A Pair of Hands

A Pair of Hands

By Jim Schneider

“You’re nothing but a pair of hands to these people.”

Two young recruits, Barton and Ro, looked with puzzlement at the frazzled, struggling man being dragged past them and into a nearby tent by two security guards.

“A pair of hands!” the man shouted one more time. He looked to be in his late thirties, tall and wiry, with a mop of dark hair flying around as he thrashed in struggle. The guards worked hard to move him, and he disappeared into the vinyl shelter.

“Shut it, Victor.” The stern voice of Director Foebert cut through the howling wind of the Eastern Colorado plain. He then turned to Barton and Ro. “Ignore him.”

Growing up in rural Wisconsin, Barton had always imagined Colorado as an idyllic land of majestic mountains and pristine rivers, and was initially excited when his draft papers arrived and sent him here. He didn’t realize that this particular part of the state was basically a dried out annex to Nebraska. Flat, arid and desolate. Nothing to look at, but good for a massive solar collection array.

He met Ro on the train ride out from the deployment center in Chicago. They had the same project assignment — PV Production Campus CO-439 — and that was about where their similarities ended. Ro came from Indianapolis, was Black, nonbinary and was in pre-med when the call came.

All U.S. citizens were subject to being drafted to one year of service in the Prometheus Project. For Ro, it was a major inconvenience and an interruption in what had been a very clearly and carefully planned path.

For Barton, it was a way out. He’d bounced from job to job before the economic collapse of 2034 put the vice on his family. When there was no work, he got pulled in by a local smuggling ring and before long was running increasingly scarce items like coffee and beer across state lines. When he got busted with a shipment of contraband pharma from Canada, putting in time with Prometheus was part of his plea.

“Welcome to CO-439, friends,” Foebert said, putting on a big smile that was clearly a strain on his craggled face. “We’re doing some good work out here, and when we’re done, this should be one of the biggest neutral impact energy production facilities in the West. Let’s get you to the administration tent and get you into orientation.”

Foebert gestured for the two of them to follow, and walked toward a large trailer. Barton looked back to Ro, who had hands outstretched and was examining them.

“You OK?” Barton asked.

“Just a pair of hands?” Ro repeated, confused and a little bemused.

“You heard the man,” Barton said, turning to follow Foebert. “Just a pair of hands.”

 

*          *          *

 

Inside the administration trailer, Barton and Ro sat in a small row of folding chairs in what looked like a tiny briefing room. There was a monitor in front, covered in dust, like most everything in the office.

Foebert came through a flimsy door in the back, carrying two folders.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, we’re having a little bit of a disciplinary issue. But we have these for you.”

He handed the folders to them.

“These are your waivers and service papers. I’ll need these signed and returned before you leave this office. While you review them, we ask you to watch a short orientation video. Following that, we will get you processed and shown to your bunks. Tomorrow the fun begins.”

Foebert pressed a touchscreen on the wall, bringing up a graphic menu. He made a couple of selections and the dusty monitor in the front came to life, and the lights in the briefing room dimmed.

“Enjoy, I will check on you later.”

Ro was already well into the paperwork and Barton stared ahead. The video opened with sweeping, inspiring instrumental music and tracking shots of vast fields, flowing rivers and oceans.

A calm but commanding male voice came on the narration.

“Welcome…to the Prometheus Project.”

The music swells up to a crescendo with titles, a flapping American flag behind it. The screen fades to a handsome, middle aged man wearing a suit and tie. Ro laughs out loud.

“A tie? When the hell was this made? Early 30s?”

“Hello. You are about to become part of one of the greatest adventures humanity has ever undertaken,” the narrator announced. “You certainly have heard about Project Prometheus, but do you really know the facts? We’re here to cut through the rumors and debate and get to the heart of what this project is about, which is nothing less than saving our people, our way of life, and the world itself.”

“Too late,” Ro grumbled in low breath.

