Anna

Chapter 6

The sky over the Victoria Desert was bleached white, as if the sun here didn't just shine but ruthlessly melted everything in its path.

Nick piloted the Mustang low, skimming almost against the earth, catching a buzz from the way the dry bush and ocher-streaked riverbeds snaked beneath the fuselage like a ribbon. He was in his element. His eyes burned with intensity. Far from the concrete of office buildings, the suffocating cubicles, and the eternal drone of the Sydney anthill, he could finally breathe deeply. Here, in this ocean of nature, his thoughts became as sharp as the mountain contours on the horizon.

The headset was silent. Nick had long since strayed from the standard air corridors. The engines hummed with familiar rhythm. Below, the orderly rows of his project came into view. The mirrored fields of solar panels looked like the scales of a sleeping giant, and the gray blocks of containers held the equipment for his future crypto farm, carefully tucked away.

Oh, it was breathtaking. It looked so magnificent from a bird's-eye view. He felt pride in every meter of his creation.

The plane skidded softly onto the gravel strip his team had prepared specifically for such visits. Nick cut the engines, and the ringing, almost tangible silence of the desert descended. Only a light breeze occasionally disturbed it with weak gusts.

Mark, the lead engineer, was already hurrying toward the gangway. Sun-tanned and forever in a dusty jumpsuit, he looked like a part of the local landscape, as if he had sprouted from the red clay. Nick climbed down, greedily inhaling the scorching air, which carried the scent of dry, burnt grass.

"Hey, Boss," Mark said, shaking his hand firmly. His palm was rough, but there was more sincerity in that handshake than in all the social pleasantries Nick had to endure back in Sydney. "Everything is running perfectly. Efficiency is even higher than our projections. By four percent. The servers in the unpacked containers aren't overheating; the ventilation is holding up beautifully."

"Come, Boss, let me show you how we're distributing the power," Mark gestured for Nick to follow him toward the central control hub.

They approached a massive hangar, inside which the roar of equipment drowned out all the sounds of the desert. Mark pointed to monitors bathed in soft green light.

"This is the heart of the system," he explained. "Automatic trackers adjust the tilt of the panels every fifteen minutes, following the sun. The system is self-learning. It analyzes dust and humidity levels, optimizing energy consumption for server cooling. We've squeezed the absolute maximum out of them, Nick."

Nick stepped closer, peering at the complex graphs.

"What about scaling? I remember we planned for expansion."

"Come here, look to the north," Mark led him to the exit. "See the staked-out sectors? We've started prepping the sites for three new phases. The pile drivers arrive tomorrow, and we begin mounting the supports in a week. They’ll increase the farm's total capacity by three and a half times."

They moved toward the construction zone. Where there had been nothing but scorched red earth yesterday, deep trenches now gaped, filled with concrete.

"Right here," Mark stomped his foot on the packed ground, "we're laying the foundation for the main computing building. The walls will have military-grade thermal insulation so that even in the most brutal heat, the temperature inside stays stable."

"Will the transformer capacity be enough?" Nick asked business-like, inspecting the excavations.

"Plenty of room for growth. But that’s not all. Over there, fifty meters away, we're building the residential sector. A unit for sixty people. With proper amenities, showers, and air conditioning. People need to rest, or we’ll lose our pace. Nearby, we have the communications hub with an enhanced satellite link, a medical post, and a canteen. We’re not just building a construction site, Nick; we’re creating an autonomous city."

"Cool," Nick nodded approvingly, watching as the workers reinforced the foundation of the future building. "The main thing, Mark, is that autonomy shouldn't turn into isolation. I want to be able to override control from Sydney at any moment, if necessary."

"Technically, that’s implemented," Mark replied, wiping sweat from his forehead. "The satellite bridge will work steadily. But I wouldn’t advise messing with the settings remotely until we finish installing the security perimeter. The system is currently too sensitive to external commands."

"Understood," Nick replied, feeling a pleasant weight of responsibility spreading through him.

