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we are!” Rogers said, grinning like a kid as he stepped down from his van and led Jake toward the building.
    Pointing toward the Land Rover, Jake groused, “That thing must burn a lot of gas.”
    “It’s an LR-4,” Rogers replied. “Plenty of cubes under its hood. Gets me through the snow when a car like yours would get stuck.”
    Jake nodded grudgingly as they entered the metal building. Inside, it was just one big open space, a test cell, with the bulky MHD generator and its associated gear almost filling it. Jake was surprised that the place was pleasantly air-conditioned. Half a dozen technicians in grimy lab coats that had once been white were gathered off to one side of the space. Rogers waved hello to them without bothering to introduce Jake.
    “There she is,” Rogers said, pointing like a proud father.
    This MHD generator was much larger than the apparatus on campus. Its central core was nearly ten feet high and even more in length. Instead of a stack of copper plates the core was a glistening metal tube, studded with small protrusions that were connected by color-coded wires to an electrical bus standing on long metal legs above the rig. A much larger oxygen tank stood at the right, alongside what was obviously a coal hopper. Another tank, stainless steel, stood next to them.
    “Liquid nitrogen,” Rogers said, his voice strangely subdued. “For the superconducting coil. It doesn’t need any electrical power input once it’s activated. Saves us a big chunk of megawatts.”
    “How much power does this rig put out?”
    “We’ve had it up to thirty-five megawatts. Our aim is fifty. Tim wants to goose it up to seventy-five.”
    Jake felt impressed.
    “Over there, on the aft end of the rig, is the equipment for separating the sulfur compounds. Works like a spectrometer, same principle.”
    “Oh,” said Jake, “like the GCMS on some of the Mars probes.”
    “GCMS?”
    “Gas chromatograph mass spectrometer. They analyze the Martian atmosphere, samples of rocks, that kind of thing.”
    Rogers nodded, with a grin. “Yeah, sort of like that. Except we’re dealing with tons of plasma flow, not milligrams.”
    “Off-the-shelf equipment?” Jake asked.
    “Pretty much. We’ve had to tinker with it a little, but it’s pretty much standard gear. No new inventions needed.”
    “And the carbon dioxide sequestering?”
    With a slight shake of his head, Rogers replied, “We don’t do that. But when we’re ready for a prototype power plant, the EPA can supply us with a contractor for that part of it.”
    Jake’s eyes followed the heavy cables snaking out from the core of the MHD generator. They led to a boxy metal structure: tall, square, grayish green.
    “And what’s that?” he asked.
    “Inverter,” said Rogers. “The generator puts out DC power. The inverter converts it to AC, the kind of electrical current that the utility industry uses. All your household appliances, electric motors, heaters—they all run on alternating current.”
    A new question popped into Jake’s mind. “What do you do with all the megawatts you generate?”
    “Dump it.”
    “Dump it?”
    “Yeah. We run it into a bank of resistors out behind the shed. Heats ’em up pretty good.”
    “You don’t use the electricity for anything?”
    With a shake of his head, Rogers answered, “No. Not yet, anyway.”
    Rogers led Jake to a control booth set behind a thick glass partition. A metal panel studded with dials and switches stretched along the partition and a heavy wooden back wall carried dozens more gauges.
    “When the little rig blew up last year,” Rogers said cheerily, “the fire was so hot it melted the gauges on the wall.”
    Jake noted a single fire extinguisher standing in the corner. That won’t do much good if this rig blows, he thought.
    Pointing upward, Rogers said, “We put blast doors into the roof. If she blows, the doors swing open and let out most of the explosion’s force.”
    Jake felt far from