The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (2 page)

Ben waved the suggestion aside.
“
No! They sent a copy of this letter to the president of the board and it
’
s my guess that they
’
re already working on legal action. Do the report, but you email a copy to everyone and take the original to the library yourself, Mike. I want to be certain it gets there.
”
As an afterthought he added,
“
Make a copy and send one by messenger to the S.C.S.E. headquarters.
”

Mike grumbled to himself, then spoke outright.
“
I don
’
t think they ought to get away with these high-pressure tactics they
’
re using, Ben. Giving them their own personal copy of the report sets a bad precedent.
”

“
Listen,
”
said Ben,
“
it
’
s not your butt that
’
s going to be in hot water with the board. It
’
s mine! Since you screwed it up, you can get it straightened out! But I want it done today! I
’
ve got a group of company executives coming here with two big-wig politicians after lunch. You make sure that report is on my desk before they arrive, Mike!
”

Mike stepped back at the onslaught of words.
“
All right, Ben. All right. I just didn
’
t think that filing that document would be so important. I....well, paper work isn
’
t....
”

Ben interrupted,
“
I don
’
t like the desk job, either,
”
then hesitated over that comment which was absolutely untrue. He did enjoy the administrative end of the power facility.
“
But these things have to be done.
”
What had seemed an almost insignificantly simple task for Mike had become a blunder that could set reverberations sounding all along the company
’
s chain of command.

Humbled, Mike said,
“
Maybe they
’
ll ease off when they get the report.
”

“
Yes, if we
’
re lucky. Meanwhile, I
’
m left to face this myself when the board reads that letter. And on top of that, there
’
s that bunch coming in today—the last thing I need is a couple of senators snooping around the plant,
”
said Ben wearily.

With a feeble attempt at reassurance, Mike replied,
“
At least the subject of this report won
’
t be brought up by anyone from the company. And I don
’
t see how the senators could know anything about this complaint of S.C.S.E.
”

The muscle at the angle of Ben
’
s jaw popped out as he stared at his colleague. Most of the statements he wanted to make to Mike were left unsaid as he listened to the other
’
s appraisal of the situation. Unable to do more, he nodded and said,
“
Just do the report, Mike. I
’
ll handle whatever develops here this afternoon.
”

Mike knew he was being dismissed and turned toward the door.

“
By noon,
”
Ben reminded him as he stepped outside.
 

Up the walk they came. Seven men, dressed in conservative business suits, and led by J. Rufus Pettengill, vice-president.

Ben watched them as they reached the bottom steps. Then he checked his tie once more, nudging it securely under his collar, straightened the lapels on his fresh white lab coat, and marched through the door to greet them.

His superior of West State Utility Company, Mr. Pettengill, made the introductions with a flourish of complimentary remarks which he grandly bestowed on his plant supervisor
’
s head.

When at last it was Ben
’
s turn to talk, he spoke distinctly and with clarity, with not a hint of nervousness that had plagued him during his long wait for their arrival.

“
Gentlemen, welcome to White Water Nuclear Power Facility. We are honored to have you here. It is a rare day when we have the opportunity to welcome two distinguished United States Senators.
”
He nodded in the direction of two of the men.
“
Senator McCauley. Senator Jackson. And we are always pleased to have officers from our plant on the grounds.
”
Pausing, he nervously touched his tie.

He looked over the faces before him, then continued with his speech.
“
White Water is recognized as a model facility for the generation of electric power from nuclear fissioning processes. We are most anxious to grant your request of a tour through our plant; thus within the next few hours you will have a first-hand observation of the most technologically perfect system to replace the antiquated fossil fuel electric generators. As we guide you through these buildings, we hope to answer any and all questions you may have regarding not only this facility but nuclear installations in general.
”

     He paused to catch his breath, then noticed that the short, lively Senator McCauley had begun to gaze about, as though he had lost interest in Ben
’
s comments. Suddenly, the realization hit him that in being overly zealous, he had kept everyone standing on the steps.

“
Since we are outside, perhaps we should begin with a walk around the external plant,
”
Ben said quickly.
“
From the freeway, the most noticeable structure is the huge dome-shaped building behind us.
”

“
Is that where the reactor is?
”
asked the junior senator, Jackson in a slightly high-pitched voice.

“
Yes, it is, sir, along with a variety of coolant pumps, a steam- electric generator, and a few other things.
”

Although Benjamin Harrington, Ph.D., took great pride in being well versed in the subject of nuclear energy, he hoped the questions would not be too inane, or too disruptive to his discourse. While it was nice to invite their questions, ill-timed ones became a nuisance, often causing him to break his chain of thought.

“
That pipe going up the side of the dome, the one that looks like a smoke stack, what
’
s it used for?
”
asked McCauley.

“
We call that a primary vent stack,
”
answered Ben.

“
Yes. And what comes out of it, Dr. Harrington?
”

Ben cleared his throat, hoping to avoid a lengthy explanation.
“
When the reactor is in operation, there are radioactive wastes that form as by-products. Many of those wastes are in the gaseous state, and as such, are eliminated through the vent stack.
”
There, he thought, that should be clear, senator.

“
Radiation goes out that stack into the atmosphere?
”
asked the senator.

To Ben, the man
’
s question, although innocuous, seemed to somehow convey a hidden implication.
“
Well yes, Senator. You surely are aware that this is a standard practice throughout all such plants. Of course,
”
he hastened to add,
“
we keep our emission levels within the guidelines established by the Radiation Emission Council.
”

The senator looked at Ben carefully.
“
Have you ever exceeded the maximum level for emission?
”

“
Never, sir,
”
snapped Ben.
“
When emissions come close to the maximum level, we reduce capacity—reduce our productivity, so to speak.
”
At this moment he wished he could talk privately with Mr. Pettengill. These questions seemed unusually probing, and Ben began to wonder if the senators
’
motive for coming was indeed in response to the Southern California Society of Environmentalists. Perhaps that group had already reached an attentive ear. No matter, he decided. Nuclear power was here to stay.

Continuing the tour, Ben led the group from the Visitor Information Center, where they had met, around the turbine building, service building, past the effluent-control room, to the waste holding tanks, all the while elaborating on the complexity of the plant and its size. To camouflage his nervousness, he kept his left hand slipped into the pocket of his lab coat. His demeanor seemed one of self-assurance, as he strolled confidently around, expounding on the various aspects of the facility. 
“
And this area, gentlemen, is where a large percentage of the radioactive wastes are removed prior to shipment of the spent fuel rods. Fuel rods, you see, are enriched uranium-235. Uranium atoms are the ones that are split by neutrons to release tremendous heat energy.

“
During reactions, radioactive wastes accumulate on those rods, choking out, or smothering the reaction, eventually, unless the rods are replaced. Approximately every twenty-four months the old fuel is replaced with new, and much of the wastes are collected right here.
”
   

“
These wastes are dangerous, I presume?
”
asked Senator McCauley blandly.

“
Oh, yes indeed, unless handled very carefully,
”
said Ben.

“
Exactly what is done with them, afterwards?
”

“
They
’
re kept in these tanks until they decay.
”

“
They are? I didn
’
t realize that they could all decay right in those vats,
”
said the senator with a note of doubt in his voice as he appraised the huge holding tanks.

Ben was hesitant to amend the statement. Then finally,
“
Actually, a small part of the wastes are passed out through effluent tubes.
”

“
Into the ocean?
”
asked the senator as he stared at the vats.