The Villagers, as they had come to call themselves, numbered in the tens of thousands, though they had thus far failed to organize any kind of global census and as such estimated their own numbers to be much higher than they in fact were. Osgood, on the other hand, estimated their numbers to be rather smaller than they in fact were. Osgood estimated their numbers, in fact, to be rather close to zero. The thing was that Osgood thought, indeed wholly believed, that there were no humans left on Earth whatsoever.

Which is part of why Saturday morning found Osgood lying on his back under his desk blowing imaginary dust off the coupled-power node on the back of his iBrary in a fair fret of consternation. The door to his compartment banged open and a voice blurted out, "Osgood! We ca..." and then paused because the speaker had been almost as startled by Osgood's head striking the underside of his desk as had Osgood himself. The speaker, however, had not been as directly and personally impacted by the event, however, which is why she simply stood there, mouth and door agape, while Osgood composed extemporaneous poetry which while it had a certain staccato performative quality would probably not be productive to repeat here.

"...and let me be perfectly clear," said Osgood, winding down, "that when I say 'backwash' I am in no uncertain terms referring to your gene pool, Ellis!"

He extracted himself from underneath the desk, still fuming and massaging the back of his skull with a free hand.

"Ah..." said Ellis, her eyes scrunched up a bit in trepidatious apology, "Well."

Regaining his compusure a bit, Osgood gestured vaguely at the monitor and said, "My wretched iBrary is on the fritz again. Seems to think there are only 78 gravity-press turbines operating in sector four, which is simply not the case, because There are in fact 85 gravity-press turbines operating in sector four, to say nothing of a field of celestial conversion banks and a few other relics. Indeed, if there were suddenly 78 gravity-press turbines in sector four, instead of 85, I rather expect I would have heard about it, because the better part of the starboard orbital would be showering under cold water!"

Ellis bit her tongue and squinted out the office window.

"For god's sake, what is it, Ellis?"

"Osgood, central asked me to inform you that the starboard orbital water heater has lost power."

"Ah..." Osgood looked vaguely green. He glanced spastically at the monitor behind him and then sat down rather sharply. "Well."

"That was rather my take on it, yes," agreed Ellis.

The first time had been really hard. It had taken half of the able-bodied adult Villagers a full Moon of back-breaking labor to move the turbine. It took them days to trek into the hills where the turbines stood in majestic rows. Then they had to set up some elaborate equipment just to get the turbine down on the ground without damaging it. Actually, truth be told, they hadn’t quite managed that. Luckily, there were lots of turbines. Once it was down and ready to carry, every morning they would don the elaborate harnesses they had made, transforming them into an awkward parody of the “Chinese dragons” of old. It was funny to think of it that way, now that they had a real live dragon. Their makeshift dragon had consisted of two dozen men and women along both sides of a long white shaft. And of course, they still had to go back for the blades. They would struggle forward for hours and then change shifts at lunch. For the most part, the golden landscape was thankfully sterile in its dryness, and they didn’t have to worry about poisonous animals or treacherous bogs.

But then there was the day that it rained. All day. The trail seemed to be running away under their feet, excavating itself into tiny, uneven canyons just waiting to break someone’s ankle. When they finally made camp, everything was wet. The damp permeated not just their food and their clothes and the now-chafing harness, but seemed to bubbling into their souls. Or perhaps, Tara thought, it was they who were bubbling at the surface of a rather unappetizing stew. That day and that night, thankfully, ended and everything dried, except their memories. Those damp memories were still dragged out at every campfire and aired and admired, and those 48 men and women of the first trip felt a special connection they would not have felt if the sun had shone relentlessly for the full Moon.

The second trip was easier, although the turbine was heavy even for Sarah – she could only fly a few hours a day and she also had to make two separate trips for the shaft and for the blades. In her own mind, Sarah was Serryah. Not that she was literate, just that she felt more grand than her plain name. Not like Tara, her discoverer, who thought the less letters the better. But Sarah was the only dragon on earth. So far as they knew. Then again, the Villagers were the only people left on earth. So far as they knew.