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"So when can the project start?" Ryan asked.
He pulled a large bottle of chilled cola from his dorm refrigerator as he spoke. Drinking cola in the middle of winter was a little strange, but happy moments called for the happy drink. The logic was sound.
Patricia sighed. She sat down across from him and spoke with the gravity of someone delivering an important message.
"The response I got from leadership is that the technology has cleared feasibility. There are no technical obstacles. But before the project is formally approved, there's one thing they need to confirm with you."
She looked at him seriously and asked the question the company had instructed her to ask.
"If the project goes forward, will you participate publicly as the chief designer? In the official announcements and the press coverage?"
"Of course I will." Ryan didn't hesitate for even a second. He said it like it was the most obvious answer in the world.
Patricia had guessed that would be his response.
The company had, some time ago, built a dedicated psychological and behavioral profile of Ryan. The analysis had reached a specific conclusion: his personality included a strong streak of showmanship. It had previously manifested in his video production and his livestreaming. Since coming to Dome Base, the impulse had been somewhat restrained, but it had never disappeared.
There was no chance Ryan would choose to conceal his role in the Crimson Typhoon project or downplay his position.
Patricia delivered the warning anyway.
"I have to be honest with you. If you participate as chief designer, the public reaction is not going to be calm."
It didn't take much imagination. A fourteen-year-old, no, a fifteen-year-old, becoming the chief designer of a project with a budget starting in the billions.
Even if the title was strictly limited to the research and engineering scope.
That kind of thing only happened in novels.
The people who knew Ryan understood that he genuinely had the technical capability for the role. The public did not know that. The only publicly attributable accomplishments Ryan had were Scrapper and the brain-controlled prosthetic. And in Scrapper's case, the public had only ever seen the exterior armor shell. The internals had never been shown.
A teenager. With that track record. Becoming the chief designer of a multi-billion-dollar project.
In the public's eyes, he was nowhere near qualified.
The moment the announcement went out, it would become international news. Possibly a scandal, because the story behind it would invite endless speculation. There was no way to keep it quiet.
What worried the company more was Ryan's psychological state. Their prize asset was still so young. Would the outside pressure affect him? His life had been smooth from birth. Would public criticism damage him? How many psychologists would they need on standby? What kind of counseling would they need to arrange?
The possibilities had kept many people at the company awake at night, worrying about Ryan more than they worried about their own grandchildren.
Patricia herself had been carrying the same anxiety. Ever since leadership had briefed her, her brow had stayed furrowed.
Ryan, of course, knew exactly what Patricia was worried about. He turned the comforting around on her.
"What's there to worry about? Trolls are number one... no. They're just trolls. The harder they attack, the more swollen their faces get when the results come out. Besides, when they attack me, I don't lose anything."
Who did Patricia think she was talking to?
In his previous life, Ryan had been the kind of person who fired a keyboard like an assault rifle. He'd been a troll among trolls.
And in this life, he had a system that converted attention, hostile attention very much included, into Summon Points. The trolls couldn't actually hurt him. Their hostility looped back around and fed his progress. Hate-watching was still watching. Outrage was still attention.
It was, in a sense, the most nourishing poison available.
Patricia watched him say all this with total ease.
"You'll need to hold onto that mindset. All the way through."
She opened her mouth to say something more, then decided against it and changed the subject.
"Well. Since you're insisting, the project will obviously be approved. Preparations will begin within the week. The public announcement will be timed for sometime after the new year."
Ryan checked the date. The new year was only a few days away.
"Same arrangement as always. You handle the research and engineering. Everything else, you don't need to worry about."
As she said this, Patricia sighed internally. She had a premonition. She was, in all likelihood, about to be promoted again.
Fortunately, women had a lower probability of going bald.
Ryan had no idea that Patricia's train of worry had run from his mental health all the way to her own hairline. He smiled.
"Then it's perfect."
He cracked open the cola on the desk and poured himself a full, generous glass.
Patricia rolled her eyes. "Drinking that in winter is a fast track to an upset stomach."
"It's fine." He hiccuped. "Building a new mech means building a new base, right? If you have any special requirements, tell me now. Otherwise we'll just go with the most efficient, fastest design."
"Also, you need to get outside and exercise more. You can't just stay shut in your room doing research all the time. You're still growing. You need to take care of your body."
Patricia delivered an extended lecture, like somebody's mother, on the importance of exercise and healthy living, right there in Ryan's dorm room. She kept going until a subordinate called her phone and summoned her away.
By that point, Ryan had happily worked through more than half the bottle of cola while watching the television series. The show that he hadn't been able to stand earlier had become significantly more watchable.
The happiness didn't last long. Another visitor arrived at the dorm shortly after.
It was Victor Thornton. At this hour, Thornton should have been at the plasma cannon facility.
"What brings you here?" Ryan asked, a little surprised. He poured a glass of cola for the visitor.
Thornton shook his head and declined the offer. "No thanks. That stuff gives you an upset stomach."
"The truth is, I came to say goodbye. I just received notice from leadership. Our project is being relocated inland."
"Oh?"
Ryan was more surprised by that. But he immediately worked out the reason behind it.
The Crimson Typhoon project would be publicly announced soon. Once that happened, this entire region would be under twenty-four-hour satellite surveillance. A highly classified program like the plasma cannon obviously couldn't stay here.
"All right. I can only wish your team smooth research going forward." Ryan said it with a touch of feeling.
This was the first research team to separate from him.
Thornton spoke with genuine sincerity. "Thank you for everything. These past months have meant a lot."
"There's no need for thanks. We were all just helping each other out."
Ryan said it as a courtesy, and Thornton understood it as one. He rubbed the back of his head. For a forty-year-old man of considerable height, the gesture made him look almost bashful.
After thanking Ryan, Thornton left. The next morning, the entire plasma cannon research team relocated quietly. Ryan only learned it had happened when he got the update from Patricia after waking up.
On the third day, the original plasma cannon workshop was completely dismantled in the span of a single day. The site was left without a trace of what had been there.
The Crimson Typhoon's right arm wouldn't be getting a plasma cannon installed after all. Its destiny now lay in the mountains.
Fortunately, Ryan had anticipated this. He'd made small modifications to the blueprints in advance. The Crimson Typhoon project wouldn't be delayed by the plasma cannon's departure. Preparations for the program were already underway at full speed.
And while the project preparations ran their course, the new year arrived.