A Void, Away.
AI Attempts Lipogram E, South African Power Supply. 1,100 words, 4 minute read. With Gemini.
A vibrant sun did warm K. Mango. Jozi's air humm-d, a happy sound, not that of a backup motor's groan. This particular sun-span was distinct. Prior, dark stints did mar all days, a grim, familiar custom. Now, a constant, good flow was a fact. Across a patio, Anton Mbundu sat, calm. A man who in past days did gain from crisis, his import firm supplying many a noisy, smoking buzz box during blackouts.
"You sit so still, Anton," K. Mango put forth. His task for Congo: to study this land's amazing turnaround, its triumph against grid's pain.
Anton did nod, a lazy cat in sun's glow. "My pal," his words drawl-d, "why not? This city's spirit sings. My old work, sadly, is past. No call for my smoky contraptions. This bright, vital spark is, I grant, a joy for all. But, alas, not for my prior cash flow." A slight, arch wit lit his look. "Still, a man adapts. This constant light is, you might say, food for thought for a forward-aiming individual."
K. Mango did grin. "Food for thought. Good. A sharp contrast to last sun-span, no? Your big shop in Midrand, a chaotic spot full of rumbling things and anxious souls."
Anton did flinch. "Ah, that dark prior sun-span. A dismal span. You, that summit? With a top-most man of this nation? And all lights did go out, just as his oration hit its 'bright visions' part? All of us sat in total dark. A bad sign, truly. Sub-fifty in capacity, word had it. This nation was not a nation; it was a string of random gloom, split by bouts of fiscal anguish." His sight took in a far signal mast, its indicators shining, solid, day by day. "My kin, Thabo, with his food shop. So much stock did go off, K. Mango. Almost undid him."
K. Mango did nod, slowly. His own mission was born of that gloom. Congo did watch. Congo did want similar uplift. "Many did call it 'Africa's Dimming Hour,'" K. Mango said. "A man in high station got a 'Ministry of Light Craft' post. Comic, but also tragic."
"But now," Anton said, his focus on happy young kids at play, "that shop's sign spits. Thabo's boy, Tom, with his school work. Last sun-span, his mom lit a wax stick so Tom could study. A wax stick, K. Mango, in this day and span! Now, Tom just complains of too much work, not too scant light. It is… a grand thing."
"A day count of two-thirty," K. Mango did say, soft, a satisfaction in his sound.
A big station, Komati. K. Mango stood, with Anton, looking at a vast hall, its air full of a strong, warm whirr, a mix of oil tang and a curious, satisfying hum. This was not a factory of gloom, but a fount of might. Anna Maris, its boss, a woman with a quick mind and sharp, kind looks, did walk with an air of command.
"No magic, K. Mango," Anna Maris said, pitch strong o'r that industrial music. "Just hard, hard work. For so long, this station was sick, a failing titan. Only quick fix, a patch and a wish. Officialdom told us: 'Fix it. No ifs, no buts.' Funds did show up. But also, a local ability to act, to do what was fit, without waiting for many far-off groups to okay a plan."
Anna Maris did motion to a smiling youth by a digital control board, talking with an old hand, a man who had put in many sun-spans at this station. "That link, that is wry. Old hands and young minds, working as a unit. Prior, a junior's plan was just annoying. Now, all input is vital. It was truly vital to shift our thinking. A faulty small part, if not fix-d, can bring down a giant unit. So, small things now gain our focus."
Anton, for his part, mostly did look. His focus was on a group of staff, working as a unit with smooth, swift action. "So, no… tricky accounting for funds for parts that did not show?" His ask was surprisingly frank.
Anna Maris did allow a small, knowing curl of lips. "Our focus is on supplying a constant, strong flow for this nation, Mr. Mbundu, not on profits for a small, murky group. A wholly distinct sort of might in that, you'll find."
Driving back to Jozi, this City of Gold, across a land now criss-cross-d by strong, shining transit ways for this vital flow, Anton was in thought.
"You know, K. Mango," his words start-d, "in that bad old sun-span, I did shift many noisy motors. Quick cash. Many did want light, any light." A solar farm did flash by, its dark shining glass drinking sun. "Now… I am looking at things such as warm air pumps. Units pulling natural warmth from ground. Not so quick for cash. Calls for… a plan. Good support for all who buy." A short, odd laugh did jump from him. "Who am I, K. Mango? Is this truly Anton Mbundu?"
K. Mango did grin. "A man who finds opportunity in things that last? Not just in things that fall apart?"
A Sun-Span's Night. Jozi's sky was soon to burst with man-craft'd sparks, a happy show. From a high patio, this city was a vast spill of solid, unwinking points of light. No motors did spoil this night's cool music.
"Two-thirty-plus-fifty-plus-four sun-up units," Anton did toast, lifting his glass of fruit crush. "A full orbital path of this world without our nation's big, familiar blackout fits." His focus did catch K. Mango's. "Small shops grow. Many humans find work. It is obvious what a bit of good, constant flow can do for a nation's spirit, no?" His usual, arch look was back, but now, it was not as sharp, not as cynical. "A spark of trust in tomorrow. Who'd think it?"
K. Mango did nod. His communication to Congo's high officialdom was shaping up in his mind. It was not just about fixing a grid. It was about a nation's will, a spirit to fix, to build, to trust. A story of how individuals, working with a common aim, can turn a land of doubt to a bright, strong dawn. A land finding its own, vital spark again.