Nick liked being here, among his own. These people understood his passion and didn't demand reports for the sake of reports. Here, results were what mattered.

In the evening, when the sun began to plummet toward the horizon, something inside Nick suddenly jolted. He remembered a recent conversation. The weekend, Sydney, his father. The engagement. Plans to merge assets with the power and connections of the establishment. Eleanor. He pictured her—flawless, with an icy glint in her eyes, always perfectly groomed and cold as a porcelain doll. She was used to the world revolving around her family. It’ll work out in time, he coldly cut off the thought. After all, it was a fair trade. His business and freedom for social status. For now, it suited Nick. He didn't need butterflies in his stomach; at this stage in his life, stable arrangements and the support of the power brokers wouldn't hurt.

By morning, the sky was covered in haze, but the heat didn't subside. Nick sat in the cockpit, checked the instruments, and started the engines. The Cessna began its takeoff run.

Speed climbed, and suddenly—a sharp metallic bang, like a gunshot. The plane jerked, and a panel flashed red. A chorus of warning alarms began to shriek. The left engine choked, letting out a death rattle. Compressor stall. Nick reacted instinctively; he smoothly shifted the remaining engine into reverse, using the pedals to hold the course and keep from veering off the runway, while simultaneously helping the plane with the main brakes.

The light Mustang dutifully bled off speed and came to a halt. Silence returned, broken only by the ticking of cooling metal.

A couple of minutes later, Mark drove up. His verdict was as short as a death sentence:

"Compressor blades, Nick. Most likely simple metal fatigue. Just need to look into the engine—it's destroyed inside. Everything’s shredded. We’re powerless here. Obviously, we don't have the equipment for that kind of repair, nor a spare engine; we have to haul it in from the city and send for a repair crew. This isn't a one-week job. We’re lucky it didn't happen in the air."

Nick clenched his fists in his pockets. A week was a catastrophe. His father wouldn't wait, and a failed engagement would trigger a chain of calls and setbacks, including to his own plans.

"Is there an alternative?" he asked, looking at Mark with a frustrated gaze.

"Only the wheels," the engineer shrugged. "The road through the bush to the nearest highway, then the main route all the way to Sydney. You can make it in a pickup in about three days if you drive without stopping. It’ll be bumpy, and it’ll be hot, but you’ll get there. Need to take plenty of water."

Nick surveyed the desert. It was absurd. A billionaire’s son, stranded in the back of beyond with a pile of scrap metal, planning a two-thousand-kilometer drive in a pickup.

"Okay. Nothing else for it. Get me a truck. Something reliable. The best we've got."

Rage and a strange, almost meditative calm warred inside him. Yes, the desert could teach humility.

He imagined the path ahead. Dusty miles, nights spent on the shoulder of the bush. But this was a job that had to be done. There was no other way out.

"We've loaded water, fuel, provisions," Mark handed him the keys to an old, weathered Toyota Hilux. "A reliable workhorse. Never let us down once. It’s the best we have."

Nick got behind the wheel and turned the key. The engine responded with a powerful, confident hum.

He pulled away, throwing a glance back at his helpless Mustang. Hundreds of kilometers of uncertainty lay ahead, but Nick was confident he would manage. He would reach his destination, just as he had always handled difficulties before.

The road was empty, with only the occasional road train passing by. Nick drove confidently, shifting gears mechanically and peering at the horizon shimmering from the heat. In his head, he was already in Sydney. The light-flooded ballroom of the estate, the clinking of glasses, the fake smiles of the guests. His father would be pleased. He would pat Nick on the shoulder—a rare gesture of approval that meant more to Nick than any words in the world. Nick believed this was the only correct path. To be successful, to be predictable, to meet expectations. His life was like a well-tuned algorithm where every variable had its place. And in that algorithm, the engagement to Eleanor was simply a logical step, the final piece of the puzzle for the complete security of his business.

Three days of travel lay ahead, the silence of the Australian night and the heat of the summer day.

"We’ll make it," Nick said aloud, and hit the gas.