Solar Dreams: a history of solar energy (1878 - 2025)
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Outside of a smaller infantry element, often loyal to the government of turn, the rest is low quality infantry from the indigenous majority.
Life imitating art:
www.livescience.com
Solar power generated enough heat to power a steel furnace
A new proof-of-concept device trapped solar radiation and used it to heat an object to a blistering 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit (1,000 degrees Celsius), raising hopes that steel furnaces could be powered by solar energy.
31: Setting the pieces
November, 1894
Cairo, Egypt
Tahira awoke to the smell of food being prepared. Breakfast, early in the morning and prepared by one of her servants. She still felt weird being the one served instead of serving others, but the demands of her position left Tahira little time to take care of such things. She hoped the generous salaries she gave her house servant and her cook were enough for them to hide any embarrassment they felt when they saw the little orphan that somehow had raised above her station. She thought she'd care less for their opinion, but she still felt that she was being judged by them whenever they passed her by on the library where she studied geometry or finances or physics, or when they announced the arrival of her Scottish tutor.
But as long as the money was good, they'd keep those opinions to themselves. Money was indeed good. Enough money for her to afford a bourgeois lifestyle, and with the Egyptian government being her best client, that was unlikely to change. Enough money to not fear every single letter that arrived at her inbox. Instead, she ate her breakfast calmly and read each one, until arriving at the one that would've put fear in her heart even a few months ago. Her Sales Representative in Alexandria was reporting a client that demanded a refund, as her Solar Boilers weren't capable of powering a steam engine.
Tahira sighed, and began writing instructions to the SR. She could've asked her secretary to do that, but she had the time and she felt the need to keep some oversight on those developments. Tahira instructed the representative to accept the refund if the boilers were undamaged, but to remind the unwise customer that these devices were intended to boil water and not power machines. For that, he'd have to go with Cottrell's designs (or the occasional ones built in South America, but those were rarely sold to private citizens).
Maybe later she'd address the problem of clients mistaking the use of her design. She had discarded trying to compete with Cottrell, as the machines produced in England were of a sophistication that was outside of the possibilities of production for the industry of Egypt. They looked simple, just a mirrored glass and some pipes, plus some mechanical parts. But the curved glass was impact resistant and impossibly smooth, and the pipe, was made of a metal that didn't oxidize and flake off at high temperatures. Tahira had to educate herself on those subjects, and in doing so opened her eyes to just how much complexity there was in the world. She understood the people that thought it would be just a matter of slapping a curved mirror and pointing it to the sun, but at the same point it exasperated her that they couldn't see just how complex those machines could get, how difficult it could be to extract every joule out of a sunbeam.
It didn't help that Jamal Al Afghani, the same man who a few years ago was talking against women in the workforce*, was now singing praises to both women working the solar boilers and pushing for the development of a native Arabic Solar Industry as an instrument for Pan Arabic liberation. So every now and then she had to deal with a client that was disappointed because her solar boiler wasn't the symbol of Nationalism he thought he was buying.
With the breakfast done and her mind ready, she walked the moderate distance to the workshop turned factory that she somehow managed to develop. Some days she could work from her office at home, but today she had to be there: even in distant and poor Egypt, progress was being made. She entered the workshop, now hosting several production lines where specialized workers focused on aspects of the fabrication process, and checked that everything was in order. Everything was, the oddness of a factory where women were the majority now fading. Women were initially cheaper, and less prone to take issue with women giving orders. Now that she could afford better wages, only a few men were willing to work for one.
No novelties to report, so she went directly to the office of his Chief Engineer - a Turkish man, lanky and prone to talk about Istanbul - where him and her Sales Representative - an older Libyan woman whose story changed every time Tahira asked her - awaited with a long box over a table. The Chief Engineer held a crowbar in his hands in a way that suggested a colorful past, and didn't wait for Thahira to give the order to open open the box before he went and ripped the top on a single, smooth movement.
Inside, covered by sawdust to protect it from the travel, was that progress. It didn't look like much, rough sheets of elongated metal that looked more primitive than the current glass mirrors used in her solar boilers. They were indeed more simple than the mirrored surfaces, being just sheets of iron plated with nickel to prevent corrosion and reflect the sun. A machine with those sheets installed did indeed look like a regression when compared to the ones that carried shiny mirrors.
Which was the exactly the point. Mirrors were expensive and valuable. They were fragile, too. Plated nickel was cheap and durable, and reflected light well enough to not affect the operation of her boilers. They were easier to manufacture, and producing them in Egypt was not outside the possibilities. Prices would go down, production would expand, and margins would increase. That was progress too, even if it wasn't as flashy as the machines produced in England or Chile.
It was then when Tahira's secretary announced an unscheduled visit. Tahira didn't have to ask who it was, only one person made a habit of arriving unannounced. Dr. Shalhoub awaited her at her office.
- An Italian maple desk. I guess things are working out well for you, Miss Tahira. - Dr. Shalhoub said.
- Of course. I have an excellent client and some generous contracts. And we've just found a way to reduce the prices even more. Is that ivory on your walking stick?. - Tahira fired back.
- Yes, but not from any elephant you've seen. This was extracted from an elephant that lived in Siberia long before the pyramids. A mammoth.
- It must have been expensive. - She said.
- Indeed it was, but I didn't pay for it. It was a gift from the Khedive himself, in recognition of the lives our program has saved. I guess that the profits from your company are his equivalent for you.
- His Majesty has been most generous.
- He is only recognizing the labour we've made. Child mortality, waterborne diseases and food poisoning have all dropped off a cliff whenever the solar boilers are installed. We are part of something transformational, Miss Tahira. These machines are changing the face of Egypt, which is why the Khedive is seeking to expand the uses of solar energy in all relevant industries.
- That will take a while. - Tahira said, before enumerating the reasons why Egyptian industry wasn't in a position to compete with the English or Chileans. - If I have to make a guess, we'd need fifteen years of continuous investment to reach parity with what Cottrell and Mouchot can produce today. What they'll have by then, it's difficult to consider.
- So, it's your opinion that it isn't feasible to build our own native industry?
- No. I didn't say that. I'm saying that Egypt is at a disadvantage. However, Chile was also at a disadvantage and they've managed to compete with England on this field. For what I've gathered about Dr. Mouchot and his associates, they designed a very profitable product which then allowed to invest in experts from Europe and the creation of a small but specialized industry in Chile. That, in turn, allowed them to create those solar smelters and the climate control units.
- We could do that. The Khedive is willing to invest to create this industry.
- I don't think it's that simple. Mouchot was a visionary. He created the industry and didn't face any competition. He and Morgan Cottrell operated in different spheres when the market was small. This isn't the case anymore. We'd have to operate at a loss for several years, always catching up, always reacting to the developments from abroad.
- And yet, you've found a niche. The cheap boilers we've developed, they're unlike anything Mouchot or Cottrell have developed. Cheaper than dirt, but effective in their role. We don't need sophistication, we need something that is good enough. And the Khedive is asking something else from us, as well.
- What does His Majesty need from us?
- Miss Tahira, news of the success of our sanitation program has spread beyond Egypt. The governments from our neighbours face many of the same problems as us, and the Khedive thinks it'd be a good opportunity to increase trade and goodwill with them.
- You're talking as if His Majesty had the ability to dictate foreign policy. I don't know much, but wouldn't this be cause for concern for our British friends?
- It is a cause of concern, just as the solar boilers are. But the British occupiers can't do anything about it without risking open revolt. They violate intellectual property, yes, but they're indispensable and the British aren't willing to risk the ire of the population. In this space, Egypt can maneuver.
- That's reasonable. - Tahira said, more to herself than to her liaison to the Egyptian government. - So what what would His Majesty need from me?
- Miss Tahira, the Khedive is working on the creation of a new position that would answer directly to him. A position with the rank of Minister, with all the power and responsibilities that come with it. It'll need to be guided by someone who is very experienced with the theoretical and practical aspects of the Solar Industry. - Dr. Shalhoub said.
- Of course. - Could it be? Could the Khedive himself call to her, a simple orphan that through observation and intelligence rose above her fate? Would she become the first female Minister in Egyptian history? She was elated to hear more from him.
- Which is why I'll ask you to be my technical advisor once I have sworn in. I might know more than most about solar power, but you've been in this from the start. You'll receive a salary in accordance to your new position... and the Khedive has instructed me that he won't look too deeply if any contract passes through your company, as long as they are reasonable.
- Oh. - Tahira said, the disappointment being such that she barely realized that the Khedive was giving all the resources needed to develop this industry. - It'd be an honour to serve His Majesty.
Stuttgart, Germany
The flyballs began to spin, gradually gathering speed before taking off. Klaus chronometred the time it took for them to become too blurry to notice. His adjutant, Adolph Daimler did the same when the turbine reached its target RPM. It took more than Klaus would've liked, especially when compared to the control tests with steam. Klaus requisitioned a turbine to the Parsons Company in England, and purchased a license to produce the cryonic alloys developed by Agustin Mouchot. It should've been as simple as producing the alloys, send them to be machined by the Daimler Motoren Gesellschaft, and replace the original blades for the ones that wouldn't shatter at low temperatures.
