November 2025
The transformation of Andy Holden's unassuming suburban Batavia house into a high-security, globally scrutinized nerve center had been swift and surreal. The WGN broadcast had acted as a detonator, and the world was still reeling from the shockwave. His basement lab, the crucible of his discovery, remained untouched, almost a shrine, its powerful emitter now dormant under a simple dust sheet. The real action, the grueling intellectual combat that would define the future of his invention, had moved upstairs. His living room, once a sparsely furnished testament to a life lived largely elsewhere—in labs, in thought—was now a sealed-off command post. Heavy, translucent polycarbonate sheets, courtesy of a nervous FBI working under the steely direction of Evelyn Thorne's advance security team, replaced the glass in his windows, bathing the room in a diffuse, shadowless light. The air hummed with the low thrum of encrypted communication arrays, tactical data links, and industrial-grade air filtration units. It felt less like a home and more like a deep-space habitat, isolated and self-contained, with the universe pressing in from all sides.
Andy spent most of his waking hours at a large, utilitarian conference table that now dominated the room, facing a bank of high-resolution monitors. One displayed several feeds from new security cameras that had been installed around the perimeter of his house. Others showed secure video feeds, encrypted document repositories, and a filtered stream of global news, meticulously curated by Thorne's analysts. Opposite him, more often than not, sat Evelyn Thorne herself. She was an island of impeccable, formidable calm in the surrounding chaos, her presence a constant reassurance of strategic brilliance and unwavering resolve. Her silver hair, always perfectly coiffed, seemed to deflect the ambient stress of the room. Her quiet, resonant alto voice could cut through the most convoluted arguments, laying bare the essential truths with surgical precision.
The primary screen currently displayed the faces of the US government's specially convened multi-agency negotiating delegation. The faces had become grimly familiar over weeks that had bled into months: Henderson, the newly-appointed Deputy National Security Advisor, his expression permanently etched with the weariness of intractable problems; Dr. Richmond, the Under Secretary of Energy for Science, who looked as though she longed for the relative sanity of managing fusion reactor projects; General Duffy, a three-star from the DoD's advanced technology office, whose ramrod posture couldn't quite conceal the frustration in his eyes; Mark Hunnicutt, the sharp, young DOJ lawyer from the National Security Division, who meticulously parsed every syllable; and a rotating cast of State Department officials, their brief usually focused on non-proliferation and the terrifying international implications of Holden's work.
"Ms. Thorne, Dr. Holden," Henderson began, his voice today carrying a particular edge of frayed patience. They were deep into the third month of these grueling sessions. "We've reviewed the revised draft concerning intellectual property indemnification. The language regarding 'unforeseen third-party applications derived from foundational principles' remains... problematic. It opens the door to interpretations that could severely limit the government's ability to respond to emergent national security threats."
Andy felt the familiar tightening in his chest, the instinctive recoil against any encroachment on his intellectual territory. He glanced at Thorne. She gave a minuscule, almost imperceptible nod.
"Mr. Henderson," Andy said, his voice even, the product of Thorne's coaching on maintaining a calm but firm demeanor. He was still the scientist, but she was honing his mind into a more effective negotiating tool. "The foundational principles of gravitics are exactly that: foundational. They will inevitably lead to applications I cannot currently foresee. Holden Gravitics, under my direction, will focus on energy. If the government wishes to explore other applications, particularly those with military implications, that must be a separate, collaborative endeavor, with fresh agreements and clearly defined IP ownership for any new inventions that arise. My company will not be an open-ended R&D farm for the Pentagon, its core mission constantly diluted by peripheral demands."
General Duffy bristled. "Dr. Holden, with all due respect, this isn't an academic exercise. We're talking about a technology with the potential to redefine warfare. If an adversary develops offensive gravitics, we cannot be hamstrung by restrictive IP clauses preventing us from rapidly developing countermeasures."
"And Holden Gravitics, General," Thorne interjected smoothly, her voice a cool balm on the heated exchange, "cannot be hamstrung by the constant diversion of its resources and personnel to chase hypothetical military scenarios before it has even established its primary, civilian energy applications. The agreement must prioritize the energy mission. That is Dr. Holden's non-negotiable condition, as you are well aware. Any deviation from that focus must be exceptional, narrowly defined, and subject to Dr. Holden's ultimate scientific and executive approval as CEO and CTO of his private company." She paused, letting her words sink in. "After all, it is his discovery we are discussing, a discovery made outside of any government laboratory, and one he brought to the world's attention on his own terms."
