25. Walt
TWENTY-FIVE
Walt
“Signal spike!” Mitzy’s sharp voice slices through the pre-dawn stillness of the Command tent. Her fingers move with practiced urgency over multiple keyboards, summoning a cascade of data streams onto the holographic display. On the central screen, jagged power curves climb sharply, overlaying muted thermal imaging of the reactor sublevels. “Something’s happening inside the facility.”
I push away from the tactical table, the sudden shift from quiet planning to crisis tightening my gut. “What kind of spike?”
Mitzy doesn’t look up. “Major power fluctuations. The bumblebees are detecting facility-wide alarms. Emergency protocols are firing across every sector.”
Forest steps in from the shadows, his broad frame casting long, sharp lines against the dim tent lights. His voice is low, deliberate. “Show me.”
The schematic updates in real time, lighting up with warning signals: power surges in multiple sectors, emergency overrides activating at every critical checkpoint. Mitzy splits the screen to show energy diagnostics alongside live feeds from the drones.
“They’re dumping power into the containment fields,” she says. “Massive loads. Way beyond capacity. They’re trying to stabilize the reaction, but the system isn’t designed for this.”
Ethan abandons his half-finished coffee to study the screens over her shoulder. “This doesn’t look like a drill.”
Mitzy shakes her head, flipping to another set of feeds. “It’s not. These readings are…” She trails off, the unease in her voice thick.
“Unprecedented,” I finish for her, stepping closer. The heat maps from the reactor level glow like a furnace while red warning indicators flash across every subsystem.
“Their backups just kicked in,” Mitzy says, highlighting a fresh surge in power output. “They’re rerouting everything into the containment fields. This is an all-out fight to keep that reactor stable.”
“Can the fields hold?” Forest asks.
“For now,” Mitzy replies, her tone clipped. “But look at this.” She pulls up a new graph, the jagged lines spiking and falling erratically. “The system’s oscillating. If they lose control, the energy discharge will?—”
“Blow everything,” Sam’s voice crackles through comms. He’s stationed in the mountains, watching from the theoretical blast zone. “Thermal imaging confirms a massive heat bloom at the reactor level. Looks like they’re on borrowed time.”
“Rufi units are reporting heightened guard activity,” Blake adds. “They’re locking down entry points and doubling up patrols. This isn’t containment—they’re preparing for a worst-case scenario.”
I run a finger over the scar on my chest. The memory sharpens my focus. “Where are the hostages?”
Mitzy redirects the bumblebee feeds to the residential wing. The footage is grainy but clear enough to show armed guards moving civilians through narrow halls. Families huddle together, as they’re herded toward a central corridor.
“They’re evacuating,” Mitzy confirms, toggling through more feeds. “Multiple groups converging on the exits. Security teams are maintaining tight formations.”
Ethan leans in beside me, his tone sharp. “Track their evacuation routes. Entry points, exit routes, guard patterns—I want a full accounting of their movements.”
The display splits, focusing on a group moving out of the residential wing. Mrs. Chen clutches her teenage son’s hand like a lifeline while armed men guide them forward. The Williams family moves in unison, their steps perfectly synchronized, as if they’ve been through worse together.
“There’s Ally.” Forest gestures toward a different feed. A blonde figure—Whittman’s doctoral student—crosses through a checkpoint, standing out starkly against the sterile gray walls. “And there’s Malia.” Mitzy flips through the feeds before I can ask, doing what she can to get a close-up.
I can’t tear my eyes from the screen. My heart pounds as the bumblebees zero in on a figure among the evacuees.
Malia.
Even through the poor resolution, her posture is unmistakable—rigid, unyielding. Her head stays high, defiance etched into every line of her body. But there’s something else—her gaze darts between the guards and the corridors, calculating.
“She’s looking for an opening,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
“Rufi units confirming movement at all exits.” Blake’s voice crackles over comms. “External security establishing perimeter control points. Whatever shook them, they’re not taking any risks.”
Mitzy’s voice breaks through my focus. “Power levels are still climbing. They’re redirecting everything to buy more time, but it’s not enough. They’re relocating to hardened shelters outside the main facility,” Mitzy says, overlaying schematics onto the footage. “We missed those on our initial survey.” She shakes her head, but Forest places a hand on her shoulder.
Her voice is clipped and monotone as she reports out details. “Cold War-era bunkers. Reinforced to withstand pretty much anything short of a direct nuclear strike.”
“Smart,” Forest mutters. “If the containment fields fail, those might be the only survivable places in the blast radius.”
“How long do they have?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
She hesitates. “Minutes. Maybe an hour if they’re lucky.” Mitzy stiffens, her hands flying over the keyboard. “We’re missing two hostages.” Her words hit like a punch. “Malikai and Dr. Chen aren’t with the evacuees.”
My grip tightens on the table as I force my mind to keep working. “Where are Malikai and Chen?”
Mitzy’s face falls. She pulls up thermal imaging, overlaying it onto the schematic. Two faint heat signatures are moving deeper into the facility.
“They’re heading toward the reactor level,” she confirms.
The tent goes quiet as the weight of it sinks in. Whatever’s down there—it’s bad enough to evacuate the facility and dangerous enough, or worse, for two men to risk their lives trying to stop a catastrophe.
Forest’s jaw tightens. “They’re walking straight into the fire.”
Hank lets out a low whistle, his usual humor gone. “They must think they’re the only ones who can stop this.”