There was something going on with that turbine. Something was odd with it, with its design process. It was as if the brits had skipped a few iterations and reached an optimized design for steam as a working fluid. The rotors and stators were just too specific in their size and shape, and the leap in efficiency as opposed to the previous generation was significant. They had advanced too quickly.
Under normal circumstances, he'd be pleased to see the march of progress. But that enigmatic optimization was designed around steam as the working fluid, and all the advantages were lost when replaced by boiling air. The efficiency of the turbine dropped beyond the levels expected from the lower thermal energy of the air.
It was a problem, but not a critical one. Whatever the brits had done to that turbine, it rendered less than ideal for cryonic working fluids. Maybe next year he'd request his colleagues at the Mechanical Engineering department to develop a turbine optimized for low temperature fluids, but for now the Parsons design should suffice. The idea had merit, and with the help of Adolph Daimler he even managed to run a a car engine with liquid air... for a few blocks. Then the thermal mass of the engine block exhausted all its heat, rendering it incapable of creating the expansion needed for the air to work. Perhaps one day someone would build a practical car engine with liquid air, but in the present the best applications were wherever a large amount of heat could be provided by the surroundings. Just half burying the systems in the ground was enough to prevent this problem, so Klaus suspected they'd be better suited for large scale applications.
One day they would power entire cities when the wind or the sun went away, but today the Liquid Air batteries were still too imperfect to be anything but a laboratory curiousity. Curiousity or not, Klaus was Germany's foremost authority in air liquefaction and fractioning, and had a lot of liberty to conduct his research as he saw fit. A liberty he saw increased after he and Adolph developed a way to scrub the stubborn Carbon Dioxide that would otherwise deposit and foul any cryonic pipe. Alternating between two Stirling coolers had proven good enough to keep the sublimating substance from advancing to the liquefying stages, and also proved a good call by his apprentice.
And there was Adolph, recording the throughput at which the distillation column released liquid oxygen. The young mechanical engineer looked at the blue liquid with something resembling lust as he collected it in a Dewar flask. A small Dewar flask, Klaus noticed.
- You know, I'd appreciate it if you told me when you're going to take University property out of the premises. - Klaus said.
- This flask? - Adolph asked. - It's mine. I made it myself in the workshop of the DMG. Silver lined to prevent corrosion, so it will last longer than the crap the University gives us. - He showed a three pointed star, crudely painted to the side of the flask.
- Very well, just make sure it will be used safely... It'd take quite a lot of time to teach another apprentice on the use of these devices. - Klaus said, masking his worry behind a joke. The last time Adolph Daimler tested his idea of supercharging an Otto engine with pure oxygen, the machine didn't just melt: it shattered and thew shrapnel flying everywhere, one sliver clipping his right cheek and giving him something akin to a fencing scar.
- I did my homework. I've worked on a sturdier engine block, and I'll make sure the engine has better cooling this time. If this works, it could revolutionize the way internal combustion engines work. People would have to talk about the Daimler Cycle!
And in that statement, Klaus recognized something of himself, of his own youth that was now starting to fade. He was like Adolph some time ago, but his thirst for fame and recognition has been quenched by the horrors he enabled in Sicily. Now Klaus worked not for fame, but for the benefit of all mankind. He wanted to ask if there was any merit in supercharging an Internal Combustion engine to make a car go faster, or if that would just result in dangerous machines speeding everywhere. He didn't do so, because Adolph had the right to make his own mistakes and grow over them.
And with that thought completed, Klaus returned to work.
Iquique, Chile
Alejandro Puig stepped down from the third class wagon of the train that belonged to the Franco-Chilena, seconds after the train had stopped at the station that, partially, belonged to him as one of the owners of the company. A climate control unit and stuffed seats gave even the third class more comfort that was available to some first class wagons of other train companies, and workers got reduced fares at his insistence. Nobody would endure the indignities of traveling he experienced in his own youth, not in his name.
He wondered if he did it to truly stay connected to his working roots, or as performative action of a boss that had little in common with the proletariat. For good or ill, he now was the capitalist. Perhaps he extracted less work than other bosses. He provided better accommodations and wages for his workers, and let them had a say in the Company's management. But he still was a man who lived from other's labour, and that thought cleaved his mind.
As he walked the short distance that connected the Almonte Station to the main Iquique Train Station, he couldn't help but to feel guilt over his accumulated wealth, and the almost subconscious attempts at justifying it. He had enough money to never work again and still live a life of luxury, and more wealth was on the horizon as the Franco-Chilena grew and expanded to (or created) new markets.
Money that he hadn't touched much. He lived in a modest house in Almonte, and even fulfilling his needs and indulging in his vices barely made a dent on the enormous amount he had earned.
"So what is the point? why am I hoarding the work of so many?" He thought, as he entered the train station and got in line to buy a ticket to Santiago. First Class this time, third class was horrid in the real train companies.
He was about to chuckle at his own hypocrisy when he heard an altercation, the sounds all too familiar to him: a man of higher station berating those he thought beneath him. He turned towards the source, two well dressed men shouting at a third one who wore worn clothes and had a wooden leg. The two men he recognized, workers of the Franco-Chilena. The cripple he didn't recognize, but was obviously a saltpeter worker. He pushed the people in the line to get at the altercation and see if he could do anything. Once there, he asked the two men what was going on, why they were shouting that way.
- "This man is asking us money so he can go in Second Class, even if he has enough money to go on Third!" - One of his workers said.
- "The nerve! Why should we pay for what he hasn't saved?"
Alejandro paused for a second. Was this how his workers acted? Where was the class solidarity? Where was the fraternity for a man who was as exploited as they were, only more so?
- "Sir... is that what you asked? for a Second Class ticket to Santiago?" - Alejandro asked the decrepit looking man.
- "Yes, sir." - the man answered, holding his army issued kepi in his hand. - "The heat in Third Class... I fear it might kill me. I was saving for a Second Class, but my mother doesn't have much time left, so I have to go now... I just wanted to have a seat."
- "And this gave you the right to talk to another worker like this?" - He turned at his own workers. - "To a man who is in a worse position than you?"
- "Sir... this roto insisted even when we said no."
Roto. A working man. Unsophisticated, of low class. What Peruvians called Chileans in an attempt to insult them, and what many Chileans called Alejandro before he became rich.
- "Roto, you say?" - Alejandro said, ire accumulating in his voice - "You know who else is a roto? I am. And the only reason you have your high salaries and good working conditions is because Constantino and I insisted on giving our former comrades in arms a fair deal as we started the Franco-Chilena. I'm willing to bet the man you insulted lost his leg to get this territory. If so, you should thank him for what you are enjoying. And I know for a fact that either of you could pay for this man's fare and barely feel it in your pocket!"
That got through.
- "Sir, we didn't mean it." - One of the workers said.
- "Oh, yes you did." - Alejandro said, with the same edge he put in his voice when he was a corporal during the war. - "A little bit of money is enough to erase your class solidarity."
- "We will pay for the man's fare, sir." - One of the workers answered, with shame in his voice.
- "Never mind. I'll do it myself. You two... you'd better reflect on your attitude towards those less advantaged. You're not a Patrón de Fundo."**
Alejandro paid for the veteran's fare, invited him to ask for work at the Franco-Chilena and bought him some food and drink, but desisted from asking any personal questions about the man's dying mother. In a way, he envied the man: at least he'd get to say his goodbyes instead of receiving a letter informing that she was hit by a carriage, in the middle of a campaign.
The voyage between Iquique and Santiago felt bitter. For all his rhetoric and actions, he was becoming a different man. One that didn't fit with his place of origin, nor among the upper class his wealth equaled. He could feel the difference in treatment, how men that wouldn't acknowledge him before the war now were looking for his friendship. How women declared their interest and, sometimes, their love. Fake, all of it. He also noted how his old friends couldn't quite relate to him anymore, and how the correspondence with them slowed down...
... which left him with two groups he could still relate to.
First were the mistresses he had in a few cities. They were only interested in his money, but they were like that since he was a broke vagrant looking for whatever work he could find around the country. That was a type of honesty he valued.
Secondly, and most importantly, was his family.
Two older brothers, both of whom had carved comfortable places for themselves in the Chilean South. One of them worked with a beer brewery in Valdivia, and the other was a furniture maker in Chillán. They weren't rich, but were giving their own children a better life than themselves. They teased Alejandro, but never once made anything to take advantage of him, even when he offered them.
A younger sister, a widower that married a violent man who one day vanished. He made sure that she and her daughter lived a comfortable life. She never asked for much, but he gave her enough to spoil her baby sister. He would be staying with her, and with that he'd be revisiting the place where they all grew up.
And the strange mixture of thoughts - some pleasant, some troubling - accompanied him for the duration of the trip. He was relieved when the train reached Santiago. More immediate problems made those thoughts go away. Problems like hiring a coach that was willing to go to La Chimba, in the right bank of the Mapocho. The roughest part of the city. Home.
He didn't need to look for long. Her sister found him a few minutes after he stepped out of the train. She gave him a big hug, and greeted him with a basket full of his favourite food. He ate with his hand, forgetting all the manners that were of no use outside the Franco-Chilena's business.
The mood was fine, initially. But as they drew closer to La Chimba, her sister face started to change. Alejandro noted how the nice buildings from the city center gave way to smaller, older houses. Still nice, at least until they crossed the Mapocho, the river that divided Santiago. Once on the right bank, the houses went from old and poorly maintained to outright squalor. Few parks, few fountains and the stench of shit and decay everywhere.