The shadow of the dead man's switch, though rarely mentioned explicitly in these sessions anymore, hung over every discussion. It was the ultimate guarantor of Holden's 'non-negotiable conditions.' Both sides knew it. The government negotiators knew that Cyber Command and the NSA had, with considerable effort and no small degree of alarm, verified the existence and sophistication of Holden's distributed data release system. They knew it was not a bluff. It was this stark reality that had forced them to the table, not as conquerors demanding tribute, but as profoundly uncomfortable supplicants seeking a deal.
"The private status of Holden Gravitics itself is another point of contention," Hunnicutt, the DOJ lawyer, said, shifting the focus. "The level of federal investment proposed, the national security implications... a Government-Owned, Contractor-Operated (GOCO) model, or at least a golden share arrangement, would be far more appropriate for ensuring accountability and alignment with national interests."
Andy's jaw tightened. This was a recurring battle. "Mr. Hunnicutt, Holden Gravitics will be a private corporation. My controlling interest is not up for debate. Accountability will be ensured through rigorous contractual obligations, transparent milestone reporting, and the embedded liaisons we have already discussed. But the company's operational and strategic direction will be determined by its board and its CEO—me—not by a committee of political appointees. Bureaucracy is the death of innovation. I will not see my work strangled by it." His deep-seated fear of being helpless, of being overwhelmed by the very institutional inertia he had fought against at Fermilab, was a powerful motivator. He had to remain in control, competent to execute his vision.
Dr. Richmond sighed, a sound of genuine intellectual frustration. "Andy... Dr. Holden... from a scientific perspective, the desire for unfettered research is understandable. But this isn't just another experiment. The scale... the sheer transformative power... it demands a different kind of oversight. How can we ensure that the 'energy-first' path doesn't inadvertently create unforeseen proliferation risks if the research is too... compartmentalized from broader security reviews?"
"Oversight, Dr. Richmond, will be provided by the technical liaisons we've agreed will be embedded within HG," Andy countered. "They will have access. They can raise concerns. But they will not dictate research priorities. As for proliferation, the surest way to encourage it is to attempt to suppress or overly control this technology. My commitment to an open, albeit carefully managed, development of energy applications is, in itself, a counter-proliferation strategy. Universal access to clean, cheap energy will reduce many of the global tensions that fuel conflict." It was a grand vision, an encompassing perspective, and he delivered it with the conviction of irrefutable logic.
The arguments circled, day after day. The definition of "peaceful applications," the exact number and clearance levels of government liaisons, the precise legal framework for intellectual property derived from collaborative work, the conditions under which Holden might be requested (never ordered, Thorne insisted) to consult on national security matters. Every word was a negotiation, every comma a potential landmine. Andy found the process exhausting. His natural inclination was to retreat into his lab, into the elegant certainty of physics. But he was bolstered by Thorne's unyielding presence, forced him to stay in the fight, to defend his territory, his intellectual property, his right to direct his creation. He was not just a scientist anymore; he was the reluctant leader of a new technological domain, and he had to secure its borders before he could cultivate its fields.
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The pressure from the US government was intense, but it was far from the only force buffeting Andy Holden's besieged home. Evelyn Thorne's team, operating with quiet, formidable efficiency, managed the incoming tide of global interest, presenting Andy with daily, and sometimes hourly, updates that were both intoxicating and deeply unsettling.
"Beijing was particularly active overnight, Andrew," Thorne reported one morning, her voice calm as she sipped her Earl Grey tea, a ritual she maintained even in the midst of global crisis. She rarely called him Andrew, reserving it for moments of particular gravity or when emphasizing a point she knew he might find personally challenging. "They've rerouted their communication. No longer through academic cutouts. This was a direct, encrypted message from a known entity within their Ministry of State Security, using a one-time cipher key that our analysts believe was specifically generated for this exchange."
Andy looked up from a complex simulation of graviton field harmonics. "And the offer?"
