Chapter 6
So I have to say this story is picking up more followers than I thought it would. 5 chapters in, I already have 93 people who have collected it, with over 26k views. I may not be getting many comments or ideas from the fan base, but I am very happy that so many people seem to enjoy it.
This chapter here is a bit short, but mostly because I want to get on to the racing. Like with 1939, I plan for this to be mostly 70 percent life and 30 percent business and tech. Really, I am just having fun with it.
Shout-out to roronoa2 for never failing to leave a thank-you. As always, you are very welcome.
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"Blaze, I can still remember the first time I laid eyes on that abomination. I know 'abomination' carries a negative connotation, but what else could you call something that shouldn't have existed? It shouldn't have been possible—at least not in our lifetime. Granted, my expertise isn't in the renewable energy sciences, but I have read her original thesis and several other papers on biofuel production. Blaze shouldn't exist, yet somehow Isabel managed to make it in little more than a shed behind Shelby American. Who would have thought that one girl would ignite an energy revolution with just $5,000? I certainly didn't."
— George Smoot
-1963-
-Isabel POV-
I have often wondered where my ideas come from. It's one of those things that have, in the past, kept me up at night when I had nothing else to think about. I knew I was smart—far smarter than most of my peers. In fact, outside of Stephen Hawking and Richard Feynman, whom I had the pleasure of meeting in my first year of college, I can't say I knew many equals. And yes, I fully acknowledge that they were both my equals, if not superiors, in their chosen fields. Yet even so, they, as far as I could tell, didn't have dreams of technology that simply didn't exist in this day and age.
Now, I'm not the type to give any credence to the belief of having visions of the future or in second lives. However, I do admit the possibility of parallel worlds. String theory, though not of real interest to me, is a fascinating subject, especially one of its core ideas: the existence of an infinite number of universes connected to each other but following different physical laws and properties. If that's the case, could it be that I am somehow connected to one, if not more, of these universes? If so, it would explain who Dr. Elisabet Sobeck was and why I could see her in my dreams.
I could only catch a glimpse of who she was and what her life had been like. I knew she lived in a time far more advanced than my own and that she died due to the mistakes of lesser men. Though I didn't have the full picture, it was clear someone had forgotten why Murphy's Law exists. "Anything that can go wrong will go wrong." That's why it's important to prepare for failure.
I, of course, took this law to heart, as proven by the fact that I was standing behind 6 inches of bulletproof glass, about to start the engine I planned to drop into the PT King Coba 2. If everything went as planned, this engine would run solely on Blaze fuel. As I slid the tube into the chamber atop the engine, I mentally reviewed everything I knew. I reviewed every note I had taken and every paper I had written, searching for flaws in my calculations. Unfortunately, I found several uncertainties. The harsh reality was that I didn't possess Dr. Elisabet Sobeck's memories; I had only been able to look over her shoulder as she worked.
Unfortunately, I had access only to parts of Dr. Elisabet Sobeck's work. I had to study the rest on my own or piece it together independently. However, even with limited access, seeing segments of her work gave me a significant advantage over others. I had an IQ of over 200 and an eidetic memory, or something very close to it. My ability to recall even the smallest details was a tremendous asset because, contrary to popular belief, not all geniuses possess near-perfect memories.
With these two strengths combined, I could fill the gaps in the technology Dr. Sobeck developed. When I say "easily," I mean it took me two years of college research to get there. Her project, known as Blaze, was incredibly complex and primarily a side venture that she let her assistants explore while she focused on the robotics and AI components of her plan to save humanity from extinction. It goes without saying that I wouldn't even attempt to tackle the robotics or AI aspects of her work.
However, my lack of interest in those fields was not driven by a misguided belief that AI was morally wrong. This has been a hot topic among some lesser scientists ever since Isaac Asimov published his book "I, Robot." Although I found Asimov's works entertaining, I quickly realized that he had a limited understanding of AI and robotics. It's unfortunate, especially since nearly a decade had passed since Alan Turing's death, and he had given us a wealth of knowledge about machine intelligence. However, very few people have read his work, and even fewer truly grasp his ideas.
