The institute director and the independent inventor handed Lynch a very polished theoretical paper. As for how much of the data could actually be realized—they weren’t confident themselves.

Making the numbers look good is practically a natural skill for anyone in research. If the data isn’t attractive, investors pull out.

And when investors pull out, not only does the project shut down, but the researchers also lose their livelihood.

So whether the product ends up being effective or not, the numbers have to look good first.

In the director’s view, the new engine’s horsepower could at most reach eighty—that was the limit. Anything more would be a gift from God.

Yet the projections they had written claimed no less than a hundred.

As they wrapped up, Lynch asked one last question: “Do you know what a wind tunnel is?”

Judging from their blank stares, he got his answer. He declined their farewell and left directly.

He came to visit only because of a recent conversation with Mr. Truman and several military officers about the future of warfare. He had invested nearly five million here already and planned to invest even more.

About half of that money went to purchasing various licenses. Traditional military-industrial enterprises had a deep industrial foundation and held many patents.

Some patents could be worked around. Others—like the fuel injector—were unavoidable.

That seemingly insignificant component cost Lynch $150,000 annually in licensing fees.

He could refuse to buy it, but that meant inventing a completely new, original system—which couldn’t be done in just a few days. It would take a long time.

And there were countless such minor patents. Trying to develop each one independently would make the whole aircraft project unfeasible.

Many seemingly simple components were locked behind outrageous patent barriers.

Patent walls were a major weapon for industrial giants. For example, if scissors were a patented product, these giants wouldn’t just patent the scissor design.

They’d also patent the forging process, the material processing techniques, the screws, the handle material, the shape—even the packaging.

That was just a part of the wall. Anything similar in form or even just similar in name would be registered, forming a fortress around a core patent.

A single patent could be backed by dozens, hundreds, even thousands of related patents.

Could you develop a similar product while avoiding all these patents?

Maybe. But the cost would far exceed simply paying for the license. That’s why these giants didn’t just eat the meat—they drank the soup too.

You either bow your head, or you change industries.

And those were just the legal tactics. These corporations had plenty of dirty tricks too—from intimidation and kidnapping of researchers to arson and explosions. There had been many infamous or hushed-up incidents surrounding cutting-edge patents.

Behind every high-end patent were years—sometimes decades—of effort and millions or even billions in R&D investment. Think you can just destroy their monopoly?

They really will kill for it.

There were multiple incidents in federal history where small labs or individuals made breakthroughs that threatened major patents. Not long after, the public would see them in the news.

Either dead from a lab accident, or their research institution had suddenly shut down, or they just quietly disappeared.

Very few managed to sell their work for a fair price and walk away. You don’t touch capitalists’ profits lightly.

Lynch didn’t want to make enemies too early. Buying the patent licenses not only signaled that he played by the rules, but it also helped him later when he wanted to enforce the rules himself.

Sometimes, being one step ahead means being a whole era ahead.

Two days later, Lynch arrived in Kurland City and met the mysterious professor at the state university—the one who still hadn’t given his name.

The academic atmosphere at the university was excellent. In the lab, along with the project lead professor, there were several young students—free labor.

Some had criticized this phenomenon, saying professors were exploiting student labor.

These professors would take on research projects from inside or outside the university, and then have students work on them essentially for free.

Often, the professors themselves did very little—only stepping in at critical technical moments. Most of the time, they played the role of academic overlord.

And academic overlord wasn’t a compliment. Put more bluntly, it meant academic dictator.

Still, that criticism never gained much traction. The truth was, these professors held the keys to the kingdom.

They got the research grants, which meant students had no choice but to work under them if they wanted to participate in meaningful research and build strong résumés.

In a twisted way, having a professor let you work for free was considered merciful—at least they didn’t make you pay a participation fee.

In this project, the students were thrilled. Their names would be included in the professor’s paper. It was a prestigious addition to their résumés and would help immensely in future careers.

None of the lab’s students thought the professor was a dictator. The real critics were just those who couldn’t get in.

“I don’t understand any of this,” Lynch said after briefly flipping through the thick report. He pushed it back across the table. “Have the patents been registered?”

The professor nodded excitedly. “We registered everything as soon as we had results—under your name.”

Lynch’s research contract with the university included clauses that required any successful outcomes to be registered immediately under his name as the patent holder. His letter of authorization was attached.

The professor had been in high spirits for days, smiling at everyone, even greeting students—something that left them a bit stunned.

The lab was filled with positivity. Everyone was proud of the breakthrough. Everyone shared in the success.

Rubbing his hands with slight embarrassment, the professor said, “Mr. Lynch, according to our agreement, isn’t it time to begin the next phase of research?”

He was reminding Lynch—it was time to send more money.

With contract research, there’s no such thing as a surplus. There’s only not enough money—please add more.

They had plenty of ways to make sure any extra funds were used up the moment results came in.

They bought things like specialized lab-grade graphite-free, lead-free pencils, each costing dozens or even hundreds of Sol.

Or special draft paper with unique properties—several Sol per sheet, always ordered in batches of a thousand or more.

Then there were valuable metals that could be disposed of anytime—classified as experimental waste.

The professor didn’t mention the leftover funds, and Lynch didn’t bring it up either.

Right there, Lynch pulled out his checkbook. The professor and his students all lit up.

Although the professor wouldn’t give students direct financial rewards, they had plenty of ways to tap into the project funds.

The professor knew all about it, but turned a blind eye. As long as they didn’t go too far and maintained a proper project team atmosphere, he saw it as a form of student welfare.

“How much?”

The professor licked his lips. “One million.”

“We plan to complete the second phase of the project within six months. We’ve developed a clear path during phase one, and we believe results will follow soon.”

The second phase of Lynch’s commissioned research was related to radio technology. He wanted a system that could selectively trigger different receivers based on the content broadcast within the coverage area of a central station.

That sounds complex, but in essence—it was a pager.

Lynch didn’t understand the tech behind it, but he’d used one before. In this era, the real problem wasn’t the lack of telephones—it was not being able to find someone even after calling.

Once pagers hit the market, it was obvious they’d be a massive hit.

Take Eminence’s agents, for example—if you didn’t have at least three or five pagers on your belt, you couldn’t even call yourself an agent.

At the same time, this device was laying the groundwork for future mobile communications.

Why did the president rarely leave the White House unless necessary, even sleeping there at night?

Because emergencies could happen at any moment. If he couldn’t be found, the entire nation could be thrown into chaos. Mobile communication would solve that—and more. It was the future.

Mobile communication and technology would be the catalyst for the rise of the Fourth-Generation Consortium.