‘The boiler’s at over temperature.’
The thin voice of an electrician was barely audible over the alarm that had sent the workers of nervous disposition running for the fire escape and enticed the more interested bystanders from the lunchroom.
‘It’s a boiler, they’re supposed to be hot.’ Helma shouted back with obstinance, her presence looming over the mouse-like systems electrician, Garen, but failing to unsettle him.
The apprentice had been told a great many things about Garen. He was lazy–but so was everyone according to Helma–he smelt like a wet ash tray, and most importantly that he was never to be left alone with a bottle of wine. But in watching his patient conversation with the engineer the apprentice could see that he was trusted; there was an air of equality between the two that Helma would never freely admit too.
He moved slowly but with a deliberate care. Taking the tocsin bell from its mounting, Garen removed a select wire and smiled contentedly as the alarm was silenced into a dying whimper. Days of wind and fire would appear to do little in shaking Garen’s composure, and the apprentice childishly remembered the stories of sages who lived on mountains and gave knowledge to those who sought it.
‘There, I can hear you now,’ he said rubbing at his still ringing ears and dropping an old pair of glasses into his pocket, ‘Look, I don’t get why we need hot water going into cooling system, but if this dial says that it’s at over temperature, then it’s too hot. The system needs to be shut down, it’ll cool, reset, and then we can fire it back up again. Hey, if we’re offline overnight it might even cool down enough for us to scrape some carbon off the burners.’
‘This room will melt before that water gets too hot and if it’s cold by the time it hits the centrifuge, it will turn to steam, and that means we get to enjoy an explosion.’ Helma brought the side of her hand down as she said the word explosion in a way that the apprentice knew meant “if you keep arguing, you will be thrown from the turbine.”
‘We can’t go offline,’ she continued, ‘we’ve had two good months of solid output and that’s just a benchmark. If we’re offline the East will fill in for us. That’s less money for repairs next year, less money for utilities and in no time at all we’ll be back to working without lights or air conditioning again. If you want to tell Mika that she will be plumbing gas mains by candlelight you go ahead, I’ll call the medical guy.’
Withdrawing at the mention of Mika, Garen took a moment to stare off into the middle distance and think.
‘Can I run the pump quicker?’ he asked with a grin, the question seemed like it was a lid of an age-old argument that he was all too happy to pry off, ‘just a fraction, 5 hertz or so.’
The silence was as palpable as a mechanical plant room would allow.
A bank of relays clattered in the distance and the slow buzz of a transformer halted for a moment as if wanting to hear what was about to happen.
‘If you for one moment think that this was a good idea, I would like you to headbutt a wall.’
Helma spoke with a seriousness as her eyes narrowed and she appeared to consider an alternate option, ‘It will work, but not for the reason that you think it will. And we will do it, but not because you suggested it.’
With a wave so sharp that it could cut a whetstone, Helma strode off to another distant alarm, only stopping to bark at the apprentice before disappearing up a ladder, ‘do what he says and don’t get any ideas from him, your brain will wilt if you listen to him too much.’ The slamming of the hatchway a last sign that Helma had left the conversation.
A wink, two turns of a dial, and the loud seating of a contactor sounded the call that the boiler was back online and no longer a risk of explosion. Bouncing a screwdriver against the side of the panel, Garen watched the dials settle and began reconnecting the alarm system.
‘Been wanting to make that change for five years, I guess the old girl is getting soft,’ he said, catching himself before turning to the apprentice with an air of seriousness, ‘don’t repeat that.’
J. McCray
2022
Sunday Short Stories 