A slow blink was all that Helma could muster.
The young apprentice, that quiet dusty haired child had known what Helma felt in her gut but was too stubborn to realise. It was the Day of Sun, such a heavy draw on both Turbines, a day where a small mistake could collapse the electrical grid permanently, a day where the wind was now at its weakest.
The logging office had lied in their forecast. ‘Good weather with a firm northly breeze. Becoming strong in the afternoon.’ The East, with their bells and whistles, they were probably putting their feet up and laughing at the news of a good wind. Peak load and a good wind, they wouldn’t have to lift a finger. The cooling towers would stage up, the variable drive would run slightly harder, all they had to do was pat each other on the back and wait for a promotion.
But without wind, how would they run? The design, the whole principle of East turbine was to draw the wind toward it. What would happen if there was nothing to draw?
Helma, despite every fibre of her hatred, sent a transmission to the East,
[Becalmed wind approaching, set motors on high. Maintain prop motion]
A reply ambled in dismissively and the engineer could tell that it was Kamaran behind the terminal.
[Your equipment is faulty. Good wind. We’ve got capacity if you don’t.]
A fool cannot see past his own arrogance and a course of action was quickly decided.
‘Shut down all non-essential services!’ Helma shouted with a primal voice that was heard across the Turbine. Bursting from the office, she pushed her way past two workers who stood clearly shocked by the sudden order; yelling at them as she passed Helma made her way towards the control room.
‘Move, move, If you’re not doing something in ten seconds I will see that there is a memorial to be named after you!’
Bounding up the spiral stairwell and disappearing into the light above, the apprentice became pushed forward by the flurry of movement and ran to keep up with the determined figure of Helma, who for the first time in their recollection was seen to have a look of panic on her face.
The Turbine panicked.
It was not long before others were running to, the dying wine of shuddering motors increased in their veracity as the lights flickered dimly; A piercing wail was heard from within the confines of an exhaust duct. The apprentice halted for a moment and looked at the shaking motor within. It bucked with anger, already broken from its mountings, and sharply tearing at the belt that held it in place.
The apprentice cowered as shards of metal and molten rubber began to fall from above and covered the catwalk with debris. It was not far to the switch-room, every second felt as if an eternity.
‘Hurry up, you can fix that later,’ A familiar voice called from behind as the apprentice was suddenly jerked by their collar past the still burning motor.
—
‘Lights out, air off, someone tell me if East is still online!’ Helma yelled as a wide eyed Garen stumbled into the switch room with the apprentice trailing behind him. It had been ten minutes and the prop was beginning to show its first signs of slowing.
A light, small and mocking, suddenly went dim.
‘It just went offline then, peak load transferring over in ten minutes, East starting up again in about a week,’ Garen shouted as dozens of alarms sounded, each heralding the approaching silence of the Turbine’s eventual failure.
There was a furtive stutter as the frequency display ticked upward and became what was now the only light in the room. A low hum brought a rolling ripple of contactors relatching, somewhere below there was a deep kick of a motor winding its way back to speed.
‘Is that bad?’ the electrician asked himself as he began winding a brass coloured dial, ‘I thought that only happened on start-up.’
The mercy of relief washed across the desert as the wind had returned. Gauges began to stabilise as the turbine’s status monitor lit the room, a light no brighter than a dying candle eked into the solitary light globe furtively.
‘New problem,’ said Helma, closing her hand into a fist flicking her thumb across the knuckle of her pointer finger, ‘the prop’s not getting oil, if we take over at dead load the Turbine will fail.’
‘And if you add oil now it will just catch fire, look at the temperature,’ Garen tapped on a monitor and appeared to be doubtful of the reading. Unsure of a solution, he blinked and turned to Helma.
‘And the manual switch is–‘
‘I’d rather smear burning oil onto the rotor by hand than go offline. We do not go offline today!’ Helma snaped, making a move towards the Turbine’s upper catwalks determinedly before anyone could protest, ‘As soon as you see oil move, you accept the transfer.’ she said with a finality that the apprentice took to almost mean goodbye.
Time became a standstill; days were felt to roll past in waves as every available worker watched the cooling system and braced for the moment that the armature would fail. It would be melting by now, Garen thought to himself. The valve is closed for a reason, it needs to cool. Why is she always so stubborn about staying online? Kamaran may be arrogant with pride, but Helma has been blinded by it.
Drumming his finger on the terminal he almost failed to notice the small tick of a dial beginning to increase.
‘Oi,’ Garen shouted, storming across the room and throwing all his weight against the heavy leaver that would finalise the transfer. In two short actions Turbine West would again be standing alone in the desert and operating at full capacity.
The lever ratcheted home and underneath the din of cheers there was a gentle click. The Apprentice was ready.
‘Now!’
*
A sunbird unfurled its wings from within the switch room. Light of heaven radiated outward, encompassing sound, encompassing thought, it shone brightly from within the switch and shook the Turbine with a blunt concussion, darkness then following in silent step.
The apprentice awoke into lightness.
The breeze of a familiar memory was felt at their fingertips as if it held the warmth of summer’s approach, the revelry of Spring had departed and the slow falling sun had appeared once more. They were home, a healthy grapevine had twisted around their latticed roof and now gently rustled in the breeze, the air had the fragrance of rosemary and they heard what was to be a single note, one bourn within the symphony of an existence both unique and simple.
Footsteps, a dull ache.
The apprentice now opened their eyes and saw the damaged room around them, Garen was covered in dust and looked to have been struck by a bag of nails, dried blood coated his face amongst the ash, but he seemed to be unharmed and was grinning like an idiot. With shaking hands, the old electrician revived a broken cigarette from his pocket and attempted to light it, beside him were several tocsin alarms, their bells ripped from the wall without an apparent concern for reinstallation.
Light from the day outside had broken into the room as a section of the wall had been knocked loose from the force of the changeover. The apprentice saw an eagle hovering over the thermals of the desert below. It turned and light once again glowed from the wings of a god.
‘We’re online,’ Garen said quietly as if he didn’t believe the words he had spoken, ‘East is down but we’re running cleanly. There’ll be a few holes to patch though.’ he tutted, flicking his failed cigarette into the void and dusting some of the fallout from his battered shirt.
‘You’ve done well, but I do remember telling you to hang on to something when you close the switch, didn’t I?’ He looked upward in mock contemplation.
The apprentice, still feeling the room stumble and sway, poked their out their tongue towards Garen and waved their hand with a gesture that Helma would use whenever mentioning him.
‘A curse! My friend, you’ve caught a terrible disease. the hands of an engineer, the tongue of supervisor, the ears of Helma herself. Too much time with our leader and now, I’m afraid, there is nothing to be done.’
Exiting from the room with jovial wails of lament, Garen departed and allowed the apprentice to rest for a moment.
They had seen the halting wind before the equipment, they had spoken where many others would have doubted themselves. The apprentice had grown in their quiet way since they had joined the Turbine, and that growth had just saved it.
J. McCray
2022
Sunday Short Stories 