Thorne's expression didn't change, but her eyes held a glint of something—perhaps amusement at the sheer audacity, or simply professional assessment. "They are now offering a 'Chairman's Grant'—a personal, untraceable payment of ten billion US dollars. Relocation for you and Myles to a secure, custom-built research city in a... geographically pleasant and politically stable region of their country. Complete immunity from any past, present, or future extradition requests. They are also offering you the rank of 'National Treasure,' which apparently comes with considerable perks, including a lifetime security detail composed of their most elite special forces, and, I quote, 'the unwavering support of the Party and the People in your noble quest to unlock the secrets of the universe for the peaceful benefit of all mankind, free from the hegemonic constraints of Western imperialism.'" She delivered the ideological flourish with a perfectly deadpan expression.
Andy snorted, a dry, rasping sound. "Flattery, and a rather large pile of cash. Their objective remains unchanged: secure the technology, or failing that, ensure maximum disruption if I trigger the release." He knew they weren't truly interested in his "noble quest" beyond how it served their geopolitical ambitions.
"Precisely," Thorne confirmed. "They also included detailed satellite imagery of the proposed research city. It appears they've already broken ground. Impressive, if a little premature."
The Russians were less subtle. Their approaches, usually filtered through shadowy intermediaries with ties to their intelligence services or state-owned energy conglomerates, were more direct, more focused on the immediate strategic advantages. One particularly blunt offer, relayed via a notoriously corrupt international arms dealer, had promised "unlimited resources, zero bureaucratic interference, and a shared vision for a new world order where true scientific genius is not constrained by outdated Western ethics," along with a guarantee that any military applications would be "pursued with ruthless efficiency to ensure global stability."
"Stability through overwhelming force, presumably," Andy had commented dryly to Thorne. "They seem to have missed the 'peaceful-first' part of my WGN broadcast."
"It's possible they interpreted 'peaceful' as 'once all adversaries are pacified,'" Thorne had replied, the faintest hint of irony in her voice.
These offers, while he never seriously contemplated accepting them, served a purpose. They were a constant reminder of the stakes, of the raw, naked desire his invention had unleashed upon the world. His resolve to keep it out of such hands, or at least to prevent its immediate, unilateral weaponization, hardened with each new, outlandish proposal.
But the pressure wasn't solely from adversaries. The corporate world and allied nations were engaged in their own, more sophisticated, but no less intense, bidding war. Ben Carter, Thorne's indefatigable associate, kept a running tally, his presentations concise and packed with staggering figures. "OmniCorp's CEO managed to get a message through via a former Caltech trustee," he reported. "They're offering to fund the entirety of Holden Gravitics' initial five-year operational budget, estimated at twenty-five billion, in exchange for a twenty percent equity stake and exclusive first-refusal rights on commercializing any non-energy applications. They're also offering you, Dr. Holden, a personal signing bonus of five hundred million and a seat on their board."
"Generous," Andy acknowledged, though the thought of sitting on a corporate board made his skin crawl. "But twenty percent is too high, and 'exclusive first-refusal' is a gilded cage."
Aerospace giants were practically falling over themselves. "AeroDyne Global and SpaceX has submitted a joint proposal," Carter continued, "a fifty-billion-dollar 'Project StarLeap' to develop a fully reusable, single-stage-to-orbit graviton-powered launch vehicle. They project a ninety-nine percent reduction in launch costs within a decade. They are offering Holden Gravitics a thirty percent share of Project StarLeap, plus substantial research grants, and are willing to build a dedicated aerospace R&D campus adjacent to HG-Lab One, wherever it's located."
Myles, who was now a regular participant in these internal briefings via secure link from his hotel (he was still barred from direct contact with his father by the FBI perimeter, a point of constant, low-level frustration for Andy), listened to this particular offer with wide, excited eyes. "Dad, that... that's incredible. That's everything we ever dreamed of for space access."
Andy saw his son's enthusiasm, the pure, idealistic spark. "It is a compelling application, Myles. And one we will undoubtedly pursue. But the sequence remains: energy first. We cannot allow the lure of space, however potent, to derail the primary mission." His gaze softened slightly as he looked at his son's image on the screen. He understood Myles's passion; he had, after all, nurtured it. But his own focus, the unwavering commitment to his primary, long-term strategic goal, had to prevail.