The real reason I wasn't trying to break into robotics or AI was much simpler than moral considerations, which vary greatly across cultures. Based on my current calculations, I estimate that Blaze could reach its final stage in nearly two decades, provided I secure military funding and access to a state-of-the-art lab, which I could then use to develop the equipment I need to complete it. The timeline for robotics and AI, depending on several factors, could extend by another 20 to 30 years. So, my best estimates put me in the early 2000s before I could actually build something as simple as a Watcher. As for GAIA, that's a different story; I would be at least 80 before a working prototype could even begin to take shape. So it was best for me to just focus on other things. After all, I didn't just see Dr. Sobeck in my dreams—there were others as well.
As I picked up the engine switch, I quickly checked that everyone was in their proper place. I glanced at my grandfather, who stood beside me, looking both nervous and excited. He might not have fully understood the science behind my invention, but he grasped its applications. From a military standpoint, Blaze was a game-changer. It had the potential to reduce the weight of an M60 battle tank by over a thousand pounds. That meant an extra thousand pounds to allocate to thicker armor, a more powerful gun, or simply to increase the tank's speed.
The implications of what Blaze could do for the U.S. military were daunting. Forget merely outpacing those Red bastards; Blaze could dramatically shift the balance of power. That is, of course, if it worked. As I had warned him, there was a significant risk of failure. I had cautioned him more than once not to inform his friend at the Pentagon about this development, as Blaze, in its current state, was highly volatile. Even in its gaseous form, it could turn an engine block into sludge because of the extreme heat it generated.
No, using the PT King Cobra 2 was the safer option. If it performed well on the racetrack, he could reach out to his contacts at the Pentagon. And thanks to a clever clause in our contract with Toyota, they had no rights to the biofuel. Not that it would matter if they did anyway. The moment the US military realized what it was, it would become a natural asset, and they would no doubt classify it and most likely try to remove me from the project. Too bad for them, my loyalty to the US was lukewarm at best. If I had to go to another country to keep up with my own research in exchange for some of my tech, I'd do it.
I glanced over at my PawPaw and handed him some goggles and ear protection. "Alright, PawPaw, we're ready. Would you like to do the honors?"
I held out the switch to him, but he didn't take it and looked even more taken aback. "Isabel, I couldn't. This is your invention; it's your moment."
I smiled at my PawPaw. His love for me always warmed my heart, and the fact that he didn't want to take away from my achievement only made me love him all the more.
"Don't worry about it, PawPaw; just think of it as my way of apologizing for my latest arrest," I said with a sweet smile. I noticed a tiny vein begin to throb on the side of his head.
Clearly, he was still angry at me for getting caught having sex with Blossom on the beach. Well, the cops suspected I had been having sex with her, anyway. By the time the cops showed up, we were already finished, and all they had to go on was a report that a woman (Blossom) had been heard repeatedly screaming my name in a passionate way. Honestly, my girlfriend needed to learn to control her voice when we had sex outside.
When they showed up, Blossom was sitting on the sand, staring into space, while I stood topless with a pleased look on my face. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened. So, they quickly took us in. It was actually pretty funny when one of the officers, who was clearly a rookie and hated gays by the looks he was giving us, thought it would be embarrassing for me to be led off the beach still topless. He clearly didn't expect me to walk tall and proud, completely unashamed. He also wasn't prepared for me to greet several men at the station by name, all of whom looked like they wanted to kill him. Poor guy, he really should have thought things through a bit more.
If he had thought critically, he probably could have figured out who I was after I told him my name. From there, it shouldn't have been hard to connect the dots that I was related to the family that was running the city's largest veteran charity group and most of the police force, including the Chief of Police, were veterans. So it was probably not a good idea to do something so stupid. Unfortunately for him, he clearly wasn't very smart and had essentially committed career suicide. I didn't even have to ask for a phone call because the other officers wasted little time in calling Chief Hayes, who was told what happened and wasted little time coming down to the station on his day off, and boy, was he pissed when he showed up. It was hard to tell whether his frustration was directed at the rookie officer or at me, and frankly, I didn't care.
