Outside of Fusion B, Richard stood surveying the damage to the smoldering capacitor network. While it would never function again, at least the fire suppression system had worked as intended, limiting the fire to the reinforced container. Rebecca and Admiral Daniels approached with the newcomer, Captain Ibarra, trailing close behind.

  “You slipped out quietly,” said Rebecca.

  “I wanted to check on the capacitor situation to see if we need to replace any of the couplings for Gamma.”

  “Dr. Akindele went over the post-event diagnostics with us,” said the Admiral. “He confirmed everything went as expected. Beta was a success.”

  “It was never in doubt.”

  Rebecca raised an eyebrow, placing her hands on her hips.

  “That’s not exactly true, though, is it?”

  “If it was never in doubt, I wouldn’t have had to call in a favor to get that OSHA bitch off your back,” added the Admiral.

  “Who knew some klutz was going to get himself killed on our construction site?”

  He hadn’t shared that Ruan’s identity had been compromised, necessitating David McCullough’s death.

  “It shouldn’t have been a construction site in the first place,” said Rebecca. “This was a sloppy operation, and you got lucky. I don’t want to see logistics for an event coming down to the wire like this again.”

  “Understood.”

  “It’s not like we can redo these things,” said the Admiral. “The window is the window, and we need to be ready for it.”

  “Despite what Jimi says, I do understand how this works.”

  “I know, Richard, but Captain Ibarra and I would feel more comfortable if we could see some more thought going into the Delta planning.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Right now, I’m looking at the giant smoking bomb you’re planning to put on the deck of one of my carriers,” he said, pointing at the damaged capacitor. “Why don’t you start by figuring out how to make me feel better about that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rebecca regarded him through narrowed eyes.

  “I’m going to fly Admiral Daniels and Captain Ibarra back to Pearl. I assume you can find your own way to the Center?”

  ***

  Jayson rushed into the Center amphitheater four minutes late for the all-hands meeting, his laptop tucked under his arm. Thankfully, the Managing Director hadn’t arrived yet, his desk beside the dais still vacant. He breathed a sigh of relief and scanned the room for a place to sit. Samaira waved him over.

  Another relief. She seemed excited to see him. Aiden had been flirting with her at dinner for the last couple of days, and he feared she might be enjoying it.

  Richard burst through the doors, scowling, as Jayson slid into the seat next to Samaira.

  “He doesn’t look happy,” he whispered.

  “I’d say not.”

  “Ravinderan,” called Richard without looking up. “What are we waiting for?”

  Parth shot to his feet and jogged to the dais, setting his laptop on the podium as he cracked the lid. With a tap on his keyboard, the interactive display taking up most of the wall behind him sprang to life.

  “Today, I’d like to share an update on my efforts to reduce the carbon footprint of Luping’s energy-storing concrete.”

  The screen showed a pair of rotating three-dimensional molecular structures under a heading announcing them as sustainable limestone alternatives. Jayson looked around and gulped, wondering if everyone had put that much effort into their visuals.

  “As you know,” continued Parth, “concrete production represents nearly ten percent of global carbon dioxide emissions. Through testing, Dr. Zhang and I have confirmed we can replace up to fifty percent of the limestone with fly ash leftover from coal-fired power production without compromising strength or durability. Less limestone means less carbon dioxide.”

  “How does that help if you have to burn coal to make it?” asked Herman Dietrich, an electrical engineer with a thick German accent.

  He had dark hair and a short, scruffy beard. Jayson knew him from his habit of drinking at least a couple of beers with dinner every night.

  “We don’t,” replied Parth. “There’s enough fly ash already lying around to supply the world’s needs for a hundred years. We’d be mining a known pollutant, cleaning up the places where it’s been dumped.”

  “And there is no impact on the energy storage capacity,” added Luping from the audience.

  “Dr. Zhang and I propose we move forward with our architecture team to compete for a local design contract. The solar and geothermal teams are ready to support with their own breakthroughs to make the greenest building on the planet right here on O’ahu. It would be our first foray into the outside world, and a chance to show them what Mr. Kamaras is funding.”