Barton snapped a look back at Ro, as close to annoyed as he could get. He actually did want to hear this.

“We have known for decades that the climate was changing,” the narrator continued, as footage of bustling crowds, building construction and old time traffic montaged on the screen. “Human beings were creating far too much carbon in their endeavors, and the environment was responding the only way physics allows. With rising temperatures, increasingly severe weather, droughts and other environmental calamities.”

Barton finally opened his folder and saw a big Project Prometheus crest on the top of the first page.

“While there was a strong public push to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and slow the onset of severe climate change, no decisive action was ever taken,” the narrator said. “Even in the face of horrific weather events and other climate related catastrophes, there was too much resistance among the complacent people of the world. So humanity went forward, worsening its fate with each step.”

Ro’s expression had become angry. As the images on the screen shifted to dried out and decrepit crops on expansive midwestern fields, Barton looked down in sadness.

“Finally, in 2034, the world awoke to the reality of climate change. A series of cataclysmic storms and mega-floods decimated populations and major cities of the world. A global drought ravaged the food supply, and the global economy crashed in a way it had not in hundreds of years. Hunger, poverty and disease overtook the globe, and many of us began to wonder if the end was, at last, nigh.”

The imagery on the screen changed abruptly from that of storms, floods, fires and disaster to one of open blue skies, massive wind farms and solar arrays.

“But the American spirit can never be extinguished. In our darkest hour Americans came together to witness the launch of Project Prometheus. It is the most ambitious research, development, public works and infrastructure program ever conceived. Like Prometheus of old, we would bring the fire of enlightenment and power to the rest of humanity, developing clean and sustainable ways to power and lift the planet and shed the yoke of climate change.”

Now both Ro and Barton were glued to the monitor. Images of solar arrays and power transmission lines moved through the screen.

“The U.S. government suspended most of its programs, including most military and infrastructure spending, and reallocated all efforts to Project Prometheus. The best scientific minds were put to work on next generation clean energy generation technology and bioengineering. We will spare nothing to make this planet healthy and hospitable again. And that is where you come in. The research and development continues, but the immediate action we need comes in the form of a massive public works project. One that will need the assistance of every American.”

Foebert quietly entered in the back of the room. He closed the door behind him silently, and took in the reactions of the two young recruits.

“For the first time in decades, the United States reintroduced the selective service program. But this time the draft was not for a war against a foreign adversary, but for a battle for the very survival of our country and our species from the greatest threat it ever faced. Whether you are a volunteer or were drafted for your required 1 year of service, you are a vital part of this battle.”

Barton stares at the screen, taking this in.

“It is hard to leave your life, your loved ones, and your pursuits for an entire year. But keep in context that all those things will still be there when you get back. You will still be able to do the things you love with the people you love. But you will be able to do it knowing that you helped to make it possible for generations of Americans in the future to also be able to do those things. What you are doing is much bigger than yourself and no matter what your assignment is, the nobility of the cause means you are doing nothing less than the work of the gods.”

Barton, who was mostly in on the presentation, chuckled at this obvious overreach. He looked back at Ro, who was also laughing, and holding out hands again.

“Just a pair of hands,” Ro said.

The screen went back to waving flags, majestic landscapes and open skies as the narrator concluded.

“Welcome to Project Prometheus. Be proud that you are now part of a historic effort to redeem humanity itself. To paraphrase Shakespeare in William V, those now asleep in their beds will find themselves cursed that they were not here, to fight with us, on Project Prometheus.”

The lights came up and Foebert applauded in the back, as credits rolled and a new voice of a different narrator added a postscript.

“Thank you for watching and for being a part of Project Prometheus. Your team will now show you to your quarters and your mission. Godspeed.”

Foebert now in the front of the room, once again forcing as much happy enthusiasm as he could.

“All right! Good stuff. Now you know the story. I’ll give you guys a few minutes to finish that paperwork, and I’ve got a detail to take you to your quarters. I think you’ll find them cozy. And get some rest, the adventure begins tomorrow morning, 6am sharp!”

