Jakara approaches, holding a plastic water bottle out before her. "Hydrate, sir." It is too polite to be an order, but I almost bristle anyway. Instead, I force myself to take the offering with only a nod and tell myself she is merely looking out for my wellbeing as a subordinate to a superior. At least she knows to keep her hands clear of mine and avoid contact. She speaks again once I begin to drink. "May I have your shirt placed in equipping for you, sir?"

I consider as I down half the water in record time. It is kind of her to offer and would be convenient, despite my loathing to let someone else handle my clothing. "Yes. On my workbench, please." I hold it out to her and she accepts it with a nod. "I want to start in with the main rotor assembly immediately. Have a welding team assemble. Rotor fins first, then regulator-brake assembly, then armature last. Welders are to substitute out as needed. I want Eight on the lift chains, with all other teams rotating in on a blade by blade basis for me to draw from." Having said what I needed to, I work on finishing off the water.

"Understood. I'll make it happen, sir. I've also arranged for shift relief already; Three, Nine, Ten, and Reserve One will come in next, then Four, Five, Eleven, and Reserve Two if we're still going after that." As she speaks, Jakara stares at a fixed point just over the top of my head. It is a testament to my own diminutive stature that she can, as Jakara is quite petite for a human. I have to look up slightly to watch her expressions. It would be disconcerting were it not for the fact that this habit is a holdover from previous IO leadership. 

I have to concentrate intensely for a moment, lest even that simple memory of him send me plummeting toward despair. Everything brings his memory to the forefront of my thoughts. How long will it be before I can function again? When will this pain cease and his memory become soothing rather than a spectre? 

With a snarl, I shake my head abruptly to try to clear the invasive thoughts away. "I strongly suspect we will go even beyond that." My voice is a growl, though the anger is directed at myself and my lack of control. "I am doing this alone, without benefit of additional voices which would make quick work of such an enormous undertaking. Consider that when this generator was initially installed, a team of 40 Denzai worked on this system alone and its crafting still took most of a shift. Work up a schedule for at least one more shift, but be prepared to schedule beyond that when you are next on the clock. A full day is not likely to be enough time."

Concern springs into being within Jakara, though she controls it well and her outward expression never changes. "Will you be able to endure for the duration?" The question is asked quietly and does not travel beyond the two of us. Some part of me understands I should be grateful for her discretion. 

"I will have to, or die trying," I retort, giving vent to the smallest portion of my current fatalism. "There is no one else that can do it now, is there? Just make sure I have a fresh rotation of technicians to consistently draw from. You, of all the technicians here, know best how I work. And I will be concentrating on this rebuild, so I will need you to handle the details of personnel management." It is the closest I can come to saying I will be relying on her. Trusting her. 

"Understood, sir." I can see that she actually does understand. Resolves swirls up within Jakara like steel filaments, a shimmering metallic lattice interwoven with the tiniest fibers of her very being. This woman is built on a foundation of independence and dependability. It is no wonder that she has been in her position for longer than I have been alive.

“Dismissed,” I tell her softly. She snaps off a salute and accepts the empty water bottle I hand off to her before turning away to take care of my shirt and begin shouting directions to the room.

 I tune out her voice, instead taking myself over to where the main rotor rests upon a set of supports to brace it at a working height off the floor. As I walk, I once more open myself inwardly to prepare for crafting. That gaping hole within is still present, the emotions of earlier drained once more so that I feel the void keenly. The technicians of Team Seven are assembling around me as I go, while the welding team moves into place and begins to set up. Team Eight is pulling out the pulley systems and mounting the lift chains in preparation for shifting the fin blades into position for welding. 

“I will be drawing fear for the duration of the turbine welds,” I announce to the room. “Teams should be prepared to switch out between fins so I have a new set of personnel to pull from for each set of welds. If at any time you feel overly tired or sluggish, swap out with someone on the lift chains. Keep your mouths shut while I sing, lest you taint the crafting. There will be a short break for hydration between stages of assembly on the main rotor, then another meal break once the drive is fully assembled. If at any time you begin to feel severely fatigued, go be seated near hydration; continuing to work beyond that point could have lasting detrimental effects and I will not be able to monitor your individual landscapes for signs of overdraw.”

