Liu Xin stood in a large tent in front of a projection screen showing the fire curtain, with flashing lights that indicated the position of each ground rat according to the signals. They were densely distributed, giving the screen the look of an astronomical chart.
Everything was ready. Two bulky ignition electrodes had been lowered down a borehole at the center of the enclosure and were directly wired to a red button switch in the tent where Liu Xin was standing. All of the workers were in place and waiting.
“There’s still time to change your mind, Dr. Liu,” Aygul said quietly. “Or to take more time to think on it.”
“Aygul, that’s enough. You’ve been spreading fear and uncertainty from day one, and you’ve complained about me all the way to the ministry. To be fair, you’ve contributed immensely to this project, and without your work this past year, I wouldn’t be so quick to conduct the experiment.”
“Dr. Liu…” Aygul was pleading now. Liu Xin had never seen him like this. “We don’t have to do this. Don’t release the demon from the depths!”
“You think we can quit now?” Liu Xin smiled and shook his head, then turned toward Li Minsheng.
Li Minsheng said, “As you instructed, we reviewed all of the geological materials a sixth time. We found no problems. Last night we added an additional curtain layer to a few sensitive spots.” He pointed out several short lines on the screen, outside the enclosure.
Liu Xin went up to the ignition switch, and when his hand made contact with the red button he paused and closed his eyes as if in prayer. His lips moved, but only Li Minsheng, standing closest to him, heard the word he said—
“Dad…”
The button made no sound or flash. The valley remained the same as ever. But somewhere deep underground, a glittering high-temperature electric arc was created by more than ten thousand volts of electricity in the seam. On the screen, at the location of the electrodes, a small red dot appeared and quickly expanded like a blot of red ink on rice paper. Liu Xin moved the mouse, and the screen switched to a burn model produced from the data returned by the ground rats, a continuously growing, onion-like sphere, where each layer was an isotherm. High-pressure pumps roared, pouring combustion air into the seam through the boreholes, and the fire expanded like a blown-up balloon…. An hour later, when the control computer switched on the high-pressure water pumps, the fire onscreen twisted and distorted like a punctured balloon, although its volume remained the same.
Liu Xin exited the tent. The sun had set behind the hill, and the thunder of machines echoed in the darkening valley. More than three hundred people were assembled outside, surrounding a vertical jet the diameter of an oil barrel. They made way for him, and he approached the small platform at the foot of the jet. Two people were standing on the platform, one of whom twisted the knob when he saw Liu Xin coming; the other struck a lighter to light a torch, which he passed to Liu Xin. The turning of the knob produced a hiss of gas from the jet that rose dramatically in volume until it roared throughout the valley like a hoarse giant. On all sides, three hundred nervous faces watched in the faint torchlight. Liu Xin closed his eyes and spoke silently to himself again. Then he brought the torch to the mouth of the jet and ignited the world’s first gasified coal well.
With a bang, a huge pillar of fire leapt into the air, shooting up almost twenty meters. Closest to the mouth of the jet, the column was a clear, pure blue, but just above that it turned a blinding yellow before gradually turning red. It whistled in the air, and those closest to it could feel its surge of heat. Its radiance lit the surrounding hills, and from a distance it would look as if a sky lantern were shining over the plateau.
A white-haired man, the director, emerged from the crowd and shook Liu Xin’s hand. He said, “Please accept the congratulations of a closed-minded relic. You’ve succeeded! But I hope you’ll extinguish it as soon as possible.”
“Even now you don’t trust me? It won’t be extinguished. I want it to keep burning, for the whole country and the whole world to see.”
“They’ve already seen it.” The director pointed to the throng of TV reporters behind him. “But as you well know, the test seam is no more than two hundred meters from the surrounding main seam at its closest point.”
“But we’ve laid three firebreaks at those spots. And we have high-speed drills on standby. There won’t be any problems.”
“You’re engineers from the ministry, so I have no authority to interfere. But there’s potential danger in any new technology, no matter how successful it may seem. I’ve seen my share of dangers in my decades in coal. Maybe that’s the reason for my rigid thinking. I’m truly worried…. However,” and the director again extended a hand to Liu Xin, “I’d still like to thank you. You’ve shown me hope for the coal industry.” He gazed at the pillar of fire again. “Your father would be pleased.”
Two more jets were ignited in the next two days, so there were now three pillars of fire. The production volume of the test seam, calculated at a standard supply pressure, had reached five hundred thousand cubic meters per hour, equivalent to more than a hundred large coal gas furnaces.
The underground coal fire was moderated entirely by computer, with the scale controlled to a stable-bounded area no larger than two-thirds of the total area within the curtain. At the mine’s request, multiple fire-control tests had been conducted. On the computer, Liu Xin described a ring around the fire with the mouse, and then clicked to constrict it. The whining of the high-pressure pumps outside changed, and within an hour the fire had been contained within that ring. Meanwhile, two more fire curtains, each two hundred meters long, had been added in the risky direction of the main seam.
There was little for him to do. Most of his time he devoted to taking media interviews. Major companies inside and outside of China, including the likes of DuPont and Exxon, were swarming to propose investment and collaboration projects.
On the third day, a coal-seam firefighter came to Liu Xin to say that their chief was about to collapse from fatigue. Aygul had for the past two days led the firefighting squad in a mad series of subterranean firefighting exercises. He had also, on his own initiative, rented satellite time from the National Remote Sensing Center to survey the region’s crust temperature. He hadn’t slept in three days, spending his time instead doing rounds outside the curtain ring, each circuit taking all night.
When Liu Xin found Aygul, he saw that the stocky man had gotten much thinner, and his eyes were red. “I can’t sleep,” he said. “The nightmares start as soon as I shut my eyes. I see those fire columns erupting all around me, like a forest of fire…”
“Renting a sensor satellite is a huge expense,” Liu Xin said gently. “And although I don’t see the need, you’ve done it and I respect your decision. I’ll be needing you in the future, Aygul. I don’t think your firefighting squad will have much to do, but even the safest place still needs a fire team. You’re exhausted. Go back to Beijing for a few days’ rest.”
“Leave now? You’re insane!”
“You grew up above ground fire. That’s why your fear of it goes so deep. Right now we may not be able to control a massive fire like the one in the Xinjiang mines, but we soon will be. I want to set up the first gasified coalfield for commercial use in Xinjiang. When that time comes, the underground fires will be under our control, and the land of your hometown will be covered in glorious vineyards.”
“Dr. Liu, I respect you. That’s why I’m working with you. But you overestimate yourself. Where ground fire is concerned, you’re still just a child.” Aygul smiled bitterly and walked away, shaking his head.