 

*          *          *         

 

At 5:59 in the morning, Barton and Ro were stood in a short line to a large tent at the site of a major excavation. Barton looked to the horizon in awe. Enormous solar collecting mirrors mounted on gigantic bases that looked like articulated robotic arms.

In the foreground, a large capacitator station, designed to take the raw power captured by the array and convert it into something that can be used and transported to the larger grid.

“I can’t believe I’m being assigned to a fucking dig,” Ro grumbled, squinting and pulling a cap down lower to shield from the bright morning sun. “I told them I was pre-med and could help at the camp infirmary, but oh no. No, I get to save the world by moving dirt around.”

“Gotta’ start somewhere,” Barton said. “I’m hoping if I do a good job with dirt, maybe in time I’ll get to move up to rocks.”

The line steadily moved, and Barton was soon at the front, facing an old man. Had to be in his 70s, which was something you didn’t see all that much of since the last pandemic in ’38. The man’s face was leathery and his hair wispy white. His voice croaked out of him like it was a pained struggle.

“Name?”

“Barton. John Barton. New recruit.”

“Hold on.” The old man lumbered back to shelving behind the counter and returned with a backpack with a water bladder and a battered looking telescoping spade. “Here you go. Water ration is in the bladder, snack rations in the pack, and lunch you get on the line. Next.”

He looked past Barton, now finished with him, and to Ro. “Name?”

“Ro. Just Ro.”

The old man looked her up and down, his expression itself a comment. “What are you supposed to be?”

“I am Ro. What are you supposed to be?”

“You can call me Mr. Jeffries. What about you? Mr. Ro? Miss Ro?”

“I am Ro. I am nonbinary and the rest is none of your damn business. Now give me my supplies.”

“Nonbinary,” the old man scoffed. “Can’t make up your mind you mean.”

Ro was about to lay into him when a familiar voice bellowed from behind them in line.

“Oh, shut the fuck up you decrepit old fossil. Leave the kid alone.” Barton and Ro turned to face the voice. It was Victor, the man they saw dragged into a tent the previous day. 

“Hands guy,” Ro said.

“What the hell is your problem, Jeffries?” Victor walked up to the counter and got in the old man’s face. “We don’t have enough troubles out here that you have to bring in some old timey pinhead garbage like that back out here? What, you need something to keep that shriveled heart pumping? Well figure out something else something else to make you feel alive jab yourself with a pen or something.”

“Victor, I was just…”

“Just nothing. What, you got girl and boy shovels back there? Our friend…” he indicated to Ro, and stood silent, pointing.

“Ro,” Barton offered.

“Ro here says it’s not your business, than it isn’t your goddamn business. We all need supplies and you’re holding up the line with your 20th Century crap. Dumbass backward thinking like that got us in this mess in the first place, and now we’re all stuck out here cleaning up what your generation left us. Now get the goddamn shovel.”

Scowling, the old man grabbed Ro’s gear and passed it over. “You want to talk about cleaning up messes, Evans, you should start with your own. I heard someone stole those superconductor cables right out from under you, and now you’re busted back to the digging line.”

 Victor nodded, unmoved, serious. “That’s right. Back to the line. It’s good. I like the dirt. I love shoveling. Asked my dad for a shovel for Christmas one year. Now get me my gear.”

Jeffries moved slow, and brought back Victor’s pack and shovel. “Have fun on the dig, Victor. Try not to lose anything else now, would you?”

Victor grabbed the pack, turned abruptly and stormed off. Barton and Ro hurried after him.

“Hey buddy,” Ro said in Victor’s direction, “Thanks for that, but I’m used to fighting my own battles.”

“Wasn’t doing that for you,” Victor said. “That kind of small minded shit is like nails on a chalkboard to me. I can’t take it. When I was a kid, I got diagnosed autistic and for years I had all these old grown up dummies like Jeffries asking me what it was like being autistic, or patronizing me about how amazing it was that I could do things. So I hear that kind of junk being said to anyone, it’s like it’s being said to me.”