- "So you felt the smell." - Alejandro's sister asked. - "It's how the city used to smell, or so they told me."
- "No city smells so badly. Is this normal?" - Alejandro answered. The desert, unbearably hot and dry, was at least clean.
- "Normal for us, at least. For the people who live in La Chimba. And nobody cares much. Certainly not your friend the President."
- "He is not my friend." - Alejandro said, noting a bit of resentment in her voice. - "What causes it?"
- "No access to water, and recurrent flooding of the river. Plus we have a lot of veterans begging on the streets." - She said, doing a good job of hiding her contempt. She knew it was not their fault, and that Alejandro could've been among them if he was any less lucky. But that voice still carried some resentment for them.
- "And the government does nothing to help? What about the local authorities?"
- "They might as well not exist. Money is hard to come by. The war was an expensive affair, and the bolivian and Peruvian nitrates that were to be our bounty were robbed from us." - She chuckled, noticing the irony of the situation. - "You've been isolated, Alejandro. Almonte is not like the rest of Chile. There's real poverty here. This is what Chile earned with the war. That and that sun-blasted desert."
- "I... We've noticed that. Augustin and his team are developing new technologies to use in the desert. We're even running a copper refinery with very low operational costs. Once we've set up enough of those, Chile wouldn't need the wealth of the nitrates."
- "Yes, I know. I've seen the fancy Stirling climate control machines. I know how fantastically profitable the Franco-Chilena is. Which is why I have to ask you..."
- "Ask what?"
- "To do something for our neighbours. The people that covered for us when we were young. That helped our mother when we were growing up. They don't deserve this. They're paying for the mistakes of the Conservatives, and have been doing so for almost a decade." - She said, indicating a kid eating dirty bread. - "I know I've asked you a lot, and that I depend on you. But this is unbearable, Alejandro. I have to ask of you."
- "I will." - Alejandro said, finding a worthwhile pursuit for his obscene wealth.
Southampton, England
Morgan Cottrell had traveled by ship three times before, all in ships of the Royal Navy. He was assured that the food in a Oceanic Liner would be better, but he still thought wise to bring some of his own. And so, he found himself in Southampton's market, haggling with a vendor over the price of some oranges and pomegranates. It was mostly a way to pass the time until the boarding could start, but he couldn't deny there was a small thrill on going back and forth in search of an agreement. Morgan could've paid the vendor the full price of the fruit, but he had teased for asking if there were any apricots in late autumn and so the race was on. This was his way of recovering his honour.
There was some refreshing atmosphere in the market. In the anonymity of the mass. No need for excessive formality, or structure or interest, and of every dull social norm he'd have to endure inside the RMS Lucania.
But that time to board was quickly approaching. And so he stopped one last time at a kiosk and bought whatever drew his attention, from satirical magazines to respected periodicals. With that last purchase, he transformed into a rather undignified figure carrying too much cargo for his attire and status. Perhaps he made an unwise decision, but he would commit to it nonetheless. He headed to the cafe were Benjamin Bucknell was waiting at the entrance.
- "Good morning, Mr. Cottrell. Should I help you with your luggage?" - The Chief Engineer asked, in a tone that didn't betray any sarcasm. He was that type of man.
- "I'd appreciate that. Perhaps I bought too much."
- "Not as much as other passengers, I'd guess. But they had the common sense of hiring someone to carry it." - again, no bite in his tone. - "and why did you buy so much fruit?"
- "A precaution based on previous experience." - Morgan answered.
- "Now I'm getting worried. Anyways, the ship's crew will know where to store these once we get there."
- "Don't we have an hour or two so before the boarding begins?"
- "We do, but the First Officer called for you personally. He insisted on requesting your presence."
- "Did he give any reason? I don't think I'm illustrious enough to warrant that treatment."
- "He invited you to a tour of the ship on behalf of Sir Bache Cunard. They are most impressed by the advances made possible by the ADA loaned to them."
- "Oh. That would prove interesting." - Morgan admitted. "We should go at once, we can always drink coffee on the ship."
Southampton was busy in a way Bletchley or London weren't. People going from one place to another, each knowing what to do and where to be next gave the port a contagious energy, but it also made traversing the place more difficult. By the time they reached the Lucania's promenade, both Cottrell and Bucknell were physically tired. Thankfully, a sailor took their luggage and stored it away. The Captain appeared only some seconds later, and greeted both Cottrell and Bucknell. Pleasantries were exchanged briefly, as the Captain gave the feeling that he was eager for the tour ahead, but too busy to give it much time.
- "Very well, Mr. Cottrell. Shall we see the ways in which that mechanical brain you've invented has changed this ship?"
- "It isn't my invention at all. I merely financed. If anyone is responsible for it, is my Chief Engineer, Mr. Bucknell." - Morgan said, upset a the idea of getting credit for someone else's work.
- "And I merely followed the instructions of a giant. This is Charles Babbages' work. I only followed his instructions."
- "Then be sure to give Mr. Babbage compliments on behalf of the Cunard Line. What that machine has helped us achieve is quite something. I am not the most qualified to speak about the technical aspects, but there's a myriad of small changes to the powerplants that helped them to extract those few extra horsepower that were previously lost to inefficiencies. And the same goes for the propeller: it helped the shipbuilders crack some equations that resulted in a better conservation of a laminar flow through its surface, retarding the appearance of cavitation at high speeds."
What followed was a tour through the guts of the ship, conversations with the men who worked the engines, from lowly coal stokers to the chief engineers of the ship, who asked question that Morgan wasn't qualified to answer. Whatever the Cunard Line and the Navy achieved on the Lucania with the ADA, was beyond his understanding.
The days passed slowly at sea. The pomegranates lasted a two days, and the reading material exhausted itself by the third. By the fourth, the seasickness had faded enough to encourage Morgan to step away from his room. Unsure about the hour, he headed to the first class dining room to get something - anything - to eat and regain some energy before committing to social tasks.
To his horror, the diner was served, and it looked as if every passenger had a spare seat for him. He considered turning back and making himself more presentable, but a familiar sounding "Mr. Cottrell!" buried that possibility. Benjamin Bucknell had spotted him, and signaled to grab a seat at his side on one the impossibly long tables. In front of Bucknell, an entourage of four men in uniform were dining and chatting with the Chief Engineer.
Morgan did so, and within minutes there was something warm on his plate and a fine wine on his cup. That made him somewhat more sociable, even if it didn't help with his disheveled appearance. It turned out that Bucknell had made acquaintances with members of Her Majesty's Diplomatic Service, and everyone was chatting about the recent developments. From the recent nationalization of undiscovered mineral reserves in Chile, the declining health of Tsar Nicholas II, and some nonsense going on in the Ottoman Empire. It would take a while for Morgan to ask why the ship was carrying four members of the Diplomatic Services.
- "Six, actually. The others aren't present."
- "That still doesn't answer my question." - Morgan insisted.
- "Very well, it's not an official thing just yet, but the United States will issue a call for a diplomatic resolution to the Essequibo question. The Cleveland administration has offered 'diplomatic representation' to Venezuela."
- "Oh, I've read something about that in the papers. So Venezuela went through with that? What will happen now?"
- "It is still unofficial, but Her Majesty would like to show goodwill towards the United States after the Egan Affair. She considers this the best opportunity to repair the relations with the colonials." - The tone of the diplomat was one of sincere jest - "President Cleveland would also like for this opportunity to make amends and regain some of the prestige lost by his predecessor."
- "So, the US will represent Venezuela. Will anyone represent us? And to whom?"
- "This one is smart." - Another of the diplomats interjected. - "The idea of Mr. Cleveland is one of indirect representation at a neutral arbiter. We'll be represented by France."
- "Do the French even like us?"
- "It's not a matter of sympathy. Given the amount of disputed borders around the world, a success in this exercise could result in a new era of diplomacy. We will owe the French support in the future."
- "So it is in France's self-interest."
- "It always is, my friend. Nations have interests, not friends."
- "And who will be the arbiters? It stands to reason that it should be a part who doesn't have conflicting interests... The Russian Empire, perhaps?"
- "It was a part of the proposal, but the health of the Tsar will make that difficult. And the United States has insisted the issues should be handled by the legislative branches of the arbiter countries. 'To ensure a plurality of views', Mr. Cleveland said."
- "And does that make any sense?"
- "It is consistent with the rhetoric from the United States, and Her Majesty is open to the idea. So far, we're coordinating with several European countries and Germany has opened up to the idea. Switzerland, Belgium and Sweden have requested more information."
- "So, this crazy yank plan might work?"
- "That's how things are shaping. And if it works, this would indeed open the world to a new era of diplomacy... but look at us, talking only about our fields. What about ou, Mr. Cottrell? What are you doing here? Mr. Bucknell told us something about a mysterious device a yank made? Something about turning solar light to electricity?"
- "I've made some investments in technological developments on the other side of the Pond. That would be Fritts' Photoelectric Cell, which indeed produces energy directly from the sun, unlike the Solar Boilers my company produces. By all means, it sounds like one of the obvious scams we receive on an almost daily basis, but we could replicate it on our side. So now Dr. Fritts has perfected the design and has found several clients for his device. The problem is that he doesn't know how to produce it at a commercial scale, which is where I come in."
