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:
Moro: Family Business
“Moro, for the last time, your project is canceled.” Dmitri’s stocky, balding form loomed over him.
“But, Uncle.” Moro shrank his slender body deeper into the chair. This can’t be happening. Not now. I’m so close. He grabbed the underside of his ornate wood chair, drawing energy from the pain of the sharp edge. “Dyaden’ka, uncle, 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?” He looked out the window as if searching for answers amongst the trees of downtown Pittsburgh, rich in their fall colors.
“The price of natural gas — ”
Dmitri twisted around, his pale face turning red. “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 began pacing. “No, I’m referring to our other costs. Your costs.”
Moro stood, feeling his blood rising. How rich of him to lecture me about costs in this extravagant conference room. Did he really have to make it out of real marble? “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, gnawing his lip. “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?” He can’t do this to me. Not to my project.
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.
He’s really doing it. I can’t believe it. How deep does that scar of his go?
Moro Petroff wandered the white hallways of Petroff Power’s headquarters in a daze. I thought he was making empty 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.
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 Carnegie Mellon researchers who’d solved the shuttle effect. He’d invoked and promised numerous favors to build a prototype. He’d even started spending 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 on his right pinky finger, whispering the oath he had taken when given the ring at his engineering school’s graduation.
“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.”
I’ve been working at this company since I was twelve. I studied engineering because I dreamt of our family leading the world into a future with incredible batteries. Imagine! Everything from planes to trains, ships to smelters, silent, clean, electric. That could have been us. And this is how he repays me! Reciting the Calling of the Engineer usually helped him calm down — but not this time. He hammered his desk.
The gesture brought up his news application. The top headline: Another fracking leak poisons local water. Instead, we get this. He’s so stuck in fear that he’s not just letting us down, he’s letting the world down. He wanted to scream.
Jobs be damned. These are the future, but I can’t pay for everything myself… If Dmitri stops funding it, what else can I do? I should have made a backup plan when he started threatening me. I was too naive. Sadness tightened his throat. Dammit. Now is not the time to cry, Moro.
What if I left Petroff Power? Went to another company? No. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth. This is my project. I’ve put so much into it, I’m not giving up now.
He saw a group of coworkers leaving for lunch and his stomach growled. 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 a Masters degree 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.
He’d never stolen anything before, much less a shipping container full of batteries on the high seas… but how hard could it be? At the end of the day, everything is an engineering problem, right?
To pull this off, he would need a team. And clearly, he couldn’t trust anyone in his company…
But who?
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