“Autistic?” Barton asked? “What is that?”

“Neurodiverse,” Victor said. He stopped at the top of the ridge overlooking the dig site. It was several hundred yards of former excavation, power transmission cables now being covered and buried. “It was a time of always diagnosing different. Had to stick a label on everything. It means I see things clearly and know I’m right when everyone else tells me I’m wrong.”

He started to descend down a set of scaffold stairs and Barton was right with him.

“What happened? What did the old guy mean about your being demoted?”

“I was a foreman out on this dig. We’re running underground cables to connect the array to the converter station. I was also overseeing inventory and while I was, someone ran off with the extremely expensive Type II superconductor cable that is supposed to connect the converter station to the main grid transmission lines.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Ro said.

“They are the highest quality, most efficient and most expensive cables on the project, and due to budgetary reasons, they are only specified to run from the converter to the grid lines,” Victor explained. “Me, I’d have liked to see them run from the array to the converter, because using the cheap crap lines we are burying here means losing a ton of energy in the ground, but the budget monkeys running this don’t care about that. To hell with production or efficiency. It’s all cost control. So yeah, they are pretty pissed those went missing and made a hit in their precious budget.”

“Do you think it was smugglers?” Barton asked. “I used to run with a smuggling gang back in the Midwest and I know they hit a few Prometheus sites.”

They walked up to the work site. A shade shelter covered several hundred feet, with lines of workers shoveling dirt into a large trench, burying cable.

“Hell if I know,” Victor said. “What does it matter anyway? New superconductor cables are already being shipped out. It’ll be a blip on the radar of this project, I’ll get some grief from some people and I get to dig again.”

“Get to dig?” Ro laughed.

Victor went straight over to a large pile of soil, stuck his shovel in and got to work.

“Yes,” he said. “I wasn’t kidding. I love to dig.

 

*          *          *

 

Barton shrugged, and started shoveling, as well. So did Ro. Victor was like a machine, expressionless and shoveling at a fast and steady pace.

“What did you mean, we’re just a pair of hands,” Barton asked Victor. “What did you mean by that?”

Victor laughed, “I don’t know, kid, I thought that was pretty straightforward.”

“Yeah, I know we’re just out here to do a job, but the job is important, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is,” Victor said. “That’s why I volunteered in the first place.”

Ro stopped digging, looking at him in shock. “Whoa, hold up. You volunteered? I didn’t even know that was a thing. I thought this was an all-draft thing. Who does this on purpose?”

Victor looked at Ro, serious. “I’m an engineer. And what engineers do is solve problems. You know about vampires and knots?”

Barton and Ro looked at each other, confused. Barton finally shrugged and said, “No.”

“There’s tons of vampire stories, dos and don’ts, and old cultures that believed in that stuff had weird ideas about how to keep them away. Garlic, crosses, whatever,” Victor said. “One of the more obscure ones was that vampires can’t stand to leave things undone. So if they see a string tied in a knot, they have to untie it. Can’t help themselves. So people would scatter knots around their beds so vampires would spend all night untying knots.”

Ro laughed, “Is it weird that I can relate a little bit to that?”

“No, it isn’t,” Victor said, back to digging. “I get it entirely. And when I first learned about climate change, and watched grownups do nothing when the answers were obvious and there, it felt like bugs crawling on my skin. Then I watched the drought whither the land in my family home in Montana. Watching this all and hearing nothing but excuses was like knots on the floor to me. I had to untie them. So when Prometheus came, I was first in line.”

“So if it’s such a good cause, why were you trying to scare us off? Why are you trying to make us feel we’re cogs in a machine?”

“Who’s trying to scare you off? One thing has nothing to do with another,” Victor said. “Being a pair of hands doesn’t mean the hands aren’t doing good things. I was simply stating the fact that it’s all they’re interested in. Ideas…”

Victor trailed off, digging harder.