- "Electricity from the sun. Seems unlikely." - The first diplomat said.
- "We're living in unlikely times, it would seem." - Cottrell retorted, before starting a toast to change the subject into more frivolous matters.
The Lucania reached Boston on the fifth day. The crew cheered as the tug boats helped with the docking process, and upon stopping they erupted in celebration. It had shattered the previous speed record - held by her "Sister" Campania - by a whole knot. People on the dock joined on the celebration, and Morgan made preparations to exit the ship as fast as possible. He knew that if the Captain caught him, he'd have to spend a full day in the celebration. So he grabbed some of his luggage, paid a good amount to two strong looking passengers of third class to carry the rest, and set foot in the Americas for the first time in his life.
His Chief Engineer wasn't so lucky. He spotted Benjamin almost reaching the ramp, only to be stopped by the Captain himself, and dragged into the impromptu party inside. A scene that wouldn't be out of place in a story by that Bostonian author, Edgar Allan Poe.
There was no time to mourn, though. The schedule was tight, and he crossed the Boston harbor at a brisk pace.
As he walked closer to the city proper, he noticed a familiar element in some roofs: Mouchot's Solar Heaters. An advertisement on a wall, proudly proclaiming in large letters "Edison's Solar Heater" explained their origin. Smaller letters, not so proudly admitted the product was "licensed".
So that witch Goyenechea had reached the United States, and was doing businesses with Thomas Edison. That meant that very soon the United States would join the Solar Race. Eventually Edison and his company would find a new application, independent from Mouchot's research in Atacama. That was concerning.
Just as Southampton, the city was boiling with activity and motion. Many voices selling anything and everything. Morgan even thought he'd heard "apricots" among the crowd. But that wasn't possible.
- "Apricots! Blueberries! Blackberries! Spring and summer fruit, as fresh as in season!" - He heard again. Now he was interested. Apricots.
He spotted the voice. A black girl, perhaps 10 years old, was advertising a fruit stall. There was indeed some sort of orange fruit that looked like apricots. But it was winter. How could that be? Imported from the southern hemisphere, perhaps?
- "Everything's fresh from our farms." - the vendor said, answering his question. It was a black man, probably the girl's father. - "Taste some if you don't believe me."
- "May I, sir?" - Cottrell asked.
- "By all means, Mister! Try some. We harvested it just yesterday."
Morgan did so. It was indeed a fresh apricot. If it wasn't the best apricot he had ever tasted, it was close.
- "How is this possible?" - Morgan asked. - "Apricots are summer fruits, and winter's almost here."
The vendor let out a thunderous laugh.
- "That, sir, is a secret."
Cairo, Egypt
Tahira awoke to the smell of food being prepared. Breakfast, early in the morning and prepared by one of her servants. She still felt weird being the one served instead of serving others, but the demands of her position left Tahira little time to take care of such things. She hoped the generous salaries she gave her house servant and her cook were enough for them to hide any embarrassment they felt when they saw the little orphan that somehow had raised above her station. She thought she'd care less for their opinion, but she still felt that she was being judged by them whenever they passed her by on the library where she studied geometry or finances or physics, or when they announced the arrival of her Scottish tutor.
But as long as the money was good, they'd keep those opinions to themselves. Money was indeed good. Enough money for her to afford a bourgeois lifestyle, and with the Egyptian government being her best client, that was unlikely to change. Enough money to not fear every single letter that arrived at her inbox. Instead, she ate her breakfast calmly and read each one, until arriving at the one that would've put fear in her heart even a few months ago. Her Sales Representative in Alexandria was reporting a client that demanded a refund, as her Solar Boilers weren't capable of powering a steam engine.
Tahira sighed, and began writing instructions to the SR. She could've asked her secretary to do that, but she had the time and she felt the need to keep some oversight on those developments. Tahira instructed the representative to accept the refund if the boilers were undamaged, but to remind the unwise customer that these devices were intended to boil water and not power machines. For that, he'd have to go with Cottrell's designs (or the occasional ones built in South America, but those were rarely sold to private citizens).
Maybe later she'd address the problem of clients mistaking the use of her design. She had discarded trying to compete with Cottrell, as the machines produced in England were of a sophistication that was outside of the possibilities of production for the industry of Egypt. They looked simple, just a mirrored glass and some pipes, plus some mechanical parts. But the curved glass was impact resistant and impossibly smooth, and the pipe, was made of a metal that didn't oxidize and flake off at high temperatures. Tahira had to educate herself on those subjects, and in doing so opened her eyes to just how much complexity there was in the world. She understood the people that thought it would be just a matter of slapping a curved mirror and pointing it to the sun, but at the same point it exasperated her that they couldn't see just how complex those machines could get, how difficult it could be to extract every joule out of a sunbeam.
It didn't help that Jamal Al Afghani, the same man who a few years ago was talking against women in the workforce*, was now singing praises to both women working the solar boilers and pushing for the development of a native Arabic Solar Industry as an instrument for Pan Arabic liberation. So every now and then she had to deal with a client that was disappointed because her solar boiler wasn't the symbol of Nationalism he thought he was buying.
With the breakfast done and her mind ready, she walked the moderate distance to the workshop turned factory that she somehow managed to develop. Some days she could work from her office at home, but today she had to be there: even in distant and poor Egypt, progress was being made. She entered the workshop, now hosting several production lines where specialized workers focused on aspects of the fabrication process, and checked that everything was in order. Everything was, the oddness of a factory where women were the majority now fading. Women were initially cheaper, and less prone to take issue with women giving orders. Now that she could afford better wages, only a few men were willing to work for one.
No novelties to report, so she went directly to the office of his Chief Engineer - a Turkish man, lanky and prone to talk about Istanbul - where him and her Sales Representative - an older Libyan woman whose story changed every time Tahira asked her - awaited with a long box over a table. The Chief Engineer held a crowbar in his hands in a way that suggested a colorful past, and didn't wait for Thahira to give the order to open open the box before he went and ripped the top on a single, smooth movement.
Inside, covered by sawdust to protect it from the travel, was that progress. It didn't look like much, rough sheets of elongated metal that looked more primitive than the current glass mirrors used in her solar boilers. They were indeed more simple than the mirrored surfaces, being just sheets of iron plated with nickel to prevent corrosion and reflect the sun. A machine with those sheets installed did indeed look like a regression when compared to the ones that carried shiny mirrors.
Which was the exactly the point. Mirrors were expensive and valuable. They were fragile, too. Plated nickel was cheap and durable, and reflected light well enough to not affect the operation of her boilers. They were easier to manufacture, and producing them in Egypt was not outside the possibilities. Prices would go down, production would expand, and margins would increase. That was progress too, even if it wasn't as flashy as the machines produced in England or Chile.
It was then when Tahira's secretary announced an unscheduled visit. Tahira didn't have to ask who it was, only one person made a habit of arriving unannounced. Dr. Shalhoub awaited her at her office.
- An Italian maple desk. I guess things are working out well for you, Miss Tahira. - Dr. Shalhoub said.
- Of course. I have an excellent client and some generous contracts. And we've just found a way to reduce the prices even more. Is that ivory on your walking stick?. - Tahira fired back.
- Yes, but not from any elephant you've seen. This was extracted from an elephant that lived in Siberia long before the pyramids. A mammoth.
- It must have been expensive. - She said.
- Indeed it was, but I didn't pay for it. It was a gift from the Khedive himself, in recognition of the lives our program has saved. I guess that the profits from your company are his equivalent for you.
- His Majesty has been most generous.
- He is only recognizing the labour we've made. Child mortality, waterborne diseases and food poisoning have all dropped off a cliff whenever the solar boilers are installed. We are part of something transformational, Miss Tahira. These machines are changing the face of Egypt, which is why the Khedive is seeking to expand the uses of solar energy in all relevant industries.
- That will take a while. - Tahira said, before enumerating the reasons why Egyptian industry wasn't in a position to compete with the English or Chileans. - If I have to make a guess, we'd need fifteen years of continuous investment to reach parity with what Cottrell and Mouchot can produce today. What they'll have by then, it's difficult to consider.
- So, it's your opinion that it isn't feasible to build our own native industry?
- No. I didn't say that. I'm saying that Egypt is at a disadvantage. However, Chile was also at a disadvantage and they've managed to compete with England on this field. For what I've gathered about Dr. Mouchot and his associates, they designed a very profitable product which then allowed to invest in experts from Europe and the creation of a small but specialized industry in Chile. That, in turn, allowed them to create those solar smelters and the climate control units.
- We could do that. The Khedive is willing to invest to create this industry.
- I don't think it's that simple. Mouchot was a visionary. He created the industry and didn't face any competition. He and Morgan Cottrell operated in different spheres when the market was small. This isn't the case anymore. We'd have to operate at a loss for several years, always catching up, always reacting to the developments from abroad.
- And yet, you've found a niche. The cheap boilers we've developed, they're unlike anything Mouchot or Cottrell have developed. Cheaper than dirt, but effective in their role. We don't need sophistication, we need something that is good enough. And the Khedive is asking something else from us, as well.
- What does His Majesty need from us?
