"Please show me."  "Well, it is here."

He produced a white ceramic fuse with brass arms sticking out.  Stretched across the arms was a single strand of fuse wire, looking shiny but vulnerable.

"It only needs a current surge and that wire melts, the control box throws the switch and the machine sighs to a halt, whoosh, like a rapidly deflating balloon."

"Does it have to be a surge, couldn't a saboteur just take out the fuse?"

He tossed the spare fuse wire in his hand, thought, then deliberately changed the subject.

"Fuse wire has other uses."

"I can see I am annoying you with such a question and I don't want to you to -- blow a fuse."

I laughed, but he just looked at me with a blank expression.  Then, he gave a childish grin.
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"That's it", I quickly replied and stooped to pick up the winder of fuse wire he had now dropped.  But his foot shot out, stamping on the wire and nearly crushing my fingers.  Alarmed, I straightened up, there was no more levity. In its place was his cold hard stare of accusation.

Had he had second thoughts?  It was my foolish mention of saboteurs.  How could I now break the ice without digging myself deeper into this dangerous pit.

"Perhaps Sergeant I should explain my credentials some more."

Then I took a big risk and referred back to those days when Mengistu was bombing them regularly.  Those days when all essential operations, hospitals, power generation, pharmaceutical production, was done in caves buried deep in the mountains.  I knew he was a hero then, but since the war ended, he lived a life of comparative obscurity in the suburbs of Asmara.

"You and I both know they may try again, those warlords in their lofty Addis homes.  You will be needed then, I feel that I will be needed also, you see, I have one foot in both camps and access to spare parts somewhat more important -- than fuse wire!"   TOP