Unlimited (19 page)

The light continued to strengthen, intensifying until Simon had to squint, until he raised both hands to shield out the light, until he could no longer see the apparatus. Until the bulbs buried in the ground were brighter than the overhead lights. Until he was forced back by their blinding power.

“It
hurts
,”
Sofia said. “Turn it
down
.”

“I can't.”

“But this isn't—”

Then the first bulb popped. The crack was like gunfire. It was followed by another. Then they were going off with the speed of machine guns. Simon backed up farther but he didn't turn away. He didn't dare. Because at the same time he saw the
other
consequence.

The power became visible.

Just for an instant. There and gone so fast, it would have been possible to claim it had never happened at all. But it did. And he saw it happen.

A ribbon of current began sweeping in from the substation. The energy held the same shimmering force as heat rising off the desert floor.

The device quivered slightly. A tiny little vibration, almost like it was shivering with delight. Like it was ravenous and feasting upon the ribbon of energy.

The air on the hilltop hummed. The harmonics were impossibly beautiful, as though electricity had been given a voice. It rose and rose and rose.

And then the lights started going out. Not those buried around the apparatus. Everywhere.

In the valley below them, Ojinaga vanished. It happened in stages, the farthest reaches going first. Blocks of darkness spread toward them, like a beast was taking massive bites from the city.

A bell inside the substation started clanging. A spark flared off one of the massive transformers. Another.

Simon stepped forward. The closer he came to the machine, the more powerful the sound and the force grew. His hair was standing on end, his muscles twitched, and he felt his motions grow jerky. He used the toe of his shoe to hit the switch.

The harmonics stopped with a massive
snap
. A spark fired from the machine to his foot, like the device was angry with him. Furious.

Simon was catapulted all the way back to the truck. He struck the front fender with a resounding thud.

Sofia might have screamed. He wasn't sure. All he knew was, just as the lights started returning, his own went out.

The next morning, Simon's joints ached and there was a second bump on his head that throbbed in time with the first. He showered and dressed and joined in the orphanage's morning routine. He attended early chapel and then shared the kids' simple breakfast. Harold greeted him with the same friendly reserve, the same knowing gaze. Simon figured it was only a matter of time before the guy erupted over what had gone down the night before. Only it never came.

Simon spent the day going through his calculations and checking the apparatus for damage. Some of the components had been toasted, which was hardly a surprise. He disassembled the device. He taped the pages of frequencies to the blackboard and filled the surrounding space with calculations. When the board was filled up, he took sheets of large-lined paper from another classroom and filled them as well.

The kids were busy with their afternoon game of soccer when he finally left the classroom. Harold sat in a high-backed chair by his doorway, reading from his Bible and watching the kids play. When he glanced over, Simon tensed, waiting for the condemnation over his actions the previous night. Instead Harold said, “I can't thank you enough for assembling the lanterns, son. They could make a huge difference in our fund-raising efforts.”

Simon started to respond in his normal offhand manner. But for once he checked himself and left the words unspoken. Perhaps it was Harold's look, a solemn gleam that revealed hidden depths. Simon could almost see the force that bound this man to the place and these kids. “You're welcome.”

Harold shut his Bible, using his finger to hold the place. “Pedro tells me you managed some success last night.”

“For about ten seconds. Before it shorted out a power station.”

“Yes, it's the talk of the town.” He surveyed the disassembled machine. “Can you resolve the problem?”

Simon studied the orphanage director. Harold's demeanor surprised him. “Hard to say. There are a lot of sensitive diodes that could be totally wrecked. And I don't have the money to buy new ones.”

“But in principle you could rebuild it?” When he hesitated, Harold pressed, “Simon, there is a world out there waiting for this thing. Vasquez and I shared the same dream. Helping the millions out there who suffer and perish because of one simple reason: no access to power. With your device we could provide free energy to the poorest of regions. I shared his concept with an old NASA colleague of mine who now runs a major venture capital group. He told me that if we can demonstrate a consistent flow of energy, even for a short period of time, he's willing to fund the development of a full-scale project. That would replace the research grant the city council reneged on.”

“You didn't tell him that Vasquez died?”

“Of course I did. But I also told him about you.”

Simon saw the spark in Harold's gaze. The fire that defied everything the man faced. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“You're facing ruin. Everything you worked for could collapse tomorrow. But you're talking about changing the world.”

“Son, that's the power of dreams. If they're not big, if they're not impossible, they're not worth investing your life
.”

Simon backed up a step. “I've forgotten how to dream.”

“Your problem is, you never learned.” Harold rose from his chair and stepped into his office. He returned holding a book. “I want you to have this. Pedro and Sofia kept after me to write down the lessons I developed from my seminars and what I teach the children. They are keys to help you unleash your potential. Help you make sense of your impossible dreams.”

Simon was still searching for a response when the soccer ball skipped over the dusty earth and landed by Simon's feet. Juan ran over. “Do you want to play football, Mr. Simon?”

“You mean soccer?”

Juan grinned. “This game is played only with your feet, no? So why do you call it soccer?”

Simon set his cup on the wooden planks. “Guy who scores first gets to name the game.”

His entry into the courtyard was greeted with shrieks of delight. The game soon became a contest between Simon and the orphanage. When Simon stole the ball, they stopped him with a mass tackle. It was Simon against the horde. He shouted a protest, but it was lost to the laughter and he did not care.