- Miss Tahira, news of the success of our sanitation program has spread beyond Egypt. The governments from our neighbours face many of the same problems as us, and the Khedive thinks it'd be a good opportunity to increase trade and goodwill with them.
- You're talking as if His Majesty had the ability to dictate foreign policy. I don't know much, but wouldn't this be cause for concern for our British friends?
- It is a cause of concern, just as the solar boilers are. But the British occupiers can't do anything about it without risking open revolt. They violate intellectual property, yes, but they're indispensable and the British aren't willing to risk the ire of the population. In this space, Egypt can maneuver.
- That's reasonable. - Tahira said, more to herself than to her liaison to the Egyptian government. - So what what would His Majesty need from me?
- Miss Tahira, the Khedive is working on the creation of a new position that would answer directly to him. A position with the rank of Minister, with all the power and responsibilities that come with it. It'll need to be guided by someone who is very experienced with the theoretical and practical aspects of the Solar Industry. - Dr. Shalhoub said.
- Of course. - Could it be? Could the Khedive himself call to her, a simple orphan that through observation and intelligence rose above her fate? Would she become the first female Minister in Egyptian history? She was elated to hear more from him.
- Which is why I'll ask you to be my technical advisor once I have sworn in. I might know more than most about solar power, but you've been in this from the start. You'll receive a salary in accordance to your new position... and the Khedive has instructed me that he won't look too deeply if any contract passes through your company, as long as they are reasonable.
- Oh. - Tahira said, the disappointment being such that she barely realized that the Khedive was giving all the resources needed to develop this industry. - It'd be an honour to serve His Majesty.
Stuttgart, Germany
The flyballs began to spin, gradually gathering speed before taking off. Klaus chronometred the time it took for them to become too blurry to notice. His adjutant, Adolph Daimler did the same when the turbine reached its target RPM. It took more than Klaus would've liked, especially when compared to the control tests with steam. Klaus requisitioned a turbine to the Parsons Company in England, and purchased a license to produce the cryonic alloys developed by Agustin Mouchot. It should've been as simple as producing the alloys, send them to be machined by the Daimler Motoren Gesellschaft, and replace the original blades for the ones that wouldn't shatter at low temperatures.
There was something going on with that turbine. Something was odd with it, with its design process. It was as if the brits had skipped a few iterations and reached an optimized design for steam as a working fluid. The rotors and stators were just too specific in their size and shape, and the leap in efficiency as opposed to the previous generation was significant. They had advanced too quickly.
Under normal circumstances, he'd be pleased to see the march of progress. But that enigmatic optimization was designed around steam as the working fluid, and all the advantages were lost when replaced by boiling air. The efficiency of the turbine dropped beyond the levels expected from the lower thermal energy of the air.
It was a problem, but not a critical one. Whatever the brits had done to that turbine, it rendered less than ideal for cryonic working fluids. Maybe next year he'd request his colleagues at the Mechanical Engineering department to develop a turbine optimized for low temperature fluids, but for now the Parsons design should suffice. The idea had merit, and with the help of Adolph Daimler he even managed to run a a car engine with liquid air... for a few blocks. Then the thermal mass of the engine block exhausted all its heat, rendering it incapable of creating the expansion needed for the air to work. Perhaps one day someone would build a practical car engine with liquid air, but in the present the best applications were wherever a large amount of heat could be provided by the surroundings. Just half burying the systems in the ground was enough to prevent this problem, so Klaus suspected they'd be better suited for large scale applications.
One day they would power entire cities when the wind or the sun went away, but today the Liquid Air batteries were still too imperfect to be anything but a laboratory curiousity. Curiousity or not, Klaus was Germany's foremost authority in air liquefaction and fractioning, and had a lot of liberty to conduct his research as he saw fit. A liberty he saw increased after he and Adolph developed a way to scrub the stubborn Carbon Dioxide that would otherwise deposit and foul any cryonic pipe. Alternating between two Stirling coolers had proven good enough to keep the sublimating substance from advancing to the liquefying stages, and also proved a good call by his apprentice.
And there was Adolph, recording the throughput at which the distillation column released liquid oxygen. The young mechanical engineer looked at the blue liquid with something resembling lust as he collected it in a Dewar flask. A small Dewar flask, Klaus noticed.
- You know, I'd appreciate it if you told me when you're going to take University property out of the premises. - Klaus said.
- This flask? - Adolph asked. - It's mine. I made it myself in the workshop of the DMG. Silver lined to prevent corrosion, so it will last longer than the crap the University gives us. - He showed a three pointed star, crudely painted to the side of the flask.
- Very well, just make sure it will be used safely... It'd take quite a lot of time to teach another apprentice on the use of these devices. - Klaus said, masking his worry behind a joke. The last time Adolph Daimler tested his idea of supercharging an Otto engine with pure oxygen, the machine didn't just melt: it shattered and thew shrapnel flying everywhere, one sliver clipping his right cheek and giving him something akin to a fencing scar.
- I did my homework. I've worked on a sturdier engine block, and I'll make sure the engine has better cooling this time. If this works, it could revolutionize the way internal combustion engines work. People would have to talk about the Daimler Cycle!
And in that statement, Klaus recognized something of himself, of his own youth that was now starting to fade. He was like Adolph some time ago, but his thirst for fame and recognition has been quenched by the horrors he enabled in Sicily. Now Klaus worked not for fame, but for the benefit of all mankind. He wanted to ask if there was any merit in supercharging an Internal Combustion engine to make a car go faster, or if that would just result in dangerous machines speeding everywhere. He didn't do so, because Adolph had the right to make his own mistakes and grow over them.
And with that thought completed, Klaus returned to work.
Iquique, Chile
Alejandro Puig stepped down from the third class wagon of the train that belonged to the Franco-Chilena, seconds after the train had stopped at the station that, partially, belonged to him as one of the owners of the company. A climate control unit and stuffed seats gave even the third class more comfort that was available to some first class wagons of other train companies, and workers got reduced fares at his insistence. Nobody would endure the indignities of traveling he experienced in his own youth, not in his name.
He wondered if he did it to truly stay connected to his working roots, or as performative action of a boss that had little in common with the proletariat. For good or ill, he now was the capitalist. Perhaps he extracted less work than other bosses. He provided better accommodations and wages for his workers, and let them had a say in the Company's management. But he still was a man who lived from other's labour, and that thought cleaved his mind.
As he walked the short distance that connected the Almonte Station to the main Iquique Train Station, he couldn't help but to feel guilt over his accumulated wealth, and the almost subconscious attempts at justifying it. He had enough money to never work again and still live a life of luxury, and more wealth was on the horizon as the Franco-Chilena grew and expanded to (or created) new markets.
Money that he hadn't touched much. He lived in a modest house in Almonte, and even fulfilling his needs and indulging in his vices barely made a dent on the enormous amount he had earned.
"So what is the point? why am I hoarding the work of so many?" He thought, as he entered the train station and got in line to buy a ticket to Santiago. First Class this time, third class was horrid in the real train companies.
He was about to chuckle at his own hypocrisy when he heard an altercation, the sounds all too familiar to him: a man of higher station berating those he thought beneath him. He turned towards the source, two well dressed men shouting at a third one who wore worn clothes and had a wooden leg. The two men he recognized, workers of the Franco-Chilena. The cripple he didn't recognize, but was obviously a saltpeter worker. He pushed the people in the line to get at the altercation and see if he could do anything. Once there, he asked the two men what was going on, why they were shouting that way.
- "This man is asking us money so he can go in Second Class, even if he has enough money to go on Third!" - One of his workers said.
- "The nerve! Why should we pay for what he hasn't saved?"
Alejandro paused for a second. Was this how his workers acted? Where was the class solidarity? Where was the fraternity for a man who was as exploited as they were, only more so?
- "Sir... is that what you asked? for a Second Class ticket to Santiago?" - Alejandro asked the decrepit looking man.
- "Yes, sir." - the man answered, holding his army issued kepi in his hand. - "The heat in Third Class... I fear it might kill me. I was saving for a Second Class, but my mother doesn't have much time left, so I have to go now... I just wanted to have a seat."
- "And this gave you the right to talk to another worker like this?" - He turned at his own workers. - "To a man who is in a worse position than you?"
- "Sir... this roto insisted even when we said no."
Roto. A working man. Unsophisticated, of low class. What Peruvians called Chileans in an attempt to insult them, and what many Chileans called Alejandro before he became rich.
- "Roto, you say?" - Alejandro said, ire accumulating in his voice - "You know who else is a roto? I am. And the only reason you have your high salaries and good working conditions is because Constantino and I insisted on giving our former comrades in arms a fair deal as we started the Franco-Chilena. I'm willing to bet the man you insulted lost his leg to get this territory. If so, you should thank him for what you are enjoying. And I know for a fact that either of you could pay for this man's fare and barely feel it in your pocket!"
That got through.
- "Sir, we didn't mean it." - One of the workers said.
- "Oh, yes you did." - Alejandro said, with the same edge he put in his voice when he was a corporal during the war. - "A little bit of money is enough to erase your class solidarity."
- "We will pay for the man's fare, sir." - One of the workers answered, with shame in his voice.
