Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Three: Reporters Just Show Up Anytime... (Patreon)

Inspector Chadwick suggested that one of us could join him to speak to the reporters.

By universal agreement, it was agreed that I should be the spokesperson. Sarah proposed, Gideon and Clegg were quick to agree. Too quick.

So I found myself facing nearly a hundred journalists, cameras flashing and microphones stuck out in my direction.

Might have been intimidating, except that I was still in the Greyhound suit.

The reporters were kind enough - or smart enough - to keep a safe distance away from me. Nobody wanted to crowd the armor that had squished a Lynxian commando, after all.

Chadwick cleared my throat as he addressed the assembled newspeople. “Good morning. I’m here to make a brief statement about what just happened today.”

“Will Belessar be speaking?” shouted someone.

“After I’ve made my statement, Mr. Belessar can add to it if he pleases. At eight-fifteen a.m. this morning, the BAE-Dragonfly Systems facility was attacked by a group of terrorists, estimated at seven in number. The assailants belonged to the outlawed Pakistani Unification Front, and were led by one Ali bin Tassaduf al Muthawil, who is wanted on multiple charges of domestic and international terrorism.

“The terrorists rammed a truck packed with incendiaries into the wall of the BAE-Dragonfly factory; however, due to the excellent fireproofing, there was no breach. The remaining terrorists assaulted the facility with handheld weapons, but were quickly overwhelmed by Mr. Belessar and units from the local police station. One terrorist was killed by Mr. Belessar in self-defense and the others surrendered. Thank you.”

“Is it true there was a bomb?” one of the reporters shouted out.

Chadwick smiled pleasantly. “Yes, there was, but it did not cause any damage.”

“Is it true that the terrorists were trying to target the reactor?”

“I’m not a technical expert in these matters, ma’am.”

I decided to step in. “Inspector Chadwick, I can take that question.”

Chadwick nodded as the attention of the reporters swiveled towards me.

“Good morning, as some of you may know, I’m Belessar. Today morning I was shot at by a bunch of militants.” I paused. “As you can see, they weren’t very effective.”

A round of titters swept across the audience.

“I can confirm that they wanted to target the reactor, but they didn’t. Instead they did cosmetic damage to one of our cooling towers, which will be repaired within the next half hour.” Or as soon as this conference was over.

“Ciara Devigne, Daily Sun. Mr. Belessar, do we know what was the purpose of targeting this facility?”

“They weren’t too clear about that, I’m afraid.”

“Is it true that the ultrahuman Agni is also located here, and the attack was an attempt to target her specifically?”

First time I’d heard that theory. “I can’t comment on the second half of your question, but Agni isn’t here.”

“Is it true you have a secret laboratory and apartment within the premises?” asked another journalist. “And that you’ve been staying over at night?”

I snorted. “The lab’s hardly secret. It’s marked on the map at the gate - Belessar’s Lab. The apartment is cheaper than staying at a hotel for months on end.”

“Is it also true that your partner Agni often stays over at the lab, and that she may be on-premises now?”

I couldn’t help it; I laughed. “Ma’am, if Agni was here, do you think the truck would have caught fire? She’d’ve shut it down in a fraction of a second. After which the terrorists would have been wrapped up in nice little flame vortexes and escorted to the police station.”

The reporter gulped.

“Andrew Copperthwaite, Mr. Belessar, from the Environmental News Weekly. A question about the facility.”

“Go ahead.”

“Is it warranted to continue to run dangerous fusion reactors in close proximity to highly populated areas, given that terrorists have already tried to blow them up?”

Lord save me from journalists who think they’re scientists….

“Quick question, Mr. Copperthwaite, how familiar are you with fusion reactor technology?”

The reporter drew himself up to his full height. “I’ve covered Chernobyl, Mr. Belessar, and we are all aware of the dangers of nuclear reactors.”

“That was a fission reactor, this is fusion. Okay, so quick physics lesson - we have multiple fusion reactors on-site. "

A gasp from some of the journalists. A few others glanced around discreetly, probably looking for an escape route.

"Each reactor has an output of 1800 megawatts," I continued. "This is achieved by a sequence of small-scale fusions between hydrogen atoms, to form helium. Sixteen trillion hydrogen atoms are hurled into a chamber, four trillion helium atoms comes out.

"The total output from this process is one point eight joules. Put in context, that's a tenth of the energy required to run a lightbulb for a second." I paused for a moment to let that sink in. "What we do, however, is to run the reactions very, very fast. A million times per second, or once per microsecond. Hence the term, microfusion reactor."

"What would happen if a bomb went off in the middle of the process?" asked a grey-haired journalist.

"Assuming the bomb somehow bypassed all the security measures, and none of the failsafes worked? The reaction would stop, and the current batch of reactor fuel would get vented to atmosphere. Which would be two joules of power… just about enough to warm a cup of tea."

The more nervous reporters seemed surprised. The grey-haired journalist, on the other hand, appeared unusually pleased.

Observe told me why:

GARRET REEVE

CLASS: JOURNALIST

FACTION: SCIENCE DIGEST

VETERAN TECHNOLOGY REPORTER, REEVE HOLDS A MASTER'S DEGREE IN GEOLOGY. UNLIKE MOST REPORTERS, HE ACTUALLY UNDERSTANDS THE SCIENCE BEHIND THE STORIES HE COVERS.

"What are the chances of someone making the reactor blow?" another voice asked.

"Zero. Reactors don't 'blow', they shut down. The reactor vessel is rated to take shots from a Hierarchy plasma rifle without cracking, so these bombs are … sort of pointless."

"... Pointless?"

I shrugged. "If a terrorist wants to waste their hard-to-find explosives on the blastproof walls of our factory, who am I to stop them?"

After the visitors had left, I changed back to nanofibre weave and rejoined the others.

The three executives seemed uncertain. (Perception, yay!) A dead tip-off that they wanted something.

I had a fair guess what it was.

Gideon was the one to bring it up. “Belessar, we’d like to talk about site security.”

"Sure."

"The fullersteel walls turned out to be very useful. A small concern, though - the truck seems to have triggered some sort of explosive when it burst through the boundary." Gideon gave me a penetrating look. "Clegg says there's no such feature in his designs."

I nodded. "I've made a few enhancements to the factory. Inventech enhancements."

"Enhancements that we don't know about. That might have safety risks."

"Gideon… you'll have to trust me that they're needed."

"I'm not saying your intentions aren't good." Gideon held up a hand. "If anything, you have a better understanding of exactly how dangerous things can get than me. What concerns me - and the others, too - is that in spite of working with you for months, you still don't trust us."

Ouch. That hurt.

More so because it was, at least partly, true.

I sighed. "What do you want, Gideon?"

"Trust. Transparency. Explanations."

Sarah and Will nodded in unison.

"If that's the case, then I'm going to want a few answers. Answers which may be tough for you to give."

"We're ready to take that risk," piped in Sarah.

“In that case, let’s get inside my lab.”