20. Walt
TWENTY
Walt
Days pass and the sharp scent of disinfectant mingles with the faint aroma of coffee. Despite Doc Summers wanting me to take things easy, my hospital room is anything but peaceful.
Ethan leans against the wall, arms crossed, while Blake fiddles with a monitor. Rigel untangles cords with a look of pure concentration. Then there is Hank and Gabe arguing over where to position a chair. The room is crowded and chaotic.
My teammates are setting up my mobile office.
My chest tightens, but not from the lingering pain. It’s the kind of tightness that comes from knowing you’ve got the best damn team in the world. They get it—they get me. They know I can’t lie here, not when there’s work to be done. Not when lives are on the line. Even when I can’t be out there physically, they find a way to ensure I’m involved.
“Drink up.” Ethan tosses me a bottle of water. “You’ve got five minutes to look human before we go live.”
I don’t bother to hide the faint grin tugging at my lips as I crack the seal. “You’re all a bunch of overachievers, you know that?”
“Yeah,” Rigel says, dragging a chair into place with a grunt. “And you’re welcome.”
Minutes later, Hank arranges the tablet at the perfect angle, and within moments, familiar faces fill the screen. Sam, Forest, and Mitzy take up their usual spots on the screen, the lines of tension evident even through the poor lighting, but it’s the face at the bottom right corner that catches me off guard.
“Mia?” Her name comes out rough, almost a whisper. She looks good, but her eyes hold a weariness that wasn’t there before. “They pulled you into this?”
Her lips curve into a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Like I had a choice.”
I exhale slowly, the weight of the situation settling back over me. This is what we do—what we’re built for. And if my team’s here, working to keep me in the loop even when I’m stuck in a damn bed, then I sure as hell owe them my entire focus.
Time to get to work.
“Considering my history with Sentinel Three and the deuterium thefts…” She gives a grim smile. “I might have insights about where large quantities of nuclear material disappeared to.”
“It’s official? We’re thinking this is Sentinel?”
“The Third Sentinel’s pattern changed after we stopped his deuterium operation,” Mitzy adds, her fingers flying across her keyboard. “Instead of stealing materials, he started collecting the people who could weaponize them.”
“But the deuterium shipments were for making nuclear weapons. These are cold fusion experts. Totally different.”
“Maybe not as different as we’d like.” Mia shrugs. “Whether to create a new super weapon or corner the market on sustainable fusion energy, they can disrupt global commerce.”
“And that’s exactly Malfor’s game,” CJ says. “Disruption followed by conquest, but on a global scale.”
“Tell them what you found,” Forest rumbles.
Mia leans closer to her camera. “Before we shut down the deuterium thefts, large shipments were going to supposedly decommissioned research facilities in Kazakhstan and North Korea. Places with existing infrastructure for nuclear research…”
“And the power grid to support it,” Sam finishes. “Mitzy, overlay those locations with the scientists’ last known movements.”
The screen splits, showing a map dotted with red markers. “Chen’s last cell phone ping was here.” Mitzy highlights a point. “Rodriguez’s credit card activity stopped here. Williams’ final email came from this location.”
“What about their research?” I ask. “There has to be a connection between what they were working on.”
“We mentioned this yesterday,” Mitzy says.
“Sorry, but the narcotics make my memory fuzzy. Can we go over it again?”
Mitzy splits the screen again, showing academic papers and grant proposals. “Chen specialized in plasma containment. Rodriguez focused on quantum tunneling effects. Williams worked on fusion dynamics. Whittman combined quantum tunneling effect and plasma containment. Malikai combined all three… They’ve all collaborated on various scientific papers in the field of cold fusion.”
“Creating a breakthrough that could revolutionize how we control fusion reactions,” Sam adds.
“Or weaponize them,” Forest growls.
“Wait, can we break this down so that us ordinary folk can understand?” I lean forward, ignoring the pull of stitches. “Mia, you worked with deuterium. I thought that was for making nuclear bombs and your research in biochemistry. That’s not what we’re talking about, right?”
“The atomic bomb uses fission, breaking apart heavy isotopes, like plutonium and uranium, to release energy. We’re talking fusion, smashing together light isotopes of hydrogen to create sustainable energy. It’s what happens in the sun.”
“So, deuterium is used for cold fusion research?” I lean forward despite Doc Summers’ warning glare.