They get no further warning before I begin to sing.

From that point on, the work passes in a blur of emotion. Fear for the turbine blades, each requiring two passes from the welding torch to ensure they are secure, and each pass requiring a pair of ropes composed of pure terror, pressed together and twisted counterclockwise into a corkscrew before being fed into the hottest part of the molten weld. Sparks ping off my scales and the searing light tries to burn my eyes behind the darkened lenses of my goggles. Sixteen fins. Thirty-two welds. I feel the strain of it in my legs as I dance, as the muscles burn up everything I have eaten and start to consume any speck of body fat I may possess.

It takes until after the third fin for the teams to figure out how to swap out smoothly. We develop a rhythm after five fins, with Team Eight splitting into two so that half can hold steady the fin being worked while the other half gets the next fin ready to be moved into position as soon as the previous one is completed. After three rotations each, some of the technicians I am drawing from begin to swap out with those on the lift chains; I only notice because the quality of material I draw from them is more intense than from those who have not swapped out. 

I really only notice that time has passed when I realize that the welding team has shut down their rig. My perception tells me mere minutes have passed, but the fatigue of my body imparts a vastly different story. For the first time, I truly doubt my stamina for this project. It causes my voice to falter and die out as fatigue drags me down.

“Fifteen minutes!” Jakara’s voice rings throughout the room. She approaches me once more, this time bearing a wet cloth along with another bottle of water. “Rest, sir. By your leave, I’ll monitor preparation of the reg-brake assembly, as that requires nothing involving your level of skill, then alert you when we’re ready to install the dynamo armature.”

I nod mutely. Fatigue sits upon me already, making it difficult to summon outrage toward Jakara. She is walking dangerously close to insubordination, telling me how to do my job. Or perhaps the fatigue is the reason I think so. Narrowing my eyes, I see nothing in her to indicate an attitude beyond respect. Am I just being sensitive because I have everything to prove and so much to lose? Or is it the madness, hovering at the edges of my perception like a persistent moth slamming repeatedly into a light? 

As I ponder all this, I pull my goggles off to hang about my neck and take the cloth from her to sluice sweat from the delicate scales lining my forehead and cheeks. Once that is accomplished, I fold it carefully and drape it across the back of my neck to continue cooling me as I chug more water. I consider for a brief moment whether it would be worth it to dump the water out upon my head. But it is probably a better use to drink it. 

Ultimately, I decide that Jakara is not wrong. Taking a rest at this juncture would help me preserve my energy so that I can endure. It would not do for me to collapse halfway through. "Do it." Though I gave assent previously, verbalizing the agreement makes it real. "I need to conserve as much effort as possible." There is definitely a part of me that wants to launch straight into the next part of the repair in order to keep myself busy. Because having too much time to think just opens the door for the memories to flood in. But I need to conserve my strength if I am to do this by myself, which is something that I had not taken into account prior to this conversation. Yet another mark of the mental instability that plagues me, that I failed to take my own safety into consideration.

Jakara nods. We both know it was her idea, but she is willing to pretend it was mine for the sake of decorum. “I already have the orders out for the next meal break,” she informs me. “Based on the amount of time already spent, I estimate that we’ll have a shift change during the armature installation. Do you want me to hold the current shift until completion, sir?”

“No.” That answer comes swiftly, as it requires no consideration. “I can already feel their fatigue. Change out the shift as soon as possible once the new teams arrive. Get the other leads to assist you and make certain to designate one of the new leads to liaison with me as you have been doing.”

“Understood.” I wish all my technicians were as competent as Jakara. 

“Dismissed,” I tell her. Then, once her back is turned and she has started to move away, I very softly add, “Thank you.” Grateful though I am for her forethought, it is the best I can manage for the moment.

