The fan spun lazily overhead, but Damián barely noticed. He'd spent more than three hours in front of his laptop, working on an Excel spreadsheet full of numbers, polygons, and coordinates that didn't mean much to him. But he was looking for more than land. He was looking for an origin.
The Isthmus of Tehuantepec Interoceanic Corridor website had the aesthetics of a state agency: sober banners, photos of inaugurations with smiling politicians, and maps full of acronyms. But buried among the tabs was a useful section: Active Industrial Parks – Information Request.
Click.
A form popped up: name, CURP (Tax ID Number), contact email, company type.
"Name: Damián García
Type: Specialized technological development and assembly
Place of interest: Matías Romero Industrial Park"
Before sending, he hesitated. Then he thought: If I don't do it, no one will.
Click.
Ten minutes later, his cell phone rang.
"Damián García?" said a somewhat raspy, direct voice.
"Yes, it's me."
"This is Elías Martínez, Territorial Coordinator for the Matías Romero industrial estate. I saw your application. Do you have time to talk?"
"Sure, go ahead."
Elías didn't mince words.
"Look, young man, before you get excited: the land is unfinished. There's earthworks, water lines in progress, government promises... lots of promises. If you're looking for a first-world industrial park, this isn't it."
"I'm not looking for something ready-made. I'm looking for a place to start," said Damián.
A brief silence. Then, a cough in the background.
"Well, in that case, maybe you'd be interested. We have lots from 1 to 3 hectares, prices vary. It depends on whether you have an investment plan, and above all... whether you're serious."
"I'm serious." I'm starting a company. NovaCore. I already have products on the market. I'm not looking for a "just in case." I'm looking for the location.
Elías chuckled softly.
"I like that tone. Can you come next week?"
"I can be there on Friday."
"Good. I'll give you the location, office, and name of the resident engineer. Bring boots. They're not necessary... but you'll regret it if you don't."
The call ended.
Damián stared at the screen. Gaia projected a three-dimensional map of the Isthmus. The terrain, the freight routes, the rail network. It all seemed so abstract and distant weeks ago.
And now it was just a phone call away.
"Calculated logistics route to the site. Land journey from Mexico City: 8 hours 42 minutes.
Ixtepec train station: 37 minutes from the industrial park.
Current weather conditions: 33°C, humidity 78%."
Do you want to prepare a preliminary model of the industrial facility?
"Not yet," thought Damián. "I want to see it with my own eyes first."
He closed his laptop.
He began packing his backpack.
The city was no longer his starting point.
Just his waiting room.
The bus arrived at the Matías Romero bus terminal just after 7 a.m. The sun was already beating down from a cloudless sky. As he stepped off, Damián felt the heat envelop him like a thick, sticky blanket. Around him were cracked concrete streets, stalls covered with zinc sheets, dogs lying in the shade, and air thick with dust, diesel, and hot tortillas.
Gaia projected the temperature:
34.1°C / Relative humidity: 74% / Chance of an afternoon thunderstorm: 12%
He tied the laces of his new boots—too clean for this place, he thought—and walked three blocks to a simple, white building with a metallic sign that read "Regional Coordination Unit – Isthmus Development."
Inside, Elías Martínez greeted him, as direct as he had been on the phone.
"García?" he asked in a hoarse voice.
"Yes, nice to meet you."
Elías was a man in his fifties, with weathered skin, gray hair, and a rolled-up denim shirt. He had country hands and office eyes.
"Did you bring a cap?" he asked, handing her a bottle of water. "We don't forgive the distracted around here."
Damián smiled, taking one out of the side pocket of his backpack.
"It's not my first time in Oaxaca."
"I hope so," he grunted, sounding half-amused. "Let's go, the heat doesn't wait."
The road to the industrial park was covered in dirt and loose stones. An old Nissan pickup truck took them along a stretch of secondary road between dry brush and new power lines. Gaia updated the map in her mind with every turn, detecting elevations, slopes, future routes.