  He flipped to the next slide and tapped an image of a futuristic-looking building on the interactive wall. It expanded to fill the screen. As it rotated, callouts and graphs on the three-dimensional model highlighted the advanced features and environmental benefits. Light applause filled the room.

  “I’m not too excited about the prospect of mining fly ash,” said Richard, silencing the growing murmurs. “The optics aren’t good, and it could reduce the urgency around replacing coal power at a global level.”

  “That’s just a matter of controlling perceptions,” replied Samaira.

  “Maybe so, but I’d prefer to see an approach that doesn’t rely on using other people’s garbage.”

  Jayson raised an eyebrow. What the hell? Reuse was the cornerstone of sustainable development.

  “Let’s go back to the drawing board on carbon-friendly concrete with a clean slate approach,” continued Richard. “Assume you have no fly ash, and show me what you come up with.”

  Parth’s shoulders slumped.

  “I guess we can do that.”

  “And Parth,” he added. “I don’t want to hear anything about taking our work out into the real world without it going through me first. Mr. Kamaras wants control over how we introduce our concepts.”

  He nodded and stepped away from the dais.

  “Next,” called Richard.

  Jayson took a deep breath. His turn to report on the team’s progress. He made his way to the podium and pulled an underwhelming presentation up on the interactive wall. His heart pounded, and a bead of sweat trickled from his armpit.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” said Richard, tapping a finger on his desk.

  “Uh, you’ve probably noticed we’ve got some new crops planted in the fields over the last two weeks, and introduced more variety into the cafeteria rotation. Our focus since the last update has been establishing the legumes and zeroing in the soil conditions based on our models. If the yield predictions are correct, we’ll phase out external sources by the end of October.”

  He surveyed the audience. Many were looking at their phones or whispering among themselves. Competing for attention against exciting, high-tech breakthroughs armed only with vegetables proved challenging.

  “We’ve prepped the soil in this location,” he said, pointing to the display, “to introduce a variety of tubers. The pH and salinity are optimal, and the simulations have provided a roadmap for the soil augmentations required to provide the best results. Again, we’re targeting October for discontinuing outside sources.”

  Though Samaira held his gaze, more and more of the others were on their phones or having side conversations.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “There were indications last week we might have a sasquatch infestation in the sweet corn, but it turned out to be Aiden working without his shirt.”

  Samaira laughed as a few others glanced up from their devices.

  “Is this a joke to you?” demanded Richard, rising to his feet.

  “I’m just checking if anyone’s listening.”

  “If you want to keep our interest, then how about showing some meaningful information?”

  “Uh—”

  “What’s been your environmental impact so far? How’s it going to develop over time?”

  “For now, I’m focused on maximizing yields.”

  “What do yields matter if we don’t know how to cover our needs? You’re working with a nutritionist, and we haven’t seen how you plan to close the gap between what we’re growing and what we need to stay healthy. How do you even know how much of what crop to grow? I haven’t seen that anywhere.”

  “I asked the cafeteria manager what she usually orders.”

  “Jesus Christ. How is that scientific? Use the team, Jayson. We need meal plans and associated yields to meet our needs, not guesses from the lunch lady.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I expected better of you,” he added, shaking his head. “Who’s next?”

  Jayson could feel his face turning red. He closed his laptop and retreated to his seat.

  ***

  By late afternoon, most of the researchers had finished working for the day, and Richard had a rare moment to watch the ships sail in and out of Pearl Harbor. A simple form of meditation, it calmed his heart rate and eased the tension from his shoulders after a trying week at the Beta site. He’d just closed his eyes for a moment when a knock on his door jolted him upright. Shit. Five more minutes would have been nice. He swung his chair around and gestured for Aiden to enter.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “Looking for an update. Where are we with Dr. Adams?”

  “Making headway, I think. What does your magic AI tell you?”

  Not enough. Her guarded social media interactions made her difficult to figure out, prompting Richard to assign a chaperone. He needed someone close to her on the other side to make sure she didn’t improvise.

