Drac's Tres Short Stories
Posted: Tue Sep 20, 2022 10:19 pm
I Built Them to Last
Hot sun reflected on the steel towers. Tall spires, man-made trees in an industrial jungle. He could feel their heat through the window, a portal in a gas-powered car he remained unaware of as he surveyed the workmen, workers and contractors building an island vision of his own imagining.
A bodiless voice called from beside him.
"We're almost there now, Mr Hammond."
"Good, good," he said, half to the driver, half to himself as he beamed over the steady progress.
The pylons were his insistence, built to last. Island planners had advised wooden placements for power transmition, to be replaced every few years as the jungle rotted them away. But Hammond knew his island was to last. Here in the wilderness, only the finest and strongest would survive. They could spare no expense.
Coming to a stop, the Jeep now sat alongside a hill of gravel, an artificial mountain made of stones quarried from elsewhere. The door was opened for him; Hammond stepped into the jungle, taking a brief look back at the road coming out from the town. A Costa Rican contractor came up beside him.
"We're making good time, Sir. Work is slightly ahead of schedule; the concrete bases have been less trouble than we thought."
Hammond nodded, surveying spires natural and artificial.
Finally he gazed back to the construction contractor, who was searching through papers looking for some small detail. The man looked back to his white trailer and raised his hand as if to speak, before Hammond interrupted him.
"How long before it reaches the plant?"
The workman looked back.
"The geothermal plant? Three more months, give or take. We don't know how difficult the valley terrain here is to build on. But your five-month plan should be ready on schedule." The workman set the papers in his armpit, seeming to be satisfied.
Hammond felt the same, stared out again into the jungle. Here and there were wooden scaffoldings, props of wood against various construction. Workmen attacked the structures with nails and hammers, crates were set harshly onto the ground and on top of one another.
Suddenly a pile of metal rebar clanged to the ground, and in almost the same instant was heard a rumble of thunder in the distance.
"Excuse me," said the driver, "but it's my opinion that we should now get moving."
Hammond turned his face up to look at the sun, just as a layer of cloud moved in front of it. Thunder rumbled again.
Without answering, he returned to the Jeep and settled himself inside. His plan was slowly coming to fruition. Tonight, he would dream again of journeying, endless questing into the past - forging ahead, making the future.
Hot sun reflected on the steel towers. Tall spires, man-made trees in an industrial jungle. He could feel their heat through the window, a portal in a gas-powered car he remained unaware of as he surveyed the workmen, workers and contractors building an island vision of his own imagining.
A bodiless voice called from beside him.
"We're almost there now, Mr Hammond."
"Good, good," he said, half to the driver, half to himself as he beamed over the steady progress.
The pylons were his insistence, built to last. Island planners had advised wooden placements for power transmition, to be replaced every few years as the jungle rotted them away. But Hammond knew his island was to last. Here in the wilderness, only the finest and strongest would survive. They could spare no expense.
Coming to a stop, the Jeep now sat alongside a hill of gravel, an artificial mountain made of stones quarried from elsewhere. The door was opened for him; Hammond stepped into the jungle, taking a brief look back at the road coming out from the town. A Costa Rican contractor came up beside him.
"We're making good time, Sir. Work is slightly ahead of schedule; the concrete bases have been less trouble than we thought."
Hammond nodded, surveying spires natural and artificial.
Finally he gazed back to the construction contractor, who was searching through papers looking for some small detail. The man looked back to his white trailer and raised his hand as if to speak, before Hammond interrupted him.
"How long before it reaches the plant?"
The workman looked back.
"The geothermal plant? Three more months, give or take. We don't know how difficult the valley terrain here is to build on. But your five-month plan should be ready on schedule." The workman set the papers in his armpit, seeming to be satisfied.
Hammond felt the same, stared out again into the jungle. Here and there were wooden scaffoldings, props of wood against various construction. Workmen attacked the structures with nails and hammers, crates were set harshly onto the ground and on top of one another.
Suddenly a pile of metal rebar clanged to the ground, and in almost the same instant was heard a rumble of thunder in the distance.
"Excuse me," said the driver, "but it's my opinion that we should now get moving."
Hammond turned his face up to look at the sun, just as a layer of cloud moved in front of it. Thunder rumbled again.
Without answering, he returned to the Jeep and settled himself inside. His plan was slowly coming to fruition. Tonight, he would dream again of journeying, endless questing into the past - forging ahead, making the future.