How to Surf a Hurricane, Chapter 1
I’m writing a heist novel set in a solarpunk near-future where humans are learning how to adapt to climate change. Here’s the first chapter:
Chapter 1: Moro: The Family Business
“Moro, for the last time, your project is canceled.” Dmitri’s balding, stocky form loomed over him in an expensive suit.
The two were alone in a conference room built for twenty, extravagantly decorated in white marble.
“But, Uncle.” Moro shrank in his chair. He grabbed the sharp wood edge on the underside of his ornate chair, drawing energy from the pain. “Dyaden’ka. My battery project is critical to the survival of our company.”
“Survival of our company? No. We still make money, but our costs… Our costs! How can we be profitable if we spend so much money?”
“The price of natural gas — “
Dmitri stiffened. “Do not tell me about the price of natural gas! We make electricity from it, of course we must pay the price for it!” He continued pacing. “No, I’m referring to our other costs. Your costs.”
Moro stood. “I’ve told you that the future is in energy storage. We — “
“No, Moro. There will be no future if we go bankrupt. We don’t have the money to continue your little…experiments…any longer. You told me you’d have the prototype ready by 2038. What year is it now?”
Moro looked at the floor. “2039.”
“Exactly. I’m cutting your funding. Your project is over. I’m announcing it today, but I wanted to tell you first in person.”
“Have you even looked at the spreadsheets I’ve sent you?” He clenched his fists. “The revenue opportunity? The emissions reductions?”
Dmitri shook his head. “Moro, Moro. You always have your head in the clouds. Such lofty ideas about the environment, the future.” He gestured widely and brought his finger down to the table. “Never in the now. We have a company to run. Mouths to feed.” His finger hammered each point against the white wood. “If we go under, thousands of people will lose their jobs, their livelihoods.”
“Uncle…” Moro pleaded.
Dmitri raised his fist, the tip of a scar on his wrist poking out of his cuff. “No. Do not dirty yourself with begging. I’ve made up my mind. We are done.” He marched out of the room.
How deep does that scar of his go?
Moro Petroff wandered the white hallways of Petroff Power’s headquarters in a daze. I can’t believe it. I thought it was always just threats to push me to deliver faster. He stopped in front of Dmitri’s portrait in the hallway, next to the portraits of the two previous CEOs. After everything Maksimilian and Gregory did to start this company, to provide for the family…
Without thinking, he found himself back at his desk. Sighing, he dropped into his chair. His workspace automatically appeared, projected onto his thick-rimmed glasses. Looking up from the virtual mess on his desk, the blueprints for his project floated in front of him, teasing him.
Their next-generation lithium-sulfur battery[1].
It was only through sheer force of will and a stubbornness bordering on psychopathy that Moro had gotten this far. He’d secured a patent from the Carnegie Mellon materials science lab. He’d invoked and promised numerous favors to build a prototype. He’d even offered to spend his inheritance to keep the project afloat — hoping, believing that Dmitri would understand once he saw their performance in person.
But it wasn’t enough. Before they’d even arrived, Dmitri was shutting it down.
Moro played with the iron ring[2] on his right pinky finger, whispering the oath he took when he graduated from engineering school.
“To the best of my knowledge and power, I will not suffer bad workmanship or faulty material in my works before mankind as an engineer, or in my dealings with my own soul.”
Reciting the Calling of the Engineer usually helped him calm down and see clearly — but this time, he still felt lost. Jobs be damned. These are the future, but I can’t pay for the entire project myself… If Dmitri stops funding it, what else can I do? I should have made a backup plan when he started making threats. I was too naive. Sadness tightened his throat. Dammit. Now is not the time to cry, Moro.
He saw a group of coworkers leaving for lunch and decided to follow them. No point in thinking on an empty stomach. He overheard snippets of the conversation as he caught up.
“Did you see the Pirates’ game last night?”
“Yeah. What a play!”
He rolled his eyes. I don’t know what else to do. I’m playing by the rules, but the rules are rigged against me.
“It was totally illegal. I can’t believe the umpire didn’t call it.”
“Right? But it worked. They won!”
“All because Johnston stole third base.”
“Right? Man, mad respect for Johnston. He’s got more steals than anyone…”
Hmm… Moro joined in. “What’s stealing a base?”
His coworker laughed heartily. “Moro, man. You really know nothing about sports, do you? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, with how pale you are.”
Moro gave an innocent grin and scratched at his white-blond hair. Who has time for fun when you’re studying for college and running a research division?
“Well, when a player sees an opening, he can try to advance to the next base even if he’s not technically allowed to.”
“And that’s…allowed? How?”
“It’s risky, but it’s all down to the timing. If they’re caught, the team takes an out. But if they’re fast enough…”
“The team gets a point!”
The coworker chuckled. “No. Not a point exactly, but it’s good for a team.”
Another chimed in, “It’s a strategic play. Like, big risk, big reward. Last night, the team was down anyway, so this was their last hope — and the gamble paid off.”
“Huh. Interesting. Thank you.” Moro nodded and backed away, allowing them to continue. We’re down anyway… Maybe that’s what we need. A big gamble.
Wait, did I just learn something from sports?
That night, Moro tossed and turned. A plan formed in his mind.
The Berlin factory had almost finished the second prototype. After that, they’d ship it across the Atlantic to their warehouse near Pittsburgh. Without Dmitri’s funding, it would remain in storage, unused, forever.
Unless.
If he somehow intercepted them in transit, he could bypass the company entirely, sell them to the highest bidder, and let the world see just how much those batteries are capable of.
Maybe he could even file an insurance claim against the stolen goods and use that money to advance the project further.
But he’d never stolen anything before, much less a shipping container full of batteries on the high seas.
To pull this off, he would need a team. And clearly, he couldn’t trust anyone in his company…
But who?
Footnotes:
- Lithium batteries using a sulfur cathode promise significantly improved energy density and smaller environmental footprint compared to other common chemistries, including iron phosphate (FLP) and nickel-manganese-cobalt (NMC) — if several challenges can be solved, including cathode materials “shuttling” to the anode, and volumetric expansion causing microscopic cracks that rapidly degrade the capacity. Given the number of teams and companies working on it in 2024, and the progress made so far, it seems reasonable that it will be ready for prototype-scale commercialization by 2040.
- Originally made of iron (rumored to be made from the collapsed 1907 Quebec Bridge), the rings are now made of stainless steel, but the name lives on. They’re given to every engineer in Canada as part of The Ritual of the Calling of an Engineer, dating back to 1925.
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