羊毛战记 Part 2 Proper Gauge 17

　　17

　　The generator¹ room was unusually crowded and eerily² silent. Mechanics in worn overalls³ stood threedeep behind the railing and watched the first-shift crew work. Juliette was only dimly aware of them;she was more keenly aware of the silence.

　　She leaned over a device of her own making, a tall platform welded to the metal floor and arrayedwith mirrors and tiny slits⁴ that bounced light across the room. This light shined on mirrors attached tothe generator and its large dynamo, helping⁵ her get them in perfect alignment⁶. It was the shaftbetween the two of them that she cared about, that long steel rod the size of a man’s waist where thepower of combusting fuel was transformed into the spark of electricity. She was hoping to have themachines on either end of this rod aligned⁷ to within a thousandth of an inch. But everything theywere doing was without precedent⁸. The procedures had been hurriedly planned in all-night sessionswhile the backup generator was put online. Now she could only concentrate, could only hope theeighteen-hour shifts had been good for something and trust in plans made back when she’d had somedecent rest and could think soundly.

　　While she guided the final placement, the chamber⁹ around her stood deathly quiet. She gave asign, and Marck and his team tightened¹⁰ several of the massive bolts on the new rubber floor mounts.

　　They were four days into the power holiday. The generator needed to be up and running by morningand at full power that next evening. With so much done to it—the new gaskets and seals, thepolishing of cylinder¹¹ shafts¹² that had required young shadows to crawl down into the heart of the beast—Juliette was worried about it even starting up. The generator had never been fully¹³ powered downduring her lifetime. Old Knox could remember it shutting itself down in an emergency once, backwhen he was a mere¹⁴ shadow, but for everyone else the rumble¹⁵ had been as constant and close as theirown heartbeats. Juliette felt inordinate¹⁶ pressure for everything to work. She was the one who hadcome up with the idea to do a refit. She calmed herself with reassurances¹⁷ that it was the right thing todo and that the worst that could happen now was that the holiday would be extended until they sortedout all the kinks. That was much better than a catastrophic failure years from now.

　　Marck signaled that the bolts were secure, the lock nuts tightened down. Juliette jumped off herhomemade platform and strolled over to the generator to join him. It was difficult to walk casuallywith so many eyes on her. She couldn’t believe this rowdy crew, this extended and dysfunctionalfamily of hers, could be so perfectly¹⁸ silent. It was like they were all holding their breath, wondering ifthe crushing schedule of the last few days was going to be for naught¹⁹.

　　“You ready?” she asked Marck.

　　He nodded, wiping his hands on a filthy²⁰ rag that always seemed to be draped over his shoulder.

　　Juliette checked her watch. The sight of its second hand ticking around in its constant path comfortedher. Whenever she had doubts about something working, she looked at her wrist. Not to see the time,but to see a thing she had fixed²¹. A repair so intricate and impossible—one that had taken years ofcleaning and setting parts almost too small to see—that it made her current task, whatever it was, feelsmall by comparison.

　　“We on schedule?” Marck asked, grinning.

　　“We’re doing fine.” She nodded to the control room. Whispers began to stir through the crowd asthey realized the restart was imminent²². Dozens of them pulled sound protection from their necks andsettled the muffs over their ears. Juliette and Marck joined Shirly in the control room.

　　“How’s it going?” Juliette asked the second-shift foreman, a young woman, small and spirited.

　　“Golden,” Shirly said as she continued to make adjustments, zeroing out all the corrections thathad built up over the years. They were starting from the ground up, none of the patches and fixes ofold to disguise any new symptoms. A fresh start. “We’re good to go,” she said.

　　She backed away from the controls and moved to stand near her husband. The gesture wastransparent: this was Juliette’s project, perhaps the last thing she would ever try to fix in the downdeep of Mechanical. She would have the honor, and the full responsibility, of firing the generator up.

　　Juliette stood over the control board, looking down at knobs and dials that she could locate in utterdarkness. It was hard to believe that this phase of her life was over, that some new one was about tobegin. The thought of traveling to the up top frightened her more than this project could. The idea ofleaving her friends and family, of dealing²³ with politics, did not taste as sweet to her as the sweat andgrease on her lips. But at least she had allies up there. If people like Jahns and Marnes were able toget by, to survive, she figured she’d be okay.

　　With a trembling hand, more from exhaustion²⁴ than nerves, Juliette engaged the starter motor.

　　There was a loud whine²⁵ as a small electrical engine tried to get the massive diesel²⁶ generator moving.

　　It seemed to be taking forever, but Juliette had no idea what normal sounded like. Marck stood by thedoor, propping²⁷ it open so they could better hear any shouts to abort²⁸. He glanced over at Juliette as shecontinued to hold the ignition, creases²⁹ of worry in his brow as the starter whined³⁰ and groaned³¹ in thenext room.

　　Someone outside waved both arms, trying to signal her through the glass.

　　“Shut it off, shut it off,” Marck said. Shirly hurried toward the control panel to help.

　　Juliette let go of the ignition and reached for the kill switch, but she stopped herself from pressingit. There was a noise outside. A powerful hum. She thought she could feel it through the floor, but notlike the vibration³² of old.

　　“It’s already running!” someone yelled.

　　“It was already running,” Marck said, laughing.

　　The mechanics outside were cheering. Someone pulled off their ear protection and hurled³³ themuffs up into the air. Juliette realized the starter motor was louder than the rebuilt generator, thatshe’d been holding the ignition even as it had already started and continued to run.

　　Shirly and Marck hugged one another. Juliette checked the temps and pressures on all the zeroedgauges and saw little to adjust, but she wouldn’t be sure until it warmed up. Her throat constrictedwith emotion, the release of so much pressure. Work crews were leaping over the railing to crowdaround the rebuilt beast. Some who rarely visited the generator room were reaching out to touch it,almost with reverent³⁴ awe³⁵.

　　Juliette left the control room to watch them, to listen to the sound of a perfectly working machine,of gears in alignment. She stood behind the railing, hands on a steel bar that used to rattle³⁶ and dancewhile the generator labored³⁷, and watched an unlikely celebration take place in a normally avoidedworkspace. The hum was magnificent. Power without dread³⁸, the culmination³⁹ of so much hurriedlabor and planning.

　　The success gave her a new confidence for what lay ahead, for what lay above. She was in suchfine spirits and so fixated on the powerful and improved machines that she didn’t notice the youngporter hurry into the room, his face ashen⁴⁰, his chest swelling⁴¹ with the deep gulps⁴² of a long and franticrun. She barely noticed the way the news traveled from mouth to mouth throughout the room,spreading among the mechanics until fear and sadness registered in their eyes. It wasn’t until thecelebration died completely, the room falling into a different sort of quiet, one studded with sobs⁴³ andgasps of disbelief, of grown men wailing⁴⁴, that Juliette knew something was amiss.

　　Something had happened. A great and powerful thing had fallen out of alignment.

　　And it had nothing to do with her generator.

 

分享到：