Cavalon leaned back in his chair, half listening as Mesa continued to rant about the potential faults of the impressive technology. He surveyed the expanded screens, and for the first time noticed a small stack on the top right that appeared out of place. Instead of white, they were colored a hazy amber yellow. They were muddled from being stacked atop each other, but he could tell they were filled with Viator words and numbers, along with a series of diagrams. It looked much more like a schematic than part of a map.
“So, though it may provide a general account of movement on a stellar scale,” Mesa continued, “it does have its limitations. And it is unlikely many exist, or we would have salvaged them at the end of the Viator and Resurgence Wars. The few that exist must be well-guarded by the remaining Viator allies. Or simply lost.”
Cavalon pushed back in his chair and his bruised stomach smarted as he stood. He ground his teeth and tried to ignore it, rounding the table to stand beside Mesa. He pointed to the yellow screens. “What’s this?”
“I do not know.” She swept the stack open, shoving some of the map aside in the process. Unpacking it one by one, she lined the dozen panels up in a three-by-four grid. “There was a file repository,” she explained. “A submenu for storing data aside from the atlas information. This was the only file present.”
Cavalon stared at the screens for a few long moments, then reached out and slid one of the panels to the side. He could sense Mesa stiffen, but she didn’t say anything. Slowly, he moved the screens into a different configuration until the small diagrams, lines, and symbols matched up along the edges.
“What is it?” Mesa asked.
He stared at it, eyes racing over the unfamiliar symbols. “I don’t know. Looks like schematics of some kind, but I can’t read Viator.”
“I may be able to translate. What would you like to know?”
He focused on an outlined section in the center of the schematic. He pointed an unsteady finger to a symbol he saw repeated many times in various forms, with a series of Viator numbers tacked onto the end after a hashed caret symbol.
“Linu is the symbol for chemical compounds,” she answered, then pointed to one of the labels on the left side. “I am no chemist, but I believe this is Hydrogen-1. Then, these are other isotopes of hydrogen. Deuterium and tritium, I believe.” She dragged her finger to a final label on the right side, larger than the rest. “And…” She tilted her head in contemplation.
“Helium?” he asked warily, unsure whether or not his tone reflected his growing sense of dread.
Mesa regarded the symbol placidly, then gave a curt nod. “Yes. I believe you are correct.”
Cavalon’s eyes raced over the information again, armed with this new understanding. Lines ran from the three hydrogen isotopes into the larger label marked “helium,” and other symbols he couldn’t interpret were lined up underneath each.
“What do you see?” Mesa asked, curiosity evident in her voice.
“A bomb?” He grimaced. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Emery’s chair squeaked, followed by the light padding of boots as she crossed toward them. She stepped up beside Cavalon and stared at the schematics. “A bomb? Drudgers, building bombs?”
“I don’t know that’s what it is,” Cavalon said quickly, in a futile attempt to backpedal.
Mesa looked back at the screen. “No, I think you are correct,” she assured. “This reaction appears similar to that created in the fusion rifle I was telling you about the other day.”
“Well, what the fuck?” Emery said. “Since when do Drudgers build fusion bombs?”
“They may not be a race of geniuses,” Mesa said, her tone taking on an unexpected sharp edge, “but you are underestimating them if you think they are not capable of calculated destruction when supplied the proper motivation.”