“That’s what’s been bothering me.” Mia tilts her head, her brow furrowed in concentration as if she’s turning the idea over. “They wouldn’t steal just deuterium—they need palladium.”
“Palladium?” Ethan frowns. “What’s the connection?”
“It’s crucial for cold fusion,” Mitzy jumps in, splitting her screen to show chemical diagrams. “Palladium has a unique property—it can absorb massive amounts of deuterium into its crystalline structure. The Pons-Fleischmann experiment used palladium electrodes in heavy water?—”
“Which failed spectacularly,” Mia adds. “But here’s what’s interesting—looking at the power consumption data from Kazakhstan, they’re pulling enough energy to run something exponentially larger than any previous cold fusion attempt.”
Forest leans into frame, his ice-blue eyes intent. “Show them the thermal imaging.”
Mitzy’s fingers fly across her keyboard. A satellite image appears, showing heat signatures in deep reds and purples. “This is the facility two months ago.” She pulls up another image. “And this is now. The energy output is off the charts.”
“But cold fusion is supposed to produce energy, not consume it,” Blake points out. “Why do they need that much power?”
“Because they’re not trying to replicate the Pons-Fleischmann experiment. Pons and Fleischmann were specifically looking at cold fusion—fusion at room temperature,” Mia’s voice turns grim.
“Isn’t that what we’re talking about?” I cock my head to the side. I’m no rocket scientist, but I’m not dumb. Most of this is going over my head.
“Fusion reactions can occur in one of two ways,” Mia explains, shifting into what I recognize as her teaching mode. “Cold fusion—like Pons-Fleischmann attempted—tries to achieve fusion at room temperature using chemical processes. Traditional fusion uses massive amounts of energy to heat plasma to over one hundred million degrees. What these power readings suggest…” She pauses, her expression darkening. “They’re trying to brute force fusion by combining both approaches. Using quantum tunneling effects in palladium to replicate high-energy conditions.”
“And that’s bad because…?” Ethan prompts.
“Because they’re essentially trying to create a miniature sun,” Mitzy cuts in. “Without proper safeguards or proven containment methods. The energy readings from Kazakhstan show they’re pumping more and more power into the system. If those containment fields fail?—”
“We’re looking at an explosion on the scale of a miniature sun,” Forest rumbles.
“That’s where Chen’s expertise comes in,” Mitzy continues. “He pioneered new plasma containment techniques. Combined with Rodriguez’s quantum tunneling breakthroughs?—”
“They’re trying to force fusion at a molecular level,” I realize. “Using the palladium matrix as a catalyst.”
“Exactly.” Mia nods. “If you could use quantum tunneling effects to bring deuterium atoms close enough together within the palladium structure?—”
“While using plasma containment to compress everything,” Forest adds. “They’re trying to create a shortcut to fusion.”
“That sounds incredibly dangerous,” Ethan observes from beside my bed.
“It is.” Mitzy pulls up more diagrams. “The pressure required would be astronomical. One containment field failure, one miscalculation in the quantum equations…”
“A runaway fusion reaction could vaporize everything within kilometers,” Mitzy adds. “The devastation would be absolute and incredible.”
The implications hit me hard. “That’s why they need multiple experts. Chen for containment, Rodriguez for quantum mechanics, Williams for fusion dynamics?—”
“And Malikai,” Sam adds, “who found a way to make all three work together.”
“With their families as insurance against failure,” Forest’s voice carries dangerous understanding.
My heart monitor betrays my spike in concern. Doc Summers steps closer, checking my IV with a warning look.
“So, the Kazakhstan facility…” I force my voice steady.
“Is showing all the signs,” Mitzy confirms. “Massive power consumption, regular palladium shipments, specialized cooling systems being installed. They’re building something big.”
“And we’re racing not only against them succeeding,” Mia adds quietly. “But against a catastrophic failure. The energy readings from those containment fields are growing increasingly unstable.”
“How long?” I ask, dreading the answer.
Mitzy and Mia exchange looks. “Impossible to say, but based on the power fluctuations?” Mitzy says. “Two months. Maybe less.”
The room falls silent except for the steady beep of my monitors. Two months until they achieve cold fusion—or catastrophically fail and something much worse happens.
And Malia’s caught in the middle of it all.
Our investigation continues over the next few weeks, the pieces slowly coming together. But all I can think about is Malia, on the other side of the world, being used as leverage.