When they got out of the vehicle, a reddish terrain stretched out in front of them, flat and silent. To one side, an unfinished perimeter fence. In the distance, a stopped backhoe and a concrete tower barely two stories high, still in the rough.
"This," Elías said, pointing at the space with an outstretched arm, "is lot 4B. One point five hectares. Enough for what you're describing. More, if you know how to use the space well."
Damián walked to the center. He took his drone out of his backpack, turned it on, and launched it. The device buzzed as it flew over the land, sending images in real time.
Gaia activated a holographic model in his mind: phantom silhouettes of industrial warehouses, modular walls, inflows and outflows, solar energy on roofs, automation. Everything was visual. Everything was real.
"See?" Damián said quietly.
"What?" Elías asked, not understanding.
"Nothing," he replied, smiling.
As he measured the land with a long tape measure, jotting down numbers in his notebook, he heard a conversation in the distance between two workers speaking in Zapotec. He smiled. He didn't understand everything, but he recognized the rhythm, the music of his childhood language.
This land wasn't an opportunity.
It was an outstanding debt to his origins.
They returned to the office around noon. Damián was sweaty, covered in dust, and tired, but at peace.
"So?" Elías asked. "Are you up for it, or did you just come for a stroll?"
"I'm up for it," Damián said, without thinking. "This is the place."
Elías nodded. He searched for some papers in a rusty filing cabinet.
"So let's talk about permits, paperwork... and patience. Because this isn't like clicking on an app."
Damián took out his notebook.
He had time.
And a factory to build.
Elías's office smelled of dampness, ink, and dried sweat. A combination difficult to describe, but easy to recognize if you'd ever set foot in a provincial government office.
The fan blades spun on the ceiling as if it refused to give up. The walls were covered with laminated maps and graphs in small print. On the desk, Elías unfolded a gray folder with metal clips. Damián took out his notebook. Gaia lit up a sub-interface in his mind: coordinate entry, legal timeline, electronic signature scanning.
"Before you sign anything, I want to make something clear," Elías said bluntly. "This isn't Silicon Valley. Things here take time, get lost, and get duplicated. Sometimes they ask you for the same thing three times. Do you have patience?"
"I have a system," Damián replied.
Elías raised an eyebrow.
"Is that what you call your endurance?"
"More literal than that," he smiled. But yes, I'm patient.
—Good. Here's the acquisition plan for Lot 4B. It's a loan with an option to purchase. The government will lend it to you for five years if you meet the investment, generate employment, and demonstrate activity.
—How much investment?
—Minimum five million over two years. If you can prove you're manufacturing real things, with local labor, and not just speculating on the land, you can renew or buy it at a discount. But the first step is this preliminary agreement.
Damián read it in full. Every line.
"This instrument attests to the interest of both parties… technological development with social impact… exclusive use for productive purposes…"
Gaia projected legal translations, profitability calculations, projected five-year growth rates. None of the clauses seemed dangerous. Just slow. But that was manageable.
—How long will approval take?
—If all goes well, two months. But... probably three. If you make noise, maybe less.
Damián signed.
Full name. Date. Project: NovaCore.
Elías stamped the papers firmly.
"Done. You're officially just another crazy person with an expensive dream."
"I'd rather you say: a guy with invisible plans and limited time."
"That sounds more dangerous."
They both laughed. For the first time, Elías seemed relaxed.
"You know, I've seen a lot of 'entrepreneurs' pass through here," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Some of them don't even know where they stand. You don't wear a suit or PowerPoint presentation, but you speak with a strange calm."
"I didn't come to convince anyone. I came to build."
Elías nodded.
"Then go ahead, unlicensed engineer. That land is now your laboratory."
Damián put away the copy of the contract.
He stepped out into the sun.
And for the first time since he was expelled... he felt like he had territory.
The warm light of dusk filtered through the room's fabric curtain. Damián sat on a mat, surrounded by papers, hand-drawn drawings, printed plans, and a tablet where Gaia had been uploading data since they returned from the office.