Allied governments were equally persistent, their overtures more diplomatic but carrying the weight of sovereign power. "The UK Prime Minister conveyed a personal message through their ambassador," Thorne informed him. "They're proposing a 'Special Relationship in Gravitic Research,' offering to establish a joint UK-US research institute, headquartered near Harwell, with parallel funding and shared IP on any discoveries made there. They emphasized their strengths in materials science and advanced computation."
"The Franco-German consortium has upped their offer," Carter added. "Full funding for a European Holden Gravitics subsidiary, focused on developing graviton-based public transportation and decentralized power grids, complete with EU-backed loan guarantees and fast-tracked regulatory approvals. They highlight the potential for creating millions of green jobs."
Even powerful neutral nations, some of them also BRICS members playing a complex game, were making their presence felt. "India's National Science Foundation has formally proposed a collaborative research program focusing on using gravitics for atmospheric remediation and sustainable agriculture," Carter noted. "They're offering access to their top universities and a massive pool of engineering talent. Brazil has made similar overtures, focusing on resource extraction and environmental monitoring."
Andy listened to it all, his mind a vast, cool databank, processing, analyzing, categorizing. Each offer, each tentative probe, was a testament to the paradigm shift he had initiated. He felt a profound sense of responsibility, a weight that was almost physical. He meticulously gathered this flood of information, sifting for patterns, for leverage. He knew this external pressure was a powerful weapon in his negotiations with his own government. He wasn't just one man in a basement anymore; he was the unwilling nexus of global ambition, fear, and hope. And he, with Thorne's guidance, would use every ounce of that leverage.
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December 2025
"They are feeling the heat, Andrew," Evelyn Thorne stated, allowing herself a rare, thin smile. They were reviewing the latest US government counter-proposal, the seventh major revision in as many weeks. The changes were subtle, but significant. The language around "government oversight" was softening, replaced by phrases like "collaborative review" and "joint technical consultation." The proposed federal funding tranches were larger, with fewer strings attached to purely military R&D.
"The constant, documented pressure from external actors is proving... persuasive," Thorne continued, her eyes glinting. Her team had been masterfully, discreetly ensuring that the US negotiators were fully, if deniably, aware of the sheer scale and intensity of the offers pouring in from around the globe. Copies of anonymized but verifiable summaries of key proposals from major powers and corporations found their way onto the right desks in Washington D.C., not as direct threats from Holden, but as stark illustrations of the global reality. The message was unmistakable: Dr. Holden had options, extraordinary options. The US government was no longer the only game in town, nor could it dictate terms from a position of unquestioned supremacy.
"Mr. Henderson called me directly last night," Thorne said, her tone casual, but Andy knew this signaled a significant development. "Off the record, of course. He expressed... considerable concern about a recent intelligence intercept suggesting that a certain East Asian power was preparing a 'non-refusable' offer for you, involving not just financial incentives but also leveraging certain... sensitive personal information regarding individuals loosely connected to your past."
Andy's blood ran cold for a moment. His past was largely academic, but the implication of such ruthless tactics was chilling. He had few close connections, but Myles... "My son?" he asked, his voice tight.
"Myles is secure, and under our discreet protection, as you know," Thorne reassured him calmly. "The threat was likely more about psychological pressure on you, and a signal to the US government of their ruthlessness. Regardless, it appears to have... concentrated minds in Washington wonderfully. Henderson sounded genuinely alarmed that you might feel cornered enough to consider triggering the data release simply to end the pressure, or worse, that another nation might succeed in... acquiring your services through less conventional means."
Andy absorbed this. The US government wasn't just worried about him giving the technology away; they were worried about him being taken, or pushed into a desperate act by the relentless global maneuvering. His carefully constructed deterrent was working on multiple levels.
"So, this new proposal," Andy prompted, gesturing to the document on Thorne's tablet.