- "Never mind. I'll do it myself. You two... you'd better reflect on your attitude towards those less advantaged. You're not a Patrón de Fundo."**
Alejandro paid for the veteran's fare, invited him to ask for work at the Franco-Chilena and bought him some food and drink, but desisted from asking any personal questions about the man's dying mother. In a way, he envied the man: at least he'd get to say his goodbyes instead of receiving a letter informing that she was hit by a carriage, in the middle of a campaign.
The voyage between Iquique and Santiago felt bitter. For all his rhetoric and actions, he was becoming a different man. One that didn't fit with his place of origin, nor among the upper class his wealth equaled. He could feel the difference in treatment, how men that wouldn't acknowledge him before the war now were looking for his friendship. How women declared their interest and, sometimes, their love. Fake, all of it. He also noted how his old friends couldn't quite relate to him anymore, and how the correspondence with them slowed down...
... which left him with two groups he could still relate to.
First were the mistresses he had in a few cities. They were only interested in his money, but they were like that since he was a broke vagrant looking for whatever work he could find around the country. That was a type of honesty he valued.
Secondly, and most importantly, was his family.
Two older brothers, both of whom had carved comfortable places for themselves in the Chilean South. One of them worked with a beer brewery in Valdivia, and the other was a furniture maker in Chillán. They weren't rich, but were giving their own children a better life than themselves. They teased Alejandro, but never once made anything to take advantage of him, even when he offered them.
A younger sister, a widower that married a violent man who one day vanished. He made sure that she and her daughter lived a comfortable life. She never asked for much, but he gave her enough to spoil her baby sister. He would be staying with her, and with that he'd be revisiting the place where they all grew up.
And the strange mixture of thoughts - some pleasant, some troubling - accompanied him for the duration of the trip. He was relieved when the train reached Santiago. More immediate problems made those thoughts go away. Problems like hiring a coach that was willing to go to La Chimba, in the right bank of the Mapocho. The roughest part of the city. Home.
He didn't need to look for long. Her sister found him a few minutes after he stepped out of the train. She gave him a big hug, and greeted him with a basket full of his favourite food. He ate with his hand, forgetting all the manners that were of no use outside the Franco-Chilena's business.
The mood was fine, initially. But as they drew closer to La Chimba, her sister face started to change. Alejandro noted how the nice buildings from the city center gave way to smaller, older houses. Still nice, at least until they crossed the Mapocho, the river that divided Santiago. Once on the right bank, the houses went from old and poorly maintained to outright squalor. Few parks, few fountains and the stench of shit and decay everywhere.
- "So you felt the smell." - Alejandro's sister asked. - "It's how the city used to smell, or so they told me."
- "No city smells so badly. Is this normal?" - Alejandro answered. The desert, unbearably hot and dry, was at least clean.
- "Normal for us, at least. For the people who live in La Chimba. And nobody cares much. Certainly not your friend the President."
- "He is not my friend." - Alejandro said, noting a bit of resentment in her voice. - "What causes it?"
- "No access to water, and recurrent flooding of the river. Plus we have a lot of veterans begging on the streets." - She said, doing a good job of hiding her contempt. She knew it was not their fault, and that Alejandro could've been among them if he was any less lucky. But that voice still carried some resentment for them.
- "And the government does nothing to help? What about the local authorities?"
- "They might as well not exist. Money is hard to come by. The war was an expensive affair, and the bolivian and Peruvian nitrates that were to be our bounty were robbed from us." - She chuckled, noticing the irony of the situation. - "You've been isolated, Alejandro. Almonte is not like the rest of Chile. There's real poverty here. This is what Chile earned with the war. That and that sun-blasted desert."
- "I... We've noticed that. Augustin and his team are developing new technologies to use in the desert. We're even running a copper refinery with very low operational costs. Once we've set up enough of those, Chile wouldn't need the wealth of the nitrates."
- "Yes, I know. I've seen the fancy Stirling climate control machines. I know how fantastically profitable the Franco-Chilena is. Which is why I have to ask you..."
- "Ask what?"
- "To do something for our neighbours. The people that covered for us when we were young. That helped our mother when we were growing up. They don't deserve this. They're paying for the mistakes of the Conservatives, and have been doing so for almost a decade." - She said, indicating a kid eating dirty bread. - "I know I've asked you a lot, and that I depend on you. But this is unbearable, Alejandro. I have to ask of you."
- "I will." - Alejandro said, finding a worthwhile pursuit for his obscene wealth.
Southampton, England
Morgan Cottrell had traveled by ship three times before, all in ships of the Royal Navy. He was assured that the food in a Oceanic Liner would be better, but he still thought wise to bring some of his own. And so, he found himself in Southampton's market, haggling with a vendor over the price of some oranges and pomegranates. It was mostly a way to pass the time until the boarding could start, but he couldn't deny there was a small thrill on going back and forth in search of an agreement. Morgan could've paid the vendor the full price of the fruit, but he had teased for asking if there were any apricots in late autumn and so the race was on. This was his way of recovering his honour.
There was some refreshing atmosphere in the market. In the anonymity of the mass. No need for excessive formality, or structure or interest, and of every dull social norm he'd have to endure inside the RMS Lucania.
But that time to board was quickly approaching. And so he stopped one last time at a kiosk and bought whatever drew his attention, from satirical magazines to respected periodicals. With that last purchase, he transformed into a rather undignified figure carrying too much cargo for his attire and status. Perhaps he made an unwise decision, but he would commit to it nonetheless. He headed to the cafe were Benjamin Bucknell was waiting at the entrance.
- "Good morning, Mr. Cottrell. Should I help you with your luggage?" - The Chief Engineer asked, in a tone that didn't betray any sarcasm. He was that type of man.
- "I'd appreciate that. Perhaps I bought too much."
- "Not as much as other passengers, I'd guess. But they had the common sense of hiring someone to carry it." - again, no bite in his tone. - "and why did you buy so much fruit?"
- "A precaution based on previous experience." - Morgan answered.
- "Now I'm getting worried. Anyways, the ship's crew will know where to store these once we get there."
- "Don't we have an hour or two so before the boarding begins?"
- "We do, but the First Officer called for you personally. He insisted on requesting your presence."
- "Did he give any reason? I don't think I'm illustrious enough to warrant that treatment."
- "He invited you to a tour of the ship on behalf of Sir Bache Cunard. They are most impressed by the advances made possible by the ADA loaned to them."
- "Oh. That would prove interesting." - Morgan admitted. "We should go at once, we can always drink coffee on the ship."
Southampton was busy in a way Bletchley or London weren't. People going from one place to another, each knowing what to do and where to be next gave the port a contagious energy, but it also made traversing the place more difficult. By the time they reached the Lucania's promenade, both Cottrell and Bucknell were physically tired. Thankfully, a sailor took their luggage and stored it away. The Captain appeared only some seconds later, and greeted both Cottrell and Bucknell. Pleasantries were exchanged briefly, as the Captain gave the feeling that he was eager for the tour ahead, but too busy to give it much time.
- "Very well, Mr. Cottrell. Shall we see the ways in which that mechanical brain you've invented has changed this ship?"
- "It isn't my invention at all. I merely financed. If anyone is responsible for it, is my Chief Engineer, Mr. Bucknell." - Morgan said, upset a the idea of getting credit for someone else's work.
- "And I merely followed the instructions of a giant. This is Charles Babbages' work. I only followed his instructions."
- "Then be sure to give Mr. Babbage compliments on behalf of the Cunard Line. What that machine has helped us achieve is quite something. I am not the most qualified to speak about the technical aspects, but there's a myriad of small changes to the powerplants that helped them to extract those few extra horsepower that were previously lost to inefficiencies. And the same goes for the propeller: it helped the shipbuilders crack some equations that resulted in a better conservation of a laminar flow through its surface, retarding the appearance of cavitation at high speeds."
What followed was a tour through the guts of the ship, conversations with the men who worked the engines, from lowly coal stokers to the chief engineers of the ship, who asked question that Morgan wasn't qualified to answer. Whatever the Cunard Line and the Navy achieved on the Lucania with the ADA, was beyond his understanding.
The days passed slowly at sea. The pomegranates lasted a two days, and the reading material exhausted itself by the third. By the fourth, the seasickness had faded enough to encourage Morgan to step away from his room. Unsure about the hour, he headed to the first class dining room to get something - anything - to eat and regain some energy before committing to social tasks.
To his horror, the diner was served, and it looked as if every passenger had a spare seat for him. He considered turning back and making himself more presentable, but a familiar sounding "Mr. Cottrell!" buried that possibility. Benjamin Bucknell had spotted him, and signaled to grab a seat at his side on one the impossibly long tables. In front of Bucknell, an entourage of four men in uniform were dining and chatting with the Chief Engineer.
Morgan did so, and within minutes there was something warm on his plate and a fine wine on his cup. That made him somewhat more sociable, even if it didn't help with his disheveled appearance. It turned out that Bucknell had made acquaintances with members of Her Majesty's Diplomatic Service, and everyone was chatting about the recent developments. From the recent nationalization of undiscovered mineral reserves in Chile, the declining health of Tsar Nicholas II, and some nonsense going on in the Ottoman Empire. It would take a while for Morgan to ask why the ship was carrying four members of the Diplomatic Services.
- "Six, actually. The others aren't present."
- "That still doesn't answer my question." - Morgan insisted.
