Leo took a deep breath, steadying his thoughts. The excitement and tension that had gripped him began to fade, replaced by a profound, icy and calm mind.
In this moment, everything, his girlfriend, the armed soldiers, the professor, even the concept of the Helium-3 bomb itself vanished from his consciousness. His eyes were locked solely on the components before him.
To him, this was just another job. It was slightly more complex than usual, but the process was the same: execute with perfection.
The Helium-3 nuclear weapon was far more sophisticated than a standard hydrogen bomb.
It utilized a three-layered spherical structure. The innermost core was a tactical atomic fission bomb, the one the two soldiers had transported. The middle layer contained deuterium and tritium, the primary fuel for a fusion reaction. The outermost layer consisted of the Helium-3.
In Professor Hao Yu's design, the sequence was a cascade of destruction: the inner atomic core would detonate first, generating temperatures exceeding 50 million degrees Celsius. This intense heat would ignite the middle hydrogen layer.
Immediately following that, the hundreds of millions of degrees generated by the hydrogen fusion would ignite the outermost Helium-3 layer.
On paper, compared to a standard hydrogen bomb, the Helium-3 weapon simply added an extra shell. However, the engineering difficulty of adding that single layer increased the complexity exponentially.
There were two main reasons for this.
First, Helium-3 is naturally a gas. While it can be liquefied under high pressure, maintaining it in that state requires bulky refrigeration equipment, which is impossible to fit inside a tactical warhead. Furthermore, helium is a noble gas; it is inert and doesn't chemically react with other substances, making it incredibly difficult to solidify.
Professor Hao Yu had spent ten years solving this specific problem. His solution was "physical adsorption." He invented a type of active nanocarbon capable of absorbing massive amounts of Helium-3 gas at low temperatures. Crucially, when returned to room temperature, the nanocarbon locked the gas inside, effectively creating a solid state.
Problem one: solved. It took one sentence to explain, but a decade of blood, sweat, and tears to achieve.
The second difficulty was timing. The destructive force of the primary atomic trigger is absolute; it is capable of vaporizing the entire device instantly. The challenge was to ensure the hydrogen layer ignited the Helium-3 before the atomic explosion blew the Helium-3 layer apart.
If the timing was off by even a fraction of a microsecond, the Helium-3 would be scattered rather than ignited. Even a partial ignition would be considered a catastrophic failure.
To solve this, Professor Hao Yu had performed calculations of agonizing precision.
The internal structure, while appearing to be a simple set of concentric rings, was actually a labyrinth of geometry designed to facilitate rapid ignition.
They had designed a separation barrier, a sheet of iron only 20 nanometers thick placed between the deuterium-tritium layer and the Helium-3.
The moment the atomic core detonated, the force would pierce this iron membrane, forcing the Helium-3 to mix rapidly with the burning deuterium-tritium layer, ensuring ignition.
This membrane had to be strong enough to withstand the vibrations of transport but fragile enough to yield instantly during detonation. This requirement pushed the engineering tolerances to the limit.
The pressure of the Helium-3 layer had to be slightly higher than the deuterium-tritium layer, but not too high. If the iron sheet ruptured prematurely, the components would mix, ruining the weapon.
This was why Professor Hao Yu was sweating. There was only one chance.
He wanted to help, but he knew his hands weren't steady enough. He could only watch anxiously from the sidelines.
The others were in the same boat. They had done the theoretical work, but for the final assembly, they were spectators.
It is a truth of manufacturing: the same machine operated by different people yields different results. Skill is a matter of specialization, and right now, they had to trust Leo unconditionally.
Leo, however, wasn't thinking about trust or failure. He had entered a state of "flow" a void where only the task existed.
His hands moved. Every motion was fluid and precise, like a pre-programmed algorithm executing without error.
Most of the components had been prefabricated; his task was the final integration.
He manipulated the electronic waldo arms, lifting the atomic core from the black box and placing it into the chassis. The casing of the atomic bomb had been removed, leaving only the lead-shielded sphere. Since the half-life of the enriched uranium was long, the immediate radiation hazard was low enough that the lead shell provided sufficient protection.
One of the two soldiers guarding the room was Marcus, a member of the Federation Special Forces.
The burly soldier had been annoyed about missing the concert to stand guard, but that annoyance had vanished. He didn't dare breathe too loudly. He was incredibly nervous. His rifle was loaded, and he had orders: if any of these scientists showed signs of sabotage, he was to shoot to kill.
As a military man, Marcus respected power. He could recite the specs of every firearm and artillery piece in the arsenal. But standing inches away from the most destructive machine in human history gave him a peculiar feeling.
An atomic bomb... I've finally seen one, Marcus thought. And now, a hydrogen bomb, and the legendary Helium-3 device. This shift was worth it.
The robotic arm moved again, extracting a solid compound that glowed with a faint blue hue.
This was lithium deuteride and lithium tritide—the fuel for the hydrogen stage.
Modern hydrogen weapons utilized solid compounds rather than liquid isotopes.
Back in 1952, during the early days of the atomic age, the first hydrogen bomb test used liquid deuterium and tritium. To keep the fuel stable, the device required a massive cryogenic cooling system. The bomb weighed 65 tons and was the size of a building. It was scientifically impressive but militarily useless.
These were called "wet" hydrogen bombs.
Later, scientists discovered that Lithium-6, an isotope, was an excellent thermonuclear material. By using lithium-6 deuteride, they could achieve the same reaction without the refrigeration. This allowed for the "dry" hydrogen bomb, compact, stable, and deadly.
This was what Leo was assembling.
The steps here were critical. The material quantities had to be exact. The tolerance was 0.1 micrograms, one ten-millionth of a gram.
Even the most advanced electronic scales struggled to maintain stability at that level.
For an average person, working with milligrams is difficult. The natural tremor of a human hand causes fluctuations of tens of milligrams. But Leo was different.
His hands were absolute.
The robotic arm used a microneedle to extract the final few grains of material, but for the final calibration, the machine was too clumsy. Human dexterity was required.
Leo disengaged the waldo and reached in with his gloved hands to perform the manual extraction.
He slipped into that mysterious zone again, a peak state where experience met intuition.
It is said that a master butcher can slice a cut of meat to the exact gram simply by feel, without ever looking at a scale. Leo possessed a similar talent, but on a scale infinitely more refined.
He wasn't dealing in grams; he was dealing in the building blocks of matter.