"It concedes almost entirely on your primary demands regarding inventor control via your CEO/CTO roles and controlling interest in a private Holden Gravitics," Thorne said, a note of quiet satisfaction in her voice. "The language codifying the energy-first development path is now ironclad. They are still pushing for slightly more intrusive oversight from the embedded liaisons than we'd prefer, and the exact conditions for invoking the national security 'emergency redirection' clauses are still being debated, but the fundamental battle for the soul and control of your company, Andrew, has largely been won."
She paused, then added, "They are, in effect, recognizing that the only way to keep this technology anchored in the US, and to prevent either a global free-for-all or a catastrophic strategic loss, is to give you what you've demanded. They are choosing the least damaging option, which, as it happens, aligns with your stated preference for a US-based, inventor-led partnership."
Andy felt not triumph, but a grim acknowledgment of necessity. He had forced their hand, not out of malice, but because he believed, with every fiber of his being, that it was the only way to safeguard his discovery from immediate misuse and to steer it towards its highest potential. The relentless external pressure, the offers from China, Russia, from global corporations and allied nations, had been the crucial catalyst, the force multiplier for his own unyielding stance. He had wanted to develop his invention in his own country, but he had been prepared to consider other avenues, or even the global release, if his core principles were violated. The US government, faced with that stark reality, had finally begun to understand that he was not bluffing, and that the world would not wait patiently while they dithered or attempted to impose intolerable conditions.
"Then we refine the remaining details," Andy said, his mind already shifting to the next set of challenges. "The oversight protocols must be clear, with no room for mission creep. The emergency clauses must be so stringent as to be virtually unusable except in the most dire, independently verifiable circumstances." He would cede no ground unnecessarily. His vision for Holden Gravitics, and for the future of graviton technology, was too important.
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The weight of the world, it seemed, had finally tipped the scales. Dr. Alistair Evans, watching the news reports of the ongoing, high-stakes negotiations between his former, dismissed subordinate and the full might of the US government, felt a bitter, churning mix of disbelief, resentment, and a grudging, terrifying respect. Holden, the man he'd written off as a brilliant but dangerously unmoored crank, was now dictating terms to the White House. The irony was a physical ache. Fermilab, his meticulously managed institution, was a cautionary tale of institutional blindness, while Holden's basement-born enterprise was poised to become the most important scientific and corporate entity on the planet.
The internal Fermilab investigation had yielded... nothing of immediate, practical value. Traces of unusual energy signatures, old requisitions for peculiar components, cryptic notes in forgotten logbooks—hints, whispers, but no coherent roadmap to Holden's breakthrough. He had covered his tracks too well, or perhaps his true insights had been so far outside their conventional frameworks that they had simply been invisible to them. They were now reduced to waiting, like the rest of the world, for Holden himself to reveal the secrets, on his terms.
Inside the White House Oval Office, the mood was grim but resolved. The President had just received the latest briefing from National Security Advisor Rubio and the lead negotiators. The consensus was unanimous: Holden's dead man's switch was too credible, the risk of global proliferation too high. The international pressure, the sheer number of powerful actors vying for Holden's attention and technology, was too intense to ignore. Outright government control was a fantasy. A severely constrained partnership was the best, perhaps the only, way to keep this revolutionary power somewhat tethered to US interests and to prevent immediate, catastrophic outcomes.
"Soooo... we give him his private company? His inventor control? His energy-first mandate, contractually binding?" President Trump asked, his voice heavy with the understanding of the concessions being made.
"Yes, Mr. President," the National Security Advisor confirmed. "It is, in our assessment, the necessary price to pay. The alternative—triggering the data release, or seeing Holden and his technology potentially end up in adversarial hands—is strategically unacceptable. This agreement, while unprecedented, anchors the primary development here. It gives us a seat at the table, oversight, and a framework for future collaboration on national security applications, albeit on his terms for now."
The President nodded slowly. "Fine, do it. We're still gonna make a looooot of money from it. But ensure every safeguard, every reporting requirement, every possible measure of influence we can secure, is embedded in that agreement. This is a new world, Marco. It's not 'Drill, Baby, Drill' anymore. Dr. Holden has just redrawn the map. Kind of like I did, with the Gulf of America..."