I do not even bother to watch as Jakara rounds up personnel to get the regulator-brake assembly mounted. Instead, I take myself to hydration; the cooling rag about my neck is drying out and I need to make certain I continue to aid my body in regulating my temperature. It is not usually a concern, but I have so many things on my mind that overheating and exhaustion need to be primary concerns when they ordinarily are not. I drag the cloth from my neck as I approach and toss it haphazardly into a receptacle for used rags. A technician wrings excess water out of a fresh cloth before placing it on the table where I can take it at my leisure. That small consideration momentarily startles me out of my thoughts and I narrow my eyes in suspicion. Did he know already to do that? Or did Jakara remind him of my aversion to touch? And why am I becoming irritated by such thoughtful action?

Questions and unwarranted suspicion whirl through my mind as I carefully retrieve the cloth and unfold it to drape across the scales of my neck. The cool seeps up as a draft beneath the thicker protective scales along my spine, while directly cooling the thinner scales to each side along the more mobile parts of my neck. Heat transfer would be far more efficient were I to retract my scales. But I dare not in front of so many strangers. It is not bashfulness for my bare chest that makes me hesitant; Denzai have very little modesty and I was raised to not feel shame for nudity. Rather, there is a sense of vulnerability that I feel as a result of the madness that has been my constant companion. As though retracting my scales will also bare the depths of my insanity. 

Oh. Now I understand. It is the pity I see. The look on his face, combined with the pale sickly yellow haloing his features. I can feel myself bristle as understanding dawns and I turn away before I can lash out. Pity is the last thing I want from these humans. It sickens me that they feel like they understand my situation. That the loss I feel is somehow relatable. 

Anger. I need to drain off this rage I feel building. Chirping to myself in Denzani, I stalk over to where the armature components are arrayed. Excitement is what I primed them with earlier, and that is the correct emotion. But a quick reconfigure in my head tells me that rage would be a good activator to stimulate the excitement to traverse the gap between armature and stator. I can see the parts in my head as a puzzle, each color coded with their emotion, their interactions playing like a video. A few short bars of Denzani suffice to take the deep scarlet of rage and loop it in a lasso about the armature struts. The previously painted excitement immediately swarms to the very end of each strut, ready to leap across as soon as the stator is activated and bridge the gap so electrons can traverse more rapidly.

Only then do I feel calm enough to sit and rest. The cloth is already drying again, but this time I ignore it; I do not want to endure that pity again. Instead, I take myself to the wall nearest where Jakara is coordinating the mounting of the regulator-brake assembly and sit with my back pressed to the cool stone. The faint scrape of my scales is the only sound I make as I slide down the wall. Probably, I have left a shallow gouge. Maybe several.

As the regulator-brake assembly is not secured to the main rotor, there is no song required for this portion. Instead, the electromagnetic containment ring is slipped over the end of the main rotor shaft and secured temporarily by manually extending the braking pads along their hydraulic pistons. When running, a ring of electromagnets keep the rotor centered within the assembly. The regulator portion is wired directly to the main panel. Through use of a speed sensor that measures the RPM of the shaft, those magnets can also be utilized to increase or decrease the drag for precise control of the spin speed. In case of failure, the regulator can further send an emergency signal to the integrated braking mechanism to engage the braking pads, slowing the rotor until it is stopped and the generator can be safely powered down.

This is the portion that failed previously. The braking pads failed to engage, allowing the rotor to spin out of control. Centrifugal forces caused the fins to shear away from the central drive shaft, and as soon as the first one failed, the drive became imbalanced. It tore the entire generator apart. A memory of pain shivers through me again, spearing into my clavicle and tearing down my arm with a spasm. I hear the screaming in my mind of tortured metal in those moments before catastrophic failure. 

And the sound of his voice. “Run, my star! Run for your life!” The last words I ever heard from him echo hollowly through my ears. 

Grief. Black and all encompassing. Dark help me, what can I pour this into so that I do not drown?

The brake assembly. It is supposed to be depression. But grief is close enough. And I can feel the tears beginning to course down between my facial scales.