"We find other sources to supplement," said Arch. "Sunlight, now. Approximately one horse-power per square yard, if you could only get at it." He raised a face grown thin with overwork and with the guilt that always haunted him these days, up to the sky. The sun felt warm and live on his skin. "Trouble is, the potential's so low. You've got to find a way to get a high voltage out of it before you can charge a capacitor decently. Now let me think—"
He spent most of his waking hours thinking. It helped hold off the memory of men lying dead on a muddy hillside.
When power was short, you couldn't go back to oxcarts and kerosene lamps. There weren't enough of either. The local machine shop made and sold quantities of home charging units, small primitive generators which could be turned by any mechanical source, and treadmills were built to drive them. But this was only an unsatisfactory expedient. Accompanied by several armed guards, Arch made a trip to Boston.
The city looked much quieter than he remembered, some of the streets deserted even at midday, but a subdued business went on. Food was still coming in to the towns, and manufactured goods flowing out; there was still trade, mail, transportation. They were merely irregular and slightly dangerous.
Stopping at M.I.T. Arch gave certain of his problems to the big computer, and then proceeded to an industrial supply house. The amount of selenium he ordered brought a gasp and a hurried conference.
"It will take some time to get all this together," said a vice-president. "Especially with conditions as they are."
"I know," said Arch. "We're prepared to make up truck convoys and furnish guards; what we want you for is negotiation."
The vice-president blinked. "But ... good heavens, man! Is your whole community in on this?"
"Just about. We have to be. There's little help coming in from outside, so our area is thrown back on itself."
"Ah—the cost of this operation—"