Still, I felt his anger was mostly aimed at the rookie, especially since my top was still missing when he showed up, along with the 24-karat gold chain that completed the outfit. The top may not have been very heavy—only about one pound—but at $35 per troy ounce, that meant about $560 was missing. This total didn't even include the material itself, so the total was closer to $580. To put it in perspective, that amount was about 12 percent of someone's yearly salary. Thankfully, I still had my bottoms on, because if they were missing too, the police department would have had to spend over $1,000 to replace the bikini.
Poor Chief Hayes looked like he was about to blow a gasket when I told him I expected my top back or compensation for its value. I'm pretty sure the rookie ended up with desk duty after that incident. As for Pawpaw, he was somewhat accustomed to situations like this by now. Between the reckless driving and public indecency, this definitely wasn't the first time I had been arrested for doing random and seemingly stupid things. In fact, my first arrest, if you can call it that, happened after Le Mans when I went through a phase of breaking into people's garages to tune up their cars. I'm still not entirely sure why I did it, but after I made my own lock-picking kit, I started breaking in. I got caught three or four times before they officially arrested me, and Pawpaw had to post bail for me for the first time.
Needless to say, he was very disappointed and scolded me harshly, to the point that I cried. So I promised myself that I would never get caught again. The key word being caught. I knew he wanted me to stop, but after getting caught, I saw it as a challenge: not getting caught. News flash: I got caught again. On more than one occasion, in fact. I really did suck at being a burglar. I mean, I broke into places, didn't steal anything, and got caught working on random people's cars. I was never charged, though, because, come on, everyone likes having their cars worked on for free by an expert. Even if that expert was a 12-year-old girl. Now that I think about it, the people in the neighborhood started putting more complex locks on their garages shortly after I started, and they knew I liked a challenge. So they were daring me to break in. Maybe? Possibly.
Anyway, the point is that Pawpaw was pretty used to me getting into trouble for various reasons by now. One notable instance occurred in college when he had to fly out to Boston to post bail for me after I broke onto campus after hours. I still don't see what the big deal was about my breaking in to change a mathematical equation that a professor had gotten wrong. From my perspective, I was doing him a favor since he had been teaching the wrong material for nearly 20 years. Did he really need to take a sabbatical after that? Really, some people can be so a bit dramatic at times.
"Give me that," Pawpaw said, grabbing the switch from my hand in an annoyed tone.
Without hesitation, he flipped the switch and watched as the PT S. Patton Blaze model roared to life, producing a sound that made the regular S. Patton seem like a kitten mewing. Even with ear protection, the noise was nearly deafening.
"Is it supposed to sound like that?" I could just barely hear Pawpaw ask.
"I have no idea. This is its first test. If it doesn't melt the engine block, I can handle a little noise," I yelled back, anxiously watching the minutes tick by.
When nothing happens, I turn off the engine and walk over to inspect it. I check for any microcracks or signs that the Blaze might melt through the engine. Finding nothing, I grab a pair of long pliers, reach into the housing chamber, and remove the container—only to find it partly melted and smoking.
"Wow, now I understand why the engine block didn't melt," I say as I take the container over to the workbench.
Examining the container, which is made from some of the most expensive metals on the planet, Pawpaw asks, "Is this good or bad?"
As I study the container, I reply, "Well, it's not bad, but I had designed the container out of tungsten, which has a melting point of six thousand degrees Fahrenheit. This is the result of turning Blaze into a gas and burning it."
My Pawpaw whistles at that, and I nod in response before standing up and walking out of the garage. It looks like I would need to start working on an alloy that can withstand high temperatures. However, that's going to be a challenge. While creating Blaze Phase 1 in an old, beat-up garage is possible, developing an alloy that can handle the heat is a different story. Frankly, I'm not even sure it's feasible with the current technology. Most likely, I'll need to find a way to distribute the heat evenly between the engine and the housing chamber to manage the temperature effectively.
That, however, is the exciting part of science: encountering a problem and then finding a solution. I love the chase nearly as much as I love making Bloosem scream my name where everyone can hear us.