There was silence. The kind of silence that precedes an important decision.
"Do you wish to activate the Industrial Expansion Module – Level 1?"
Damián closed his eyes.
He felt the heat still clinging to his skin. His dusty boots lay to the side. The copy of the preliminary legal agreement lay on the table.
"Activate it."
"Confirmed. Initiating internal module deployment."
In an instant, his mind filled with new spaces.
It was hard to explain: it wasn't images or words. It was structure.
As if an invisible engineer had taken his hand and said,
"Look, this is how a real factory works."
The production lines were modular, interchangeable, connected by smart rails and automated arms. Damian could see them working in his mind's eye: trays, welders, testing stations, assembly robots, conveyor belts that adjusted according to product size.
"Capacity: Automated manufacturing of parts, structures, electronic modules, plastic components, mechanical assembly, and packaging.
Estimated maximum production: 24 units per hour (standard mode)."
"Restriction: Nanotechnology chip production not enabled at this level. You need to unlock Module 3."
Damian wasn't disappointed.
He knew this was just the body. The soul would come later.
"Do you want to configure the first floor plan?"
"Yes."
A floating schematic of terrain 4B appeared before him, with demarcated areas: loading area, assembly area, storage, power nodes. It was like playing SimCity… if you had access to technology that even the government didn't understand.
"Style preference?"
"Efficiency over aesthetics. Natural shading. Rooftop solar."
"Configured."
The modules arranged themselves on the plan.
Each station had technical labels:
"Thermal Encapsulation," "Optical Verification," "Dual-Insulated Pack."
"Do you want to print this plan in physical format or project it from the system in the field?"
"Project it. I'll mark it myself."
Gaia confirmed.
"Module successfully activated. First phase ready for materialization."
Damian opened his eyes.
The room remained the same: small, warm, plain.
But in his mind, he was already standing inside a factory.
And every piece had its place.
The land was empty, just like the first time.
Only warm earth, scattered rocks, low brush, and that southern sun that seemed to respect neither seasons nor roofs. Elías had given him the keys to the perimeter shed, even though it was just an empty warehouse with no doors.
Damián didn't bring anyone. No assistants. No photographer.
Just his backpack, his notebook, his tape measure... and a mental map recorded with surgical precision by Gaia.
"Active map."
"Physical markers ready for manual deployment."
The system projected a floating grid onto the land, aligned with the lot's exact coordinates. Key points flashed in his mind: cargo entrance, packaging area, solar power, storage, main node.
But before all that... came the origin.
He walked to the projected center of the future main building. Gaia showed him a cross-shaped marker, exactly 27 meters from the northern boundary and 14 from the eastern boundary.
There he stopped.
He took out a simple wooden stake. He had whittled it the night before, unhurriedly, with his old high school knife.
In black marker, he wrote:
CORE 1
DAMIÁN GARCÍA – NOVACORE
APR 15, 2025
He knelt. He drove the stake in by hand, driving it in with a rock until it was firm. Sweat trickled down his back. The sun burned his neck. But he didn't move.
He just stared at it.
The stake wasn't much.
It had no logos. It had no sensors.
But it was ground zero for everything.
"Marker registered. Coordinate anchored. Mission: Automated Plant Construction – Phase 1: Initial Demarcation.
Progress: 5%."
Gaia saved the log.
Damián stood up. He walked slowly along the land, marking the other spots with stones and small handwritten labels. He took photos, drew lines with string, bent down, stepped back, and did it again.
There was no machinery.
There was no concrete.
But in his mind… there were already the walls, the hallways, the heat of the machines running, the light from the screens on.
At 6:47 p.m., the sun began to fall behind the low hills to the west. The light turned orange. The entire land seemed to be burning, but without fire.
Damián sat on a flat stone at the edge of the land.
He put away his notebook.
He looked at the stake.
And for the first time, he said out loud:
"It's going to happen here."
Gaia said nothing.
There was no need.