Daniel wanted substitutions that could actually be serviced.
Michael wanted both of them to stop spending money.
At one point, Keene rejected a modern electronic pressure transducer.
“It changes the system.”
Daniel replied:
“The original transducer is dead.”
“Rebuild it.”
“With what?”
“Skill.”
Daniel stared.
“That’s not a part number.”
Michael laughed so hard he had to leave the bay.
Slowly, XP-2 returned.
Not cosmetically.
Daniel refused to repaint it yet.
“I want to know it works before making it pretty.”
They repaired the steering.
Replaced the damaged glass with flat laminated safety glass cut by a local shop.
Rebuilt the brake system.
Fabricated a missing guard.
Restored the auxiliary hydraulic circuit.
The recovery accumulators required professional inspection before use.
One failed.
A modern rated replacement was adapted using a custom bracket Michael fabricated.
The engine finally turned freely by hand.
Then came the electrical system.
Night after night.
Wire by wire.
The shop transformed.
Something else transformed with it.
Customers became curious.
“What’s that thing?”
Daniel would explain.
Some laughed.
Some stayed to watch.
A local farmer named Hank Foster became obsessed with the project and started bringing pizza every Thursday.
A retired machinist volunteered an afternoon to help produce a bushing they could not source.
A welding supplier discounted material after Michael admitted what they were rebuilding.
The machine that almost bankrupted Daniel began bringing people into the shop.
Then a reporter from the Salina Journal heard about it.
Michael refused an interview.
Daniel agreed.
The resulting article was small.
LOCAL MECHANICS RESTORE LOST FARM PROTOTYPE FOUND AT BANKRUPTCY AUCTION.
It included a photograph of Daniel standing beside the rusted machine.
The next morning, their phone started ringing.
Not with investors.
Customers.
People liked the story.
Some brought ordinary repair work because they wanted to see XP-2.
For the first time in months, Carter Repair had a waiting list.
Michael looked at the schedule board.
Then at Daniel.
“Don’t get smug.”
Daniel became extremely smug.
Six weeks after the auction, they were ready to start the engine.
Not operate the recovery system.
Not move the machine.
Just start it.
Everyone gathered.
Michael.
Daniel.
Keene.
Hank Foster.
Ben from the hydraulic supplier joined by video call.
Daniel climbed into the cab.
The seat foam had collapsed years earlier, so he sat on a folded shop blanket.
“Battery?”
Michael called.
“Good.”
“Fuel pressure?”
“Good.”
“Emergency cutoff?”
Keene answered:
“Functional.”
Daniel turned the key.
Click.
Nothing.
His stomach dropped.
Michael shouted:
“Stop.”
They checked.
Loose starter ground.
Daniel tightened it.
Second attempt.
Click.
Starter rotated half a revolution.
Stopped.
Daniel waited.
Third attempt.
The engine turned.
Slowly.
Once.
Twice.
Then faster.
A cough.
Smoke.
Keene moved closer.
Michael held one hand up.
Again.
Daniel cranked.
The diesel fired.
The entire building shook.
Black-gray smoke rolled from the exhaust.