“Or they’re buying time for the others,” Gabe mutters grimly.
“Show me the containment field data again,” I order.
Mitzy brings up another graph. The lines are steadier now, but the strain is evident. “The fields are stabilizing—for now. But the power draw is…” She trails off, shaking her head.
I study the schematic, my mind racing. “This evacuation—it’s too smooth. Too organized.”
Ethan narrows his eyes. “What are you thinking?”
“They’ve drilled for this.” I tap the schematic, highlighting the routes. “These movements, the guard rotations—they’ve practiced this. If we can replicate these conditions…”
“We can force another evacuation,” Ethan finishes, his tone sharp with understanding. “No need to breach an impenetrable facility if we can get the guards to bring the hostages to us.”
“Exactly, but we need to get to them before they can funnel them into those bunkers.”
The tension in the room shifts, the weight of realization settling over the team.
“Let’s assume it blows. How bad?” My voice cuts through the heavy silence, sharp and focused. “Chernobyl bad? Worse?”
Mitzy doesn’t look up from her screen, her fingers flying over the keys. “Fusion and fission are two completely different animals. Fission—what you’re thinking of—is what’s used in nuclear power plants and atomic bombs. It splits heavy atoms, like uranium or plutonium, into smaller ones, releasing energy. But it also leaves behind radioactive waste that stays deadly for thousands of years.”
“Like Chernobyl and Fukushima,” Forest adds.
“Exactly.” She gestures at her screens, frustration sharpening her tone. “Fusion is the opposite. It fuses light atoms—hydrogen isotopes like deuterium—into helium, releasing energy. It’s cleaner, way more efficient, and doesn’t create the same kind of long-lasting waste. But it’s dangerous as hell if something goes wrong.”
Blake frowns. “Cleaner? Then why the hell are we worried about a five-kilometer blast radius?”
“Because it’s still a nuclear reaction,” Mitzy snaps. “And this isn’t about radioactive fallout. If those containment fields fail, all that energy—the power of a star—gets released at once. No waste, no lingering radiation. Just heat and force. Twenty-seven million degrees of heat. Everything nearby gets vaporized into plasma.”
Gabe crosses his arms, brows furrowing. “So, no wasteland? Just instant destruction?”
Mitzy nods. “Right. Fusion doesn’t poison the land for centuries. But if this reactor goes critical? It’ll vaporize everything within the blast radius. The damage is in the heat and the pressure wave.”
“Don’t forget about the neutrons. There’s still radiation,” Forest presses, his tone grim.
Mitzy exhales sharply. “If they’re using tritium, the neutrons can irradiate nearby materials—short-term radioactivity, not thousands of years. Days or weeks, tops. But the immediate problem is the energy release.”
Walt shakes his head, his mind racing. “I thought this was cold fusion?”
Mitzy snorts, shaking her head as she pulls up another diagnostic. “Room-temperature fusion is a pipe dream. Even if it worked, it’d still need containment fields to hold the reaction.”
I lock eyes with her. “So, worst-case scenario?”
Mitzy exhales, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. “If it blows? I’m beginning to think five klicks is a vast underestimation of the blast radius. Those bunkers? It’s hard to say how protective they might be. Twenty-seven million degrees is a lot of heat. We’ve never seen anything like that outside the sun and some very controlled reactions here on Earth. Outside that blast range, there’s no fallout, no long-term radiation.”
I force myself to turn away. “We can’t move until we’re certain the reactor is stable. If those fields fail, nothing else will matter. But if they fix it—we have to be ready. Who knows when this will happen again.” My voice is steady, but the weight of it presses heavily on my chest. “Mitzy, can you replicate the conditions for an evacuation?”
“Maybe. Why?” Her fingers fly across the keyboard. “The bumblebees mapped their entire emergency protocol system. I can simulate a fire in a non-critical sector. Big enough to force an evac, but far enough from the reactor to avoid a real catastrophe.”
“They expected something like this could happen. They built these protocols for a reason, and they drilled them repeatedly.” I trace the paths on the holographic display. “We’ve been thinking like intruders, trying to breach a fortress. But this evacuation—this is our way in.”
“Walt has it right.” Ethan narrows his eyes, following my line of thought. “We have to trigger another evacuation and make them move the hostages outside.”
I nod, the plan solidifying in my mind. “Exactly. They’re conditioned to respond to these alarms. We replicate the conditions for an evacuation and use their protocols against them.”
Forest crosses his arms, his expression skeptical. “And what if triggering another evacuation destabilizes the reactor further? Or worse, tips them off to our presence?”
“We avoid touching anything connected to the reactor,” Mitzy answers firmly. “The bumblebees are mapping their system. I assume their fire suppression systems and environmental controls are separate from containment operations, but I need more time to confirm. ”
“Do it,” CJ says.
“That’s risky,” Blake points out. “What if the guards figure out it’s fake before we can reach the hostages?”
“Timing,” I say, stepping forward. “This has to be perfect. We hit them as soon as the alarms go off before they realize it’s a false alarm. Multiple teams, coordinated strikes. We intercept the hostages en route to the bunkers and extract them before the guards can regroup.”
“We need to bring in more teams. Alpha and Charlie can’t handle something like that alone.” Ethan taps the display, highlighting the evacuation paths.
“You work on that,” Mitzy says, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “I’ll work on the bumblebees. I should have something in a few hours, but I need to see what’s happening down in that lab first.”
I turn back to the holographic display, a plan solidifying in my mind.