Chapter 745 348: Convergence

Key West, Florida.

Dr. Alan Hughes was sitting on his small yacht.

He had a rusty fishing rod propped on the gunwale, the salty sea breeze blowing through his graying hair.

He was sixty-five years old.

Three years ago, he was a senior researcher at the United States Department of Energy's Office of Nuclear Energy.

He had once led the design of a new modular reactor.

But after seven long years of environmental assessments, four congressional hearings, and a string of lawsuits from countless environmental organizations, the project was shelved indefinitely.

He was tired of it all.

He was fed up with politicians who didn't even understand the principles of nuclear fission sitting on high, telling him what to do.

So he retired early and moved to Florida, deciding to waste the rest of his life fishing and drinking beer.

Until three days ago.

A black envelope was delivered to his mailbox.

The sender was the Saint Claude Family Trust Fund.

Inside the envelope, besides an invitation, were only three items.

A one-way, first-class plane ticket to Pittsburgh; an offer letter inviting him to be an engineer for the Pennsylvania Strategic Energy Project; and a check from Chase Bank with his name already filled in as the payee.

It was a brutally direct recruitment method.

Alan's first instinct was to tear up the check.

Money from unknown sources like this usually came with trouble.

But as if guided by some unseen force, he simply tossed the envelope onto a pile of clutter and went back to fishing by the sea.

But over the next few days, things took a strange turn.

While browsing LinkedIn, Alan noticed some unusual activity.

His old colleagues, the engineers from the nuclear divisions of Westinghouse Electric and General Electric who had long since retired or semi-retired, had all updated their statuses one after another.

Without exception, their locations had all changed to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Even his old friend Davis, who had sworn he'd never touch a nuclear reactor again and was going to grow potatoes in Montana, posted a photo of the Pittsburgh skyline on X with the caption: "Some fires can't be extinguished."

"Damn it," Alan muttered.

He dug the black envelope out of the pile of clutter and called out to his wife, who was busy in the kitchen, "Honey, I'm heading to Pittsburgh."

"What are you going to Pittsburgh for?"

"I don't know either. Maybe to see some old friends, maybe to see what the hell is going on in that city."

When the plane landed in the once-familiar city, Alan's first reaction was confusion.

The giant LED screen in the terminal was scrolling with the words: "Welcome to Leo Wallace International Airport."

'The airport was renamed?'

Alan pulled his suitcase, feeling a bit dazed.

In his memory, this place was supposed to be called Pittsburgh International Airport, or named after some fallen hero.

Who on earth was this Leo Wallace?

He got into a taxi and headed for the Oakland District.

The scenery outside the car window flew by.

Alan's memory was still stuck thirty years in the past.

Back then, Pittsburgh's skies were gray, and the air was perpetually filled with the smell of sulfur. Pedestrians walked with their heads down, their expressions hurried.

But now, although the sky was still a bit gloomy, the face of the city was completely transformed.

What surprised Alan the most was the look in people's eyes—an almost blind confidence and anticipation.

In Alan's memory, that was the kind of look Americans only had in the nineties.

From Jordan's Bulls dynasty to the frenzy over Titanic, the eyes of Americans back then reflected a prosperous golden age.

From the overwhelming victory in the Gulf War to brokering peace in the Bosnian War, they held the ambition to conquer the stars.

It wasn't just Alan; back then, almost all Americans believed that history had reached its end with them, and the future would simply unfold as planned.

But then the chaotic 21st century arrived, and the world turned into the mess it is today.

"This place has changed a lot," Alan couldn't help but say to the driver.

"Of course it has, sir," the driver, a young Black man, said proudly as he skillfully turned the steering wheel. "It's been changing every day since Mayor Leo took office."

"See that big construction site over there? Phase one of the Inland Port is already finished. We can ship a lot of our goods directly to Europe from there now."

"Mayor Leo?" Alan asked tentatively. "What kind of person is he, exactly? Renaming the airport after himself... isn't that a bit narcissistic?"

The driver chuckled and glanced at Alan in the rearview mirror, his eyes holding a look of tolerance for an outsider who just didn't get it.

"Narcissistic? Maybe. But if it's him, we're happy to let him be. He's the one who put food on our tables. He's the one who gave us jobs."

"Forget the airport. Even if he wanted to rename the entire city Wallace City, we'd support it with both hands raised."

Alan fell silent.

He looked out the window at the vibrant streets, and the resentment he felt for having his retirement disturbed began to slowly dissipate.

In its place grew a long-lost sense of curiosity, and even a hint of anticipation.

The taxi stopped at the entrance to Carnegie Mellon University.

Alan paid the fare, picked up his somewhat old-fashioned leather suitcase, and walked onto the campus.

The place had changed, so much so that he barely recognized it.

The Carnegie Mellon of the past, while a sacred ground for academia, had always carried the distinct chill and arrogance of an Ivory Tower.