“Letting go” was a nice way of saying “exploding.” The magnetrons in the confinement chamber served two purposes: they squeezed the plasma energy down to a smaller size to increase the power of the plasma field, and it then channeled the plasma stream into the laser generator. The magnetrons signaled imminent failure by vibrating rapidly as the magnetic material began to disintegrate molecularly and the magnetic fields began alternately attracting, then repelling one another at incredible speed. If the magnetrons failed and the plasma reaction wasn’t stopped in time, the plasma field would grow uncontrollably, unleashing one hundred million degrees of destruction on anything within one or two miles.

Building two smaller confinement chambers instead of one large one was an option, but there wasn’t enough room for two of the right size in the B-52’s fuselage; besides, Jon’s and Kelsey’s initial computations suggested that one large confinement chamber would do the trick, so they went for it, and now it would take weeks, maybe months, to redesign everything for two chambers.

“I don’t think we have any choice—we drop back ten, punt, and go for two confinement chambers,” Jon said. “We need to build a little more safety into the system too, or else we can’t market to the Pentagon. We need to get more than thirty shots and we need at least one point five megawatts, preferably two megawatts.”

“I know I can do it,” Kelsey said. “By varying the time between plasma pulses, making bigger magnetrons, increasing the power to the magnetrons, adding more laser generators, and perhaps redesigning the oscillator, I think we can get one point five megawatts out of this system with a good margin of safety. Those changes would be simpler than tearing everything apart and redoing it with two smaller confinement chambers.”

“Frankly, Kels, we make more of a splash with a two- megawatt system even if we only get ten to twelve safe shots out of it,” Jon said. “It’s not important now—tuning up an unworkable system is a mental exercise, not a business one. We’ll redesign the system for two confinement chambers.” He squeezed her shoulders appreciatively. “You’ve done an extraordinary job, young lady. You’ve designed and built a powerful, sophisticated laser pumping system that’s never been tried before, and in record time. It’s got some bugs, but we’ve actually fielded a working system. You should be proud of that. Let’s let the concept engineers work on the new drawings and take a break from this one for now.”

“Okay, Jon,” Kelsey said.

Jon Masters nodded, winked at Cheryl, then headed for the door, fully expecting Kelsey to follow him, even holding his hand as she sometimes did. But Jon was out the door before he realized that Kelsey had not followed him—had, in fact, not even gotten up out of her chair.

He was about to go back inside and ask her—no, order her—to get up and go home. But then Cheryl reached over and, instead of taking her daughter out of there or trying to convince her that she needed her sleep, started to massage her daughter’s little shoulders.