Then Pedro stepped through the front gates, and Simon shouted, “Help!”

Pedro moved amazingly fast, a flitting shape that was one moment by the orphanage entrance and the next dancing between Juan and the goalposts. Simon stopped fighting against the shrieking army and watched the two of them, shouting at each other and throwing up so much dust he could scarcely see their legs. Then Pedro looked at Simon and grinned. The message was clear enough. He stopped and let Juan sweep around him and kick the ball through the posts.

The kids erupted in one unified cheer. Pedro and Harold stood on the sidelines and laughed while Juan did a victory dance and shouted to Simon, “Football!”

Sofia pulled up in front of her apartment just as the descending sun painted the western ridgeline. The palette was gold and russet and rose. The light played through the trees lining her little plaza. She climbed the stairs and stepped onto her balcony as several neighbors emerged to watch the silent symphony. She wondered if they were as tired and worried as she felt. But the faces she could observe were carefully composed. It was the Mexican way, to hide deep emotions behind politeness and gentle voices and the mask of indifference.

Her ability to enjoy the sunset was tainted by a day filled with unanswered questions. Such as, why did she feel so reluctant to marry Enrique? She had passed a dozen election billboards today. All of them smiled down at her. Reminding her that the clock was ticking. Telling her that she should be standing there beside him. Offering her people a better tomorrow.

She entered her apartment and prepared a salad with sliced avocado. She ate standing at the balcony. Dusk faded with desert swiftness. The chapel bell rang, and she decided that she did not want to go this evening. Instead she put away her dishes and brought her Bible out onto the balcony. She read a passage and she prayed, then she stopped when the children exited the chapel. She waited and she watched, and she realized she was hoping to catch a glimpse of Simon.

She sighed her way off the balcony and through her apartment and down the stairs and across the plaza and through the orphanage gates. Juan broke off from his soccer match to race over and say, “Simon played football with us. I won. He went back into his classroom. He has not come out.”

“Not even to eat?”

“I went over and told him it was time for dinner. I do not know if he even saw me.”

“Well, he'll certainly see me now.” When Juan started to follow, she said, “No, you stay here.”

“But I want to watch you argue.”

“We're not going to argue, and you are an imp. Now go play.”

She entered the mess hall and greeted the cook, who responded to her request for a plate of food with a knowing smile. “He is so very handsome, this Yanqui, no?”

“Not you too. I get enough of this from Juan.”

The cook was a kindly woman who had six children of her own and played grandmother to the entire orphanage. “You do not have enough on your plate, flirting with Enrique? Why must you claim two of them?”

“I am claiming nothing. I am going to make him eat. And you are worse than the children.”

“And you are not fooling anyone.” She piled food onto the tin plate and crooned, “Simon, my darling boy, you must keep up your strength for the love.”

“I am never speaking to you again. Now give me the plate.” The cook's laughter was far too high pitched for her huge size, and it chased Sofia across the courtyard.

But what she saw as she entered the classroom erased all her exasperation. Simon leaned over the front table. His hands were balled into fists. His shoulders were hunched, and his hair draped down over his forehead. His work was spread out everywhere. The blackboard was one massive scrawl of calculations. Pages were taped to the walls. The apparatus was dismantled and covered most of the table. But he was not looking at any of that. He was studying Harold's book.

“I've brought you food.” She turned on the lights by the doorway. “Juan says you've been working all day.”

“Except for a
football
match this afternoon. Me against all the kids.” He eased his shoulders and his neck, then seated himself behind the teacher's desk. “I'm starving.”

“I imagine so. You remind me so much of Vasquez. He wouldn't eat unless I ordered him to take a break.”

“Pedro said you never went to his house.”

“He came here. At least every other day. He visited with Harold and he went to chapel and he helped out. We became his family.” She hesitated, then asked, “Do you have family waiting for you back home?”

“My parents are gone. I have an aunt somewhere. But I haven't seen her since I was a kid.”

The toneless way he spoke reminded her of children she had known in the state orphanages, who had learned the safest way to live was by stamping down hard on all emotions. He ate with a remarkable delicacy, his attention drifting back to Harold's book. Was he truly changing as Pedro predicted, or was it just her own growing affection for him? An affection she could no longer deny. “Have Harold's teachings helped you?”

“Helped and challenged both.” He turned a page. “I'm still trying to make sense of this goal business.”

“He makes everyone do it. Even Enrique.”

Simon laughed. “No way.”

“Enrique had his secretary write the goals out for him.” She heard him laugh again and wished she could share the humor. Instead of thinking that it was just like the mayor. She knew he found such probings to be extremely unwelcome, even when they came from a trusted friend, even when the questions were meant to help, even when—

She pushed it away. “Why did you go to MIT?”

“Because I could. They offered to pay. I went.”

“Why electrical engineering?”

“It came naturally. That and an old fear. As a kid I was afraid of the dark.” He looked at her. “What tops your list of goals?”

The intensity of his gaze caught her unaware. “I want to help orphans throughout all Mexico.” She had not shared that with anyone, not even Pedro.

Simon gave a slow nod. “That's a beautiful purpose for your life.”

“Thank you, Simon.”

“Marrying Enrique would probably help make that possible.”