Glass Sky by Niko Perren Read Free Book Online Page B

hall towards a doorway marked “Conference Room.” An automated snack cart hummed in behind him.
    The frosted glass doors stood ajar. Staccato sounds of a heated discussion brought back uncomfortable memories of investor meetings. So many names and faces to remember. How is it that I can master a nanolab, yet not remember people’s names? He forced himself to knock before his confidence drained, waited a polite moment, then stepped inside. The snack cart followed, clacking across the tiles.
    The gleaming wooden table could have seated 20, but to Jie’s great relief he saw only two people: the black man who’d called him last night, and a weathered Indian man in jeans and a rumpled T-shirt. Two walls of floor-to-ceiling glass overlooked a steep, wooded hill encircled by shining modern highrises. Masks and works of tribal art decorated the third wall, superimposed over a sepia mural of a palmtreed island.
    The black man stopped in midsentence and rose to greet Jie, his suit jacket hanging open to free his ample torso. “Tetabo Molari,” he said in a deep voice. He loomed over Jie, crushing Jie’s hand in a meaty grip. “This is Nishad Singh, Chief Scientist for the L1 sunlight control project.”
    Singh raised an arm in acknowledgement, but stayed in his leather chair. His face was wrinkled like a dried apple; his unsmiling expression fell between skepticism and hostility. “Sit, please.” Sharp, penetrating eyes watched as Jie tried to figure out which of the available seats would be least socially awkward.
    Molari waved the snack cart over and took two biscuits. “I assume you’ve seen the disk array news?”
    Jie nodded. “The UN is considering launching thousands of disks into space to control sunlight. I think your company may be looking for a material.” Jie allowed a hint of pride into his voice. “You are interested in Nanoglass.”
    “We already have a material,” bristled Singh. “Spidex. It took ten years of research. Tetabo didn’t just waltz into the UN last week and propose this out of the blue.”
    Molari leaned back, chair squealing in protest. “However, we are looking for alternatives to Spidex,” he said, dispatching a biscuit. “We planned a five-year construction time, but it seems the environmental crisis is on a more aggressive schedule. So we’re re-examining all sorts of options we discarded as too risky. Some of my researchers read your paper in the Journal of Optical Nanomaterials.”
    Singh unrolled his scroll and pulled out a stylus. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. Hopefully this is more productive than this morning’s interviews. Tell us about,” he glanced down at the scroll, “Nanoglass.”
    Jie looked around for a presentation screen, but the masks left no space for displays. Singh was already drumming a finger on the table. Improvise.
    “It was a bit of an accident,” said Jie, speaking carefully to allow the English he’d mastered in university to filter back. “My company make optical switches. Thin materials that can direct light are useful in microchips and displays. The base building block is a Nanoglass tile. It is like glass, but much thinner, only 5 atoms thick and 3000 atoms wide.”
    Jie smiled, warming to the memory. Happier times, crafting proof-of-concepts inside the nanolab. Sewing atoms into combinations nature had not yet imagined. It felt like a childhood memory now, an idyllic world before venture capital funds had entered the picture. “I thought that if we put P1 connectors in a Patterson configuration along…”
    Molari’s blank stare stopped him. Great. I’ve lost him already.
    “How much do you know about nanotech?” asked Jie.
    “Nothing,” said Molari.
    “Lots,” said Singh.
    “Fine,” said Jie. “Simple version is this. To attach nanoscale components together, industry has created standardized connectors. Positive connectors hook to negative ones, like chemical Velcro. I got beautiful idea. If we put positive connectors on