The idea was to slice off several sections of rod so that they could be mounted on the electric motor of the van. This would enable me to power the van and—since the motor would also become an electrical generator if it moved on its own—would become a source of electricity. (I told you these rods had a lot of potential.)
You’ll notice I didn’t say “just” slice off several sections of the rod. That’s because the force exerted down the length of a rod is pretty great. Though the metal that the rods were made from was relatively soft, if a regular synthadiamond saw were used to cut into them it would soon become all but locked in the gravity field. Though it could be moved, the friction would melt either the rod or the saw blade before the job was done (unless you wanted to take sixteen years doing it or had a waterfall to cool the metal).
So I used an industrial laser that I’d “borrowed,” compliments of Weisenbender and company.
Even the laser was tricky to use since the rod tended to reflect the light and burn holes in the work bench and me, but the laser did its job fairly quickly.
The bot and I got most of the rod sectioned, though one small piece did get away. It was spinning with a slight wobble when it escaped so that it went twisting off on a zigzag tangent that finally ended when the projectile lodged in the rafters of the garage.
Even the bot followed the action with its unblinking camera eye.
By noon my able—if dimwitted—electronic assistant and I had gotten the lengths of rod welded to the armature of the van’s motor. Standing back from the plane they’d be operating in, I crossed my fingers and had the bot remove the restraining chains (I figured I’d rather lose one bot than some important part of
The rods started right up in their tight little orbit and very quickly the shaft was spinning at its maximum speed.
I sprayed it liberally with sililube and started taking measurements of how much electricity and mechanical power the thing was giving off. It put out quite a bit of power. Only then did the full impact of the last six years’ work set in. Generators like the one I’d created could be the solution to any number of mankind’s energy and travel problems. Those who had invested in public utilities would be fit to be tied; the rest of us were going to be enjoying almost free, unlimited power.
Now the cynical among us would probably figure I had wired myself into a corner: the motor was going lickity split without a load on it and the van’s motor pod was empty. But it wasn’t quite like that. The problem of stopping the motor had—more or less —been planned on ahead of time.
Remember that the greater the load that is placed on a generator’s circuit, the more slowly it tends to turn. Short the thing out and it practically stops. That was the theory. And I had also already connected a load to the motor’s shaft just to be on the safe side.
My problem was that the rod-driven generator I’d created from the van’s electric motor put out a lot more energy than I’d expected. Shorting the thing out was a little dangerous and tended to melt the heaviest of cables. Finally I got the bot ready to latch onto the motor when I gave the order and then I used a pry bar to short out all the cables I’d connected into the generator.
Somehow we managed to stop the metal whirlwind I had set into motion, and we did it without burning down the garage or ripping the bot apart. (Since the gear box of the van would slow down the motor/generator in the future once the motor was back in the van, I knew getting it stopped would be easier once the motor was in place.)
After a short break to collect my wits and replace one of the bot’s arms with a spare stored in its chest, we carefully chained the lengths of rod so they couldn’t start spinning, and the motor was placed back in the van.
Easier said than done.
At this point I realized that I would have saved a lot of time if I’d left the motor in the van and modified it there, but there was no way to undo what I’d done. Many curses and skinned knuckles later, it was back in place.
The motor mounted, the shaft was connected into the transmission and I was ready to say good-bye to the household vehicle transformer (I hoped). I left the rods locked in place while I removed the batteries from the van, leaving just one small bank for back-up power, though—if the rod-driven generator went down—the batteries would do little other than power emergency lights or the like since the motor would probably be shot in such an event and beyond the help of battery power. But I knew the batteries would be of use for the project I had planned several days later.
I cannibalized the van battery charger to create some outlets inside the van to create an inverter to supply regular household current for appliances or my shop tools. Finally, I placed a water-proof outlet inside the front bumper so that I could power appliances with electricity generated from the van’s motor. With a long extension cord, the van’s generator could even be used to run household appliances when the van was in the garage—and thereby lower my utility bills (I didn’t want to quit using the government’s power completely since that would attract too much attention).
The bot risked life and limb once more to remove the restraining chains and the motor again hummed to life. Though it sounded a bit more beefy than a normal van’s electric motor, it wasn’t strange enough to attract attention—I hoped. (It would be a little strange if I had to park since the motor would continue to hum along when I left it. That would attract notice, so I decided I’d have to figure something out on that count but decided not to worry about that until later.) I tested the outlets and found that they furnished all the electrical power I could ever need.
The job finished, I stood back and was thankful I didn’t own any stock in the major conglomerates. Or— worse yet—was a member of the great business minds who had decided to sack my team’s six year’s of work just as we were achieving success. They would be lucky to keep their heads connected to the proverbial neck bone.
For some reason, that reminded me that I’d failed to get in touch with my lab team. They had to be on pins and needles wondering what had happened to me and whether I’d be forming a new team. I thought it all over for a bit and decided to bring them back together with me later, but at this point I wanted to keep them in the dark about our success. It would be better for them and my
“company” if they thought we’d failed. The new power we could generate was going to make some major changes in society, and the fewer people who knew that ahead of time the better.
So my plan was a little hazy at that point. Basically, what I hoped to do was get a few working examples of the anti-gravity rods’ possibilities cobbled together to attract investors, and then get my team back together to refine the various generating systems we might market. In the meantime, I didn’t have the space or money to get the group going. And there was security. I knew that a lot of people would like to get rid of us if they ever knew what we were up to. We stood to make money, but a lot of someones were going to lose a lot. A whole lot. That doesn’t make for friendly feelings among the businesses we would be displacing.
Thus I figured my best bet was to convince the members that the project had finally failed but that they should keep in touch so we could restart our project when I finally got some money for continuing.
Before giving the van a test drive, I called all eight of my lab team members during the next hour (Linda was the hardest to get and I spent 45 minutes tracking her through her pager). I broke the “news” to them that the rods were a dismal failure but that we must be on the right track, we’d get back together soon, keep in touch, etc.
That done I raced back into the garage after a side stop to keep from having kidney failure.
The test of the rod-driven motor in the van was about to begin!
I got the bot into the corner, ordered him off, then jumped into the van like a kid on World Freedom Day.
Almost backing through the garage door, I remembered to use the scramble coder to open it and—barely containing myself—put the van into reverse and eased out.
It worked like a charm.
I tooled up to the interstate (consciously going the opposite direction from the rest stop that I’d dumped the two body bags in) and tried out the motor’s full power for a mile or so. (Luckily no hi-pees were about.)
I quit when the van hit 200 clicks. That’s just a little fast considering that the top speed for a brand new van is only 80. Besides becoming a bit worried about the van shaking itself apart on the bumps in the road, it was apt to draw someone’s attention. And I figured bureaucratic someones would probably like to get their hands on the van to create a new tax category if nothing else.
So I drove back to the garage at a sedate speed.