  “The simulations weren’t converging, so we got a little more aggressive with her feed.”

  “Aggressive?”

  “Pushing content to predispose her to advances from an older white guy.”

  Aiden snorted.

  “You know Reilly’s got it pretty bad for her, right?”

  “We’re aware,” replied Richard. “We have a mitigation plan ready if his acceptance stalls out.”

  Richard glanced up as the outer office door swung open. Shit. Dr. Adams. What did she want?

  “You better go,” he said. “Let’s pick this up tomorrow.”

  Aiden jumped to his feet and excused himself with a nod.

  Richard watched through the window as the undercover SEAL lingered in the outer office, speaking with Samaira. Though he caught only a few words through the open door, the smile lighting her face said enough. It didn’t take an algorithm to know she was falling for him.

  “I’m sorry to drop by unannounced, Dr. Vandergroot,” she said, turning serious as she entered the office. “Did I interrupt anything?”

  “Not at all, Dr. Adams. We were just discussing how things are going in the fields. Jayson’s presentation today had me worried.”

  “Oh?”

  “But Aiden assures me he’s on top of things.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Listen, I’d appreciate it if you could keep this to yourself. I don’t want to create any tension on the team.”

  “Of course.”

  “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I heard what you said to Parth earlier—about running things by you.”

  He raised an eyebrow, wondering what she had in mind.

  “Yes?”

  “I have something I’d like to start on as soon as possible.”

  “Mr. Kamaras isn’t keen on publicity just yet.”

  “What I’m proposing is behind the scenes. Midterm elections are coming up, and I’d like to use the Hitz-It platform to promote green-minded candidates ahead of the primaries.”

  “It’s too soon.”

  “A parallel legislative approach to our work here could have a significant multiplier effect.”

  Richard shook his head.

  “Any change to the balance of political power could have unintended consequences for other aspects of the plan. I’d need to run it up the ladder.”

  “This is a terrible way to run things,” she said, crossing her arms.

  He blinked a few times. What did she say?

  “Pardon me?”

  “You hired me to change behaviors and motivate the world, but you can’t even be bothered to motivate your own team.”

  “What do you mean?” he demanded, placing a hand on the desk.

  “Everyone here is committed to the cause, and we understand the urgency of our mission.”

  “Yes?”

  “But we don’t have a vision or a strategy to guide us. You won’t even tell us how we’re going to make a difference. Parth showed some initiative today, and you shot him down. Didn’t you notice how deflated he looked?”

  He clenched his jaw.

  “And poor Jayson,” she continued. “He’s got no guidance, and you ripped into him for trying to work it out on his own.”

  “This is temporary,” said Richard. “They’ll understand soon enough.”

  “It’s too late for soon enough. Show us a vision. Show us how we’ll make a difference.”

  She balled her hands into fists, trembling as she spoke. Shit. He had to give her something.

  “You’re right, of course,” he said, leaning forward.

  Dr. Adams’ posture changed in an instant. Her shoulders fell as she leaned out of her aggressive stance. She wasn’t the only one who understood a bit of basic psychology.

  “Mr. Kamaras is going to address us in two weeks to explain everything. Can you give me that much time?”

  “He’s coming here?”

  Richard nodded, although he wasn’t sure Anton would bother to show up in person.

  “But please—let’s keep this between us.”

  “I will.”

  Samaira smiled as she rose from her chair, offering a nod before turning to leave. Richard let out a breath. Hopefully, he’d offered enough to keep her happy for two more weeks.

  ***

  A sense of excitement rippled through the center when Richard announced Anton Kamaras would address the team in the amphitheater. The first-of-a-kind communication felt like an inflection point and, hopefully, an indication the world would soon experience the direct benefits of their work.

  For Jayson, the realization he was losing Samaira tempered his enthusiasm. Losing Samaira. He snorted. A ridiculous notion. He’d never had Samaira—never even hinted to her about how he felt. How was it fair to blame her or Aiden for the result of his own inaction? Unfair or not, he couldn’t stop himself.

