Power

I bend over the gasket again. I feel like I've already adjusted this one a dozen times tonight, but it needs tightening again. My wrench, named Orville, is so worn that my fingers are imprinted in the iron handle, but is still solid as ever. I run back to the main control panel, swinging levers to balance the pressure and mentally noting low pressure areas in the system. We need all the power we can get tonight.

I reflect, as I slide down the ladders to tighten the gaskets in the lower levels, how strange it is that it should all come down to one night. All this toil could be undone so easily. We are lifting the Spire tonight.

Originally we'd planned to raise the Spire in the daylight, but the wind today had been too strong, only dying out after sunset. It had been built on its side, and through the whole process everyone remembered that all could be undone by lifting it erect. The Power Machine is powerful, but unreliable. If the power fails, the Spire falls, and all our labor is undone.

I check myself mid-slide down another ladder by locking Orville between the struts, then I frenziedly claw my way upward. An explosion is the last thing you want to hear down here.

I get to a catwalk, I have a view of the entire Power Machine.

A whole wing bad blown, only eight were left in operation. The steam was already clouding my vision. I would die if I couldn't stop the leak.

I ran to one of the main gaskets, swinging Orville into motion, trying to check the flow if not stop it. The gasket was jammed. The thought of sabotage flashes through my panicking mind.

It's going to be a bad night.