- "Very well, it's not an official thing just yet, but the United States will issue a call for a diplomatic resolution to the Essequibo question. The Cleveland administration has offered 'diplomatic representation' to Venezuela."
- "Oh, I've read something about that in the papers. So Venezuela went through with that? What will happen now?"
- "It is still unofficial, but Her Majesty would like to show goodwill towards the United States after the Egan Affair. She considers this the best opportunity to repair the relations with the colonials." - The tone of the diplomat was one of sincere jest - "President Cleveland would also like for this opportunity to make amends and regain some of the prestige lost by his predecessor."
- "So, the US will represent Venezuela. Will anyone represent us? And to whom?"
- "This one is smart." - Another of the diplomats interjected. - "The idea of Mr. Cleveland is one of indirect representation at a neutral arbiter. We'll be represented by France."
- "Do the French even like us?"
- "It's not a matter of sympathy. Given the amount of disputed borders around the world, a success in this exercise could result in a new era of diplomacy. We will owe the French support in the future."
- "So it is in France's self-interest."
- "It always is, my friend. Nations have interests, not friends."
- "And who will be the arbiters? It stands to reason that it should be a part who doesn't have conflicting interests... The Russian Empire, perhaps?"
- "It was a part of the proposal, but the health of the Tsar will make that difficult. And the United States has insisted the issues should be handled by the legislative branches of the arbiter countries. 'To ensure a plurality of views', Mr. Cleveland said."
- "And does that make any sense?"
- "It is consistent with the rhetoric from the United States, and Her Majesty is open to the idea. So far, we're coordinating with several European countries and Germany has opened up to the idea. Switzerland, Belgium and Sweden have requested more information."
- "So, this crazy yank plan might work?"
- "That's how things are shaping. And if it works, this would indeed open the world to a new era of diplomacy... but look at us, talking only about our fields. What about ou, Mr. Cottrell? What are you doing here? Mr. Bucknell told us something about a mysterious device a yank made? Something about turning solar light to electricity?"
- "I've made some investments in technological developments on the other side of the Pond. That would be Fritts' Photoelectric Cell, which indeed produces energy directly from the sun, unlike the Solar Boilers my company produces. By all means, it sounds like one of the obvious scams we receive on an almost daily basis, but we could replicate it on our side. So now Dr. Fritts has perfected the design and has found several clients for his device. The problem is that he doesn't know how to produce it at a commercial scale, which is where I come in."
- "Electricity from the sun. Seems unlikely." - The first diplomat said.
- "We're living in unlikely times, it would seem." - Cottrell retorted, before starting a toast to change the subject into more frivolous matters.
The Lucania reached Boston on the fifth day. The crew cheered as the tug boats helped with the docking process, and upon stopping they erupted in celebration. It had shattered the previous speed record - held by her "Sister" Campania - by a whole knot. People on the dock joined on the celebration, and Morgan made preparations to exit the ship as fast as possible. He knew that if the Captain caught him, he'd have to spend a full day in the celebration. So he grabbed some of his luggage, paid a good amount to two strong looking passengers of third class to carry the rest, and set foot in the Americas for the first time in his life.
His Chief Engineer wasn't so lucky. He spotted Benjamin almost reaching the ramp, only to be stopped by the Captain himself, and dragged into the impromptu party inside. A scene that wouldn't be out of place in a story by that Bostonian author, Edgar Allan Poe.
There was no time to mourn, though. The schedule was tight, and he crossed the Boston harbor at a brisk pace.
As he walked closer to the city proper, he noticed a familiar element in some roofs: Mouchot's Solar Heaters. An advertisement on a wall, proudly proclaiming in large letters "Edison's Solar Heater" explained their origin. Smaller letters, not so proudly admitted the product was "licensed".
So that witch Goyenechea had reached the United States, and was doing businesses with Thomas Edison. That meant that very soon the United States would join the Solar Race. Eventually Edison and his company would find a new application, independent from Mouchot's research in Atacama. That was concerning.
Just as Southampton, the city was boiling with activity and motion. Many voices selling anything and everything. Morgan even thought he'd heard "apricots" among the crowd. But that wasn't possible.
- "Apricots! Blueberries! Blackberries! Spring and summer fruit, as fresh as in season!" - He heard again. Now he was interested. Apricots.
He spotted the voice. A black girl, perhaps 10 years old, was advertising a fruit stall. There was indeed some sort of orange fruit that looked like apricots. But it was winter. How could that be? Imported from the southern hemisphere, perhaps?
- "Everything's fresh from our farms." - the vendor said, answering his question. It was a black man, probably the girl's father. - "Taste some if you don't believe me."
- "May I, sir?" - Cottrell asked.
- "By all means, Mister! Try some. We harvested it just yesterday."
Morgan did so. It was indeed a fresh apricot. If it wasn't the best apricot he had ever tasted, it was close.
- "How is this possible?" - Morgan asked. - "Apricots are summer fruits, and winter's almost here."
The vendor let out a thunderous laugh.
- "That, sir, is a secret."
And yet very worth it. Always fondly appreciated whenever it comes. I liked seeing the technologies of harnessing solar power leaking out all over in various places.
Great chapter! How will solar energy fare under the administration of Theodore Roosevelt?
A fantastic chapter, though it took a little while hehe. I liked that you actually gave us an update onto what each of the 4 main strands of solar development are up to. Helps make the wait feel worth it. Here are some of my thoughts.
Still, the financial innovations to bring about this new world are arguably just as if not more important than the technological ones. That's what I see as Morgan's primary role.
Great chapter. Also what's with all these coy allusions to the something happening with the Ottomans? What are they doing over there?
Using plated nickel in place of glass is interesting. There's a loss in efficiency, but that's gonna be more than counterbalanced by the cost and durability savings. It could also allow it to be deployed in regions with more erratic weather. It's an unfortunate side effect that most of the places with the most people where solar would be most efficient, are also those which experience violent yearly monsoons, but this could help navigate the problem.
I can't didn't think about this before, but it should've been obvious. Widespread boiling cripples Cholera. In a world that newly understands Germ Theory, this stuff should be being rolled out as much as possible. Tahira's work will save literally millions of lives in the empire and beyond.
The introduction of Daimler gives a strong indicator of where the Germany plotline is being taken. As one of the founders of Mercedes, I wonder if his liquid air car might not be such a silly idea after all. Especially since Klaus seems to be taking a back seat. We already know from those advertisements from before that Liquid air cars become viable at some point. Why not, then, in Germany?
Alejandro is an anarchist, if I remember right, which goes as an interesting pair to his work with Franco-Chilena. I have to wonder if he has bigger plans than just dumping money into the community. The mention of the conservatives makes me think this may be the genesis of a new political party, or some sort mutual aid network. Interested to see where this goes.
Cottrell dragging venture capitalism kicking and screaming into the world 50 years early is certainly enthralling to watch. As the British protagonist for this story, he maintains the largest advantage in terms of capital, expertise, and diplomatic muscle. This allows him to seek out and fund the sort of niche technologies which will be needed for the coming solar revolution, but also suffers from being the only non-scientist POV in this timeline.
Still, the financial innovations to bring about this new world are arguably just as if not more important than the technological ones. That's what I see as Morgan's primary role.
This made me giggle uncontrollably while I was at work. This is totally something Thomas would do, that absolute scoundrel. Will his ruthless eccentricity end up gracing this story, or is this just a fun aside?
My guess is its related to the underground greenhouses we saw a few chapters back. Glad to see it reaching wide commercial success.
Great chapter. Also what's with all these coy allusions to the something happening with the Ottomans? What are they doing over there?
Greenhouses heated with solar panels. I could see panels being a big industry in the Southern and Western US to pump water and sanitation. Also, having someone like Taira in the halls of government will give a voice to women and poorer communities.
I thought Miss Tahira might end up the Minister there, but alas!
Ah Klaus and Adolph - I hope you can go great things together. Internal combustion engines could be revolutionary, perhaps...
"Alejandro Puig stepped down from the third class wagon" - staying humble there Alejandro, nice. The whole section was a nice look at a working man who finds himself wealthy. I just hope he does not end up exploited. President Puig perhaps one day?
"RMS Lucania" - a fast Cunarder. Not as luxurious as the White Star offering, but quick.
"Electricity from the sun. Seems unlikely." - if only you knew mate. Still if Morgan can scale it up then perhaps Fritts' Photoelectric Cell may become commonplace.
Perhaps the first age of the electric vehicle is not dead yet.
"It had shattered the previous speed record - held by her "Sister" Campania - by a whole knot." - now that is indeed a fast ship for the time. If only Brunel was still alive!
"The vendor let out a thunderous laugh. - "That, sir, is a secret." - I smell a side-quest here! But one Morgan should defiantly take! I suspect we are taking about a big greenhouse somewhere. It would be nice if the owners where someone like Puig - working types who've come across something amazing. Be also nice if Morgan buys it all up before Edison gets a wiff of it!
Speaking of which, where is Tesla in this Brave New World?
Ah Klaus and Adolph - I hope you can go great things together. Internal combustion engines could be revolutionary, perhaps...
"Alejandro Puig stepped down from the third class wagon" - staying humble there Alejandro, nice. The whole section was a nice look at a working man who finds himself wealthy. I just hope he does not end up exploited. President Puig perhaps one day?