  With excitement among the Center staff rising to a crescendo on the day of Kamaras’s announcement, Jayson set aside thoughts of his failing love life, and crowded into the amphitheater with everyone else, excited at the prospect of meeting the billionaire for the first time.

  Center staff and guest researchers alike already packed the front few rows. Samaira and Aiden sat side by side, of course, near the middle of the front row. Jayson felt a lump in his throat. They didn’t even save him a spot. He spied an empty seat in the second row next to Parth and Luping, and slipped past a few occupied spots to join them.

  “Hey. Ready for the show?”

  “It’s long overdue, if you ask me,” replied Parth.

  Luping shot him a look and hit him on the shoulder.

  The lights went dim, rising again as Richard approached the podium. Everyone fell silent.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Thank you all for coming today. Without further delay, I’d like to introduce the Center for Sustainability Research founder and benefactor, Anton Kamaras.”

  The Interactive wall blinked to life amid applause, displaying a live video feed of Kamaras seated at a spartan desk in front of an expansive window. Raindrops made circles on a tree-lined lake in the background outside, and he wore a heavy wool sweater against the implied chill. He motioned for silence.

  Jayson rolled his eyes. Their benefactor hadn’t even bothered to show up in person.

  “Ordinarily,” started Kamaras, “I like a big production. I’d like to be introduced to you today with grandiose music and a light show—and to be in good spirits to accept your generous applause. However, it’s not that kind of day.”

  The mood transformed from excitement to apprehension in an instant. All around him, Jayson’s colleagues fell silent and leaned forward in their chairs.

  “Let me get right to the point. Our ambitions for a drastic course correction cannot be realized with the solutions you’re developing here at the Center. Even our most optimistic models predict billions around the globe will die over the next few decades as a direct result of climate change.”

  Luping gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth.

  “I know that sounds pessimistic to an extreme, but our models show the accelerating feedback loop of methane and carbon dioxide release from arctic permafrost cannot be stopped. Intense heatwaves, crippling cold spells, severe storms, and droughts; these are the calamities awaiting humanity as a result of our astounding hubris.”

  Murmurs filled the amphitheater.

  “Jesus Christ,” whispered Jayson.

  “This does not mean we’re giving up.”

  Kamaras paused and looked around the room—as if present on the dais in front of them.

  “But it does mean we need to shift our focus. Our mission will become one of triage and treatment rather than prevention. We will lay the foundation for a centuries-long recovery effort to restore the planet to a state that will permit humanity to continue its journey forward. We are considering several extreme alternatives to the present course, and will put forward a plan soon. In the meantime, please continue with your excellent work, and try not to lose hope.”

  Kamaras vanished after his short, direct message without offering an opportunity for questions. Richard reappeared at the podium amid the rising, anxious whispers.

  “I know this news comes as a shock to most of you,” he said. “Please keep in mind it does not mark an end to our journey—just a change of direction. You can expect a plan in the coming weeks as we continue our simulations to determine the most effective course of action. If you have anything you’d like to ask, I’ll do my best to answer.”

  “What does this mean for our current research?” asked Parth.

  “That’ll depend on what you’re doing, and how it fits into the new triage model. It’s too soon to answer that for specific projects.”

  “Is there going to be any kind of press release or public announcement of these findings?” asked Samaira.

  “I don’t know that yet either. It will depend on whether the simulations show it would be helpful to our efforts or not. In the meantime, we ask that you not share what you’ve learned today with friends or family. We don’t want to cause a panic.”

  “People should know,” she said, rising to her feet.

  “Why?” asked Jayson, surprising even himself with the anger in his voice. “They’ve been hearing it for years, and it hasn’t changed a goddamned thing.”

  Several voices echoed his frustration amid a growing din.

  “Please,” said Richard, holding up his hands. “I’m asking for your patience. I know this is terrible news, but we are not giving up. One week is all I ask.”

  “What difference does it make?” said Jayson under his breath.

  He glanced at Samaira. She sat with her head resting on Aiden’s shoulder, tears welling in her eyes. Fuck. He stood from his chair, gritting his teeth as he pushed his way to the aisle and left the amphitheater.