CHAPTER 16Standing atop a ladder outside the front of the hotel where he and Sam had stayed for the past few days, Ping attempted to insert a bulb into the streetlight. Reaching inside the open glass panel of the lamp’s rectangular compartment, he slid the softball-size bulb into the socket and gave it a quarter-turn. The muscles in his shoulders relaxed, and he retracted his arm, glancing at the burned, tight skin alongside his index finger—evidence that dropping one of these bulbs could have dangerous consequences. When he had a free moment, he intended to ask someone why they would use such a volatile gas to produce light. The hotel owner, Mr. Martin, had called it kerosteam and had reminded Ping to be careful when changing the bulbs.
As he descended the ladder, he wondered what mechan