"RMS Lucania" - a fast Cunarder. Not as luxurious as the White Star offering, but quick.
"Electricity from the sun. Seems unlikely." - if only you knew mate. Still if Morgan can scale it up then perhaps Fritts' Photoelectric Cell may become commonplace.
Perhaps the first age of the electric vehicle is not dead yet.
"It had shattered the previous speed record - held by her "Sister" Campania - by a whole knot." - now that is indeed a fast ship for the time. If only Brunel was still alive!
"The vendor let out a thunderous laugh. - "That, sir, is a secret." - I smell a side-quest here! But one Morgan should defiantly take! I suspect we are taking about a big greenhouse somewhere. It would be nice if the owners where someone like Puig - working types who've come across something amazing. Be also nice if Morgan buys it all up before Edison gets a wiff of it!
Speaking of which, where is Tesla in this Brave New World?
One thing is certain, Tahira is going to go down as one of the most influential women in history. I find it hard to think of a woman more successful in that region in progressing women's rights.
If more business owners and elite were like Alejandro, capitalism would be the dream that utopia killed socialism. No need for that when companies pay their workers a fair wage
If more business owners and elite were like Alejandro, capitalism would be the dream that utopia killed socialism. No need for that when companies pay their workers a fair wage
It took a while to write because I was tied with IRL stuff, and because the scheduled events in the timeline required to show where every "branch" was heading before 1895 and the introduction of more branches. This is also why the focus is less plot-driven and more like a chronicle of events for them.
I haven't decided on the US political landscape of the 1900s just yet. The second Cleveland administration is somewhat of a convergence to OTL, but one caused by the Egan Affair and the subsequent discrediting of the Harrison administration.
As for solar energy in the 1900s in the US, a native solar industry should be taking its first steps to exploit the solar resources in the South West. Adopting and adapting both Chilean and British innovations, but not developing much initially on its own (if only because both Chile and England have well established pipelines and manpower dedicated to it).
Thermal solar should be a mature industry by that point, with the rate of innovations slowing as the obvious discoveries have been made, but this will also benefit the US in the long term, as they will have more manpower and more resources for incremental enhancements of the technologies developed since.
So, it should enter the 1900s as a consumer and leave the 1900s as one of the leaders. Perhaps never quite closing the gap in development that the Atacama sun gives the Chileans, but compensating with more practical and universal solutions.
Then there's the early photovoltaic industry, which is a complete quasi-ASB mess where an inventor outpaced the scientific understanding by a couple of decades and the thing works but nobody quite knows why so they throw stuff and see what sticks. Having electricity from the sun without moving parts will definitely find its niche and give dominance to the US.
It's a development of the Walipini design, a sunken greenhouse with a single glass pane tilted towards the sun. They has seen several improvements since they were last seen in 1890s. In essence, it's a greenhouse that is heated passively.
A fantastic chapter, though it took a little while hehe. I liked that you actually gave us an update onto what each of the 4 main strands of solar development are up to. Helps make the wait feel worth it. Here are some of my thoughts.
Using plated nickel in place of glass is interesting. There's a loss in efficiency, but that's gonna be more than counterbalanced by the cost and durability savings. It could also allow it to be deployed in regions with more erratic weather. It's an unfortunate side effect that most of the places with the most people where solar would be most efficient, are also those which experience violent yearly monsoons, but this could help navigate the problem.
I can't didn't think about this before, but it should've been obvious. Widespread boiling cripples Cholera. In a world that newly understands Germ Theory, this stuff should be being rolled out as much as possible. Tahira's work will save literally millions of lives in the empire and beyond.
The introduction of Daimler gives a strong indicator of where the Germany plotline is being taken. As one of the founders of Mercedes, I wonder if his liquid air car might not be such a silly idea after all. Especially since Klaus seems to be taking a back seat. We already know from those advertisements from before that Liquid air cars become viable at some point. Why not, then, in Germany?
Alejandro is an anarchist, if I remember right, which goes as an interesting pair to his work with Franco-Chilena. I have to wonder if he has bigger plans than just dumping money into the community. The mention of the conservatives makes me think this may be the genesis of a new political party, or some sort mutual aid network. Interested to see where this goes.
Cottrell dragging venture capitalism kicking and screaming into the world 50 years early is certainly enthralling to watch. As the British protagonist for this story, he maintains the largest advantage in terms of capital, expertise, and diplomatic muscle. This allows him to seek out and fund the sort of niche technologies which will be needed for the coming solar revolution, but also suffers from being the only non-scientist POV in this timeline.
Still, the financial innovations to bring about this new world are arguably just as if not more important than the technological ones. That's what I see as Morgan's primary role.
This made me giggle uncontrollably while I was at work. This is totally something Thomas would do, that absolute scoundrel. Will his ruthless eccentricity end up gracing this story, or is this just a fun aside?
My guess is its related to the underground greenhouses we saw a few chapters back. Glad to see it reaching wide commercial success.
Great chapter. Also what's with all these coy allusions to the something happening with the Ottomans? What are they doing over there?
Thank you.
The nickel plates is an example of how technology can advance by downgrading and adapting to the context. The solar boilers only need to boil water, which is why a mirror is both overkill and costly. This is Tahira, and the nascent Egyptian industry, responding to the needs of their clients.
The eradication of Cholera will probably have cultural ramifications that go beyond the demographic changes. People in Egypt will watch actual progress and improvement brought by technology, and a whole generation will grow routinely interacting with a solar energy application.
All this in an era where arabic nationalism and panislamism is developing.
As for the German plotline, it will go places.
As for Morgan Cottrell, the figure is similar to Edison and Westinghouse, as both of their legacies as inventors are outweighed by their legacies as financiers of inventors. The main difference is that Cottrell himself has no technical inclination and is content on financing viable inventions after a technical evaluation.
In a sense, he has separated the financier aspect from the inventor aspect and shown that you don't need technical know-how to participate in the development of technology.
As for the Ottomans, it's just something to add texture to the scene (just as Alexander II still breathing in November of 1894).
Tahira also shows a bit of the hard limits a woman could achieve in a heavily patriarchal culture like Egypt. While she is more experienced than Dr. Shalhoub, designating her as a minister in such a society would be unlikely. It is possible that even the Khedive himself isn't aware of how influential Tahira is, as he has no direct contact with her nor does he have a grasp on how much of Egypt's solaf development went through her.
Maybe a generation or two down the line things will be different, but in the 1890s the context just isn't there.
If my understanding is correct, by the 1890s Tesla is rubbing shoulders with New York's high society and doing fancy tricks with his Tesla coils. I can't see him changing ways and returning to Pittsburgh and Massachusetts where the real progress is being made by development bureaus and teams of specialists.
The most I can see him doing is taking an interest in Fritts' work and tinkering to see if anything sticks to the magic box that turn sunlight into electricity.
One of the things in the coming decade will be the conflict between the Franco-Chilena way of doing businesses, which focuses on increasing productivity (hence the good wages and living conditions) and continuous innovation (which goes from "lets see how to adapt our solar heaters to this need" to a sunkworks approach of "give the crazy ones enough funding and wine to see what they can come up with") and the Latifundista and extractivist culture of the traditional Chilean elite.
In that sense, immigrant industrialists would be far more open to the Franco-Chilena approach than the Criollo aristocracy, and German settlers in the Chilean south might copy the model. A more industrialized Valdivia mirroring Almonte is a possibility.
Wouldn't the solar revolution and the high temperature generated as a result, plus the limits of steam engines, lead to an earlier and perhaps actually long lived mercury turbine?
Very good chapter, a nice worldview of how our different actors are doing.
Fritts (and/or George Cove) discovery was rather useful as light sensors for photocameras. So, maybe they can be integrated (somehow) as a component for automatic control of mirrors' orientation.
Fritts' techonology is just to advanced for the time, without a complete scientific undestanding of the phenomenon. Efficiency is just aroud 1%, with very expensive components (selenium as semiconductor with thin layers of gold). Taking a quick look around, it wasn't untill Russell Ohl discoveries on silicon's impurities and subsequent development of silicon P/N junction cells in late 1930s/early 1940s that a better alternative was aviable, rising efficiency up to 5%. And even then, for large-scale treatment for passivating (further removing of defects) for silicon semiconductors we'll have to wait the pioneering work of Mohamed Atalla's team at Bell Laboratories in 1957-1959, if I remember correctly (though his work was even more crucial for integrated circuits, which we are not interested in right now).
Fritts (and/or George Cove) discovery was rather useful as light sensors for photocameras. So, maybe they can be integrated (somehow) as a component for automatic control of mirrors' orientation.
I found a pretty cool design for something like this which I'd posted here: https://www.alternatehistory.com/fo...energy-1878-2025.503717/page-18#post-23997127 Basically, you set it up so there's four arrays, divided by some kind of panel which partially shadows the four arrays if not pointed directly at the sun. You connect circuits to subtract the voltage of the four arrays in pairs, and then set it up to use that (via relays or something) to control more powerful circuits to drive motors. If you start off within maybe 20-30 degrees of the sun's positions, when the voltage between the two pairs is zero, the system is pointing directly at the sun (or completely in shadow because you didn't start off pointed near enough to the sun).