The US negotiating team, armed with this new, reluctant mandate, returned to the virtual table with Evelyn Thorne and Andy Holden. The final, grueling phase of the negotiation began, focusing on the fine print, the exact wording that would define the most unusual public-private partnership in history. Andy, with Thorne at his side, was relentless, pushing for clarity, for unambiguous language that protected his autonomy and his vision, while conceding on peripheral points where necessary to secure his core objectives. He knew he was asking for, and receiving, concessions that no lone inventor had ever extracted from a superpower. But then, no lone inventor had ever held the keys to a force like gravity.
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January 2026
The digital signing ceremony, when it finally occurred almost exactly six months after the WGN broadcast, was an anticlimactic affair for an agreement of such monumental significance. There were no pens, no giant Sharpies, no handshakes, no solemn pronouncements in ornate rooms. Andy sat at his conference table in Batavia, Evelyn Thorne beside him, and watched as his encrypted signature was affixed to the massive digital document. Simultaneously, in various secure locations across Washington D.C., the heads of the relevant government agencies added theirs. A quiet chime from the secure system confirmed the transaction. It was done.
Holden Gravitics was now a reality, a fully private corporation. The agreement, a tome running to thousands of pages with its annexes and protocols, enshrined Dr. Andrew Holden as its controlling shareholder, its Chief Executive Officer, and its Chief Technology Officer. His authority over the company's core research and development pathways was not merely implied; it was contractually guaranteed, inviolable except under the most extreme, narrowly defined, and independently verifiable national emergencies.
The energy-first mission was the bedrock of the company's charter. The first, substantial tranche of federal funding—several billion dollars—would be transferred from the Department of Energy, via ARPA-E, within days, specifically earmarked for achieving a series of ambitious milestones in the development of commercially viable graviton-based power generation. NASA was also a key partner, tasked with exploring peaceful space applications in collaboration with HG, but again, secondary to the primary energy mandate.
In return, the US government had its carefully negotiated pound of flesh. A small, elite team of security personnel and scientific liaisons, their backgrounds and clearances jointly vetted by HG's new security chief (a former Secret Service dignitary protection specialist handpicked by Thorne), a DOGE analyst, and the FBI, would be embedded within Holden Gravitics' future facilities. They would have access for oversight and technical collaboration, but their roles were strictly defined, their activities monitored. Holden Gravitics would be subject to the most stringent security standards ever imposed on a private entity, a virtual fortress against espionage and intrusion. Progress reports would be detailed and regular.
The thorny issue of military applications was walled off with layers of contractual safeguards. Any such development would have to be a separate, collaborative project, initiated by mutual agreement, with fresh funding and distinct IP arrangements. The government had preferential licensing rights, but only for technologies developed through such explicit collaborations, not a blanket claim on anything emerging from HG's core research. The infamous "break glass" clauses, allowing for a temporary redirection of R&D in a dire national crisis, were so laden with independent review panels, scientific verification requirements, and proofs of "imminent, existential, and demonstrably superior adversarial gravitic threat" that invoking them would be a political and strategic earthquake in itself.
And the dead man's switch, Andy's silent, potent guardian, remained. Its intricate network of encrypted data packets, distributed across the globe, its timed signals and duress triggers, would only be deactivated in carefully calibrated phases, each phase directly conditional upon the US government's demonstrable, unwavering adherence to every clause of the agreement, and upon Holden Gravitics achieving key, independently verified milestones in its energy development program. It was the ultimate collateral, ensuring the pact, however reluctantly entered into by one side, would be honored.
Andy leaned back in his chair, the faint hum of the communication arrays the only sound in the room. He felt a weariness so profound it seemed to settle in his bones. But beneath it, a deep, resonant current of satisfaction. He had faced down the storm. He had protected his creation. He had, as best as one man could, ensured that its first great gift to humanity would be the light of abundant, clean energy, not the fire of a new and terrible weapon.
Evelyn Thorne allowed herself a small, genuine smile. "Congratulations, Dr. Holden. You have your company. You have your terms. You have your path."
Andy looked at the blueprints for "HG-Lab One" spread across his old workbench, the dust sheet still covering his original emitter. The plans for the new facility were ambitious, a sprawling campus dedicated to unlocking the full potential of gravitics. The negotiations were over. The real work, the work he had yearned for his entire life, was about to begin. He had his data, his blueprints, and his hard-won control, with a clear, if daunting, path forward.