“Ideas are a harder sell. You have to get creative with those.”

 

*          *          *

 

At the end of the day, Victor, Barton and Ro trudged back up the scaffolding stairs, shovels and packs in hand. Barton and Ro, having survived their first day, looked completely exhausted. At the top, Foebert was waiting.

“Well hello Victor,” he smiled. “How was it back on the line?”

“Best day I’ve had in months, Foebert.”

“Nothing but a pair of hands, right?” Foebert said, digging.

“Exactly,” Victor said.

“You ask me, they let you off too easy,” Foebert said. “Central government is going to give us no end of hell about having to send new Type II’s. But hell, I guess that isn’t your problem anymore.”

“Sure isn’t,” Victor said. He started to walk away.

“And too bad, because we ran the initial transmission tests from the array to the converter station today, and results were notably better than expected,” Foebert grinned. “This is going to be the crown jewel of the Western territory’s energy production and instead of holding the award, you’ll be holding the shovel, Victor. Someone’s going to have to step up and be the face of this place. Dirty job, but I’m happy to do it.”

Victor nodded, his face emotionless. He turned and walked intently back to the barracks.

Ro, lost in thought for a moment, suddenly had a revelation and ran after Victor.

“Hey! Hold on a second,” Ro said to Victor, grabbing his shoulder. “Those cables. You stole them, didn’t you?”

Barton reacted with shock. Victor stopped and looked Ro in the eye.

“No, I didn’t steal them,” Victor said. “They weren’t stolen at all. Last week they were the property of Project Prometheus, and they still are today. They were simply misapplied.”

“Misapplied?” Barton asked.

“I had the crew install them between the array and the converter, instead of using the crappy aluminum conductor steel-reinforced cable they had specified. For whatever reason, the geniuses planning this put the most efficient transmission cable between the converter and the main lines, but I made the case that they should be used to make sure you’re getting the most power from the sun to the converter. Nobody listened, so I did it.”

“What happened to the crappy cable, then?” Ro asked.

“That I did actually steal,” Victor said, turning to Barton. “You were right, kid. Sold those to some smugglers.”

“What if they catch you?” Barton asked.

“Switching that cable will increase efficiency between the array and the converter by 3 to 5 percent. You know what that will mean over the 50 years this is going to operate/ The new replacement cable will go between the converter and the line, as originally specified. To dig up and remove the Type II superconductor cable from where it is now would cost more than the new cable.”

Ro and Barton stared at him in disbelief.

“Yes, I ran the calculations,” Victor said. “In the end, they will have an array that produces notably more than specified, will generate considerably more energy at less cost, and benefit the Western grid.”

Victor held up his shovel. “And I get to dig. Sometimes it’s good to be a pair of hands.”

 

*          *          *

 

In the mess hall, Barton and Ro sat across from each other at a community table, eating their rations.

“You know, the food isn’t half bad,” Ro said.

Barton ate slowly and quietly, his mind elsewhere.

“What’s eating you, Barton? Is it this Victor stuff? My god, he’s sure not worried about it, I don’t imagine why you are.”

“It’s just crazy,” Barton said. “Guy as smart as that just throwing everything away to make a point to nobody. He can’t even gloat about how right he is, and he’s letting that jackass Foebert take credit for what he did.”

“Maybe he really does believe in the cause,” Ro said. “Or maybe he’s just an engineer with a screw loose. Besides, he’s not telling nobody. He told us.”

“Yeah, I guess maybe that was the point of going on about it with us,” Barton said, staring off. “I guess we were there to bear witness or something.”

The two of them finished their dinner, and walked in the dusk light back to the barracks. As they did, a transport pulled up, and two new recruits stepped out, still wearing civilian clothes. They looked nervous and lost.

Barton approached them and smiled. “Welcome to Project Prometheus. You’re nothing but a pair of hands to these people.”