and glowing monitor screens. They all displayed animated data or video feeds of some kind. Several showed clearly the area around the container in infrared. One table was dedicated to projecting weather maps from around the world. Others presented what appeared to be star constellations with lines streaking by. Yet others showed maps of the oceans with red and green blips, followed by dotted yellow trails. The chairs, currently, were positioned in front of a rather large 60-inch display.

The visitor sat, as instructed, and looked up at an imposing wire diagram of some sort of cannon. It gently rotated on the large display.

“What’s this?”

The admiral sat in the other chair. “Project Disintegration,” he said matter of fact. He leaned toward the display, and slowly added, “This… is… our… future.” He picked something up off the table resembling an old-school joystick, and began moving it. The cannon stopped rotating and zoomed out a bit. “Watch this.”

He hit a button and the display began to animate. The accompanying outline of a Navy Destroyer appeared. It had a cannon mounted on the front. The gun swiveled around rapidly, tracking something in motion. The ship deployed what appeared to be large metal plates underwater. They created an inverted ‘V’ shape to about twice the ship’s original depth. Then the cannon fired.

Although this was just an animation, the result was impressive. A spinning blue vortex of energy inside the cannon barrel instantaneously accelerated a cylindrical slug. It shot out and off the screen. The resulting kickback rocked the Destroyer, almost capsizing it. The purpose of the metal plates now become apparent as they dampened the shock.

The view zoomed out and panned to follow the flying slug. It was moving upwards at a tremendous speed. The horizon began to curve, and the outline of continents became visible. Then the screen was filled with thousands of fragmented triangles.

The admiral looked at the visitor’s puzzled expression and laughed. “Too fast for you? Watch it again.” He fiddled with the joystick and the slug was once again rising up over the earth, but slower. Then, from the side of the screen approached a satellite in orbit. The slug impacted it and the satellite was obliterated. Within three frames, it was replaced by a thousand tiny particles.

“Holy shit!” exclaimed the visitor.

“Yes, that’s some holy shit, indeed. Angel fire! Even the gods aren’t safe from us anymore.”

“How’s that possible?”

“It’s a rail gun. A giant rail gun. The largest we’ve ever designed. It will be deployed on every Destroyer in the fleet. It will allow us to wipe out any target from a fail-safe distance, even hitting targets in space. Nothing is capable of stopping one of these in motion. It will secure the dominance of the United States military for the next 30 years.”

The visitor turned to the admiral. “That’s an astounding weapon. And I’m glad you're keeping us all safe, but what does it have to do with our battery?”

“Well, this cannon is based on sound and proven technology – only bigger than anything we’ve ever done before. Yet, there is a slight problem with it.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Power. It needs more delivered to it at once than we have the means to provide. I’m not talking about the amount of energy; the nuclear reactor on the boat can create more than enough. It just can’t deliver enough of it all at once as fast as needed. What we need is some means of storing a massive amount and delivering it immediately, like a giant capacitor. That’s where you come in.”

“Hold on here. You told me this project didn’t involve developing a weapon. That was the stipulation of our arrangement. Our main benefactor, Graham Neilson, forbade us from taking funding that could contribute to weaponization. This is a violation of our agreement.”

“Listen, I know you academic research types all think alike. I've heard your talks before. ‘Stop construction to save the flat-tailed horny lizard!’ you say. ‘Stop funding the military, but keep us safe,’ you say. Well, you can’t have it both ways. Our might is what keeps us and you safe. The battery we’re making will guarantee generations of peace. I’m funding peace, not a weapon. The weapon just happens to be the means to the end.”

“This is blatant deception. You tricked and misled me. I would never have done this to begin with. I’ll shut down the project.”

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“You've just violated a top-secret clearance by viewing extremely confidential security assets. I’m the only one protecting you now. If you complete the project on time, you get a windfall and can retire and do whatever you please without the constraints of any funders. You'll be free to run your own scientific experiments if that’s what floats your boat. If you fail… well, let’s not even discuss that option because it isn’t one.”

“Wait, what do you mean? You never said anything about guaranteed success. How do I even know if your equations are correct?”

“They’re correct. That much we know. Our best minds put them together. We just don’t have a computer fast enough to find a solution in a reasonable amount of time. The best traditional computer we’ve got will take an estimated 19,000 years to find a solution. We don’t have that much time. That’s where your little experiment fills the gap. The massively parallel quantum computing of the Qube technology is just what we need. And thanks to you, the decree of Graham is no longer a barrier. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You're a true patriot.

“When the calculations are complete we’ll have the molecular formula for a new composite battery compound. It’ll store the required energy and release it as quickly as a traditional capacitor. This will be like nothing built before. We’ll have to come up with a new name for it. Something like ‘capattery.’ So tell me, is the second site functional?”

The visitor slumped in the chair, displaying a posture of defeat. “It is.”

“Is it online now?”

“Yes. It’s been running and is 30 percent populated and has begun crunching your equations. The current metrics tell us that it could be within 90 days of providing a solution. It’ll be even faster if we can increase the number of Qubes working on the problem.”

“I need a solution in 45 days. Find a way to get more Qubes working on the problem. You get your money as soon as the solution is delivered. Then you can forget Graham Neilson and his pet projects and do whatever you want with the rest of your life!”

“Okay, I can accelerate it. I've already laid the groundwork to get more Qubes. I just need to influence a few more… things… and we should have a windfall of calculation engines.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day!”

Once again the cannon was spinning on the screen. The visitor knew time was running out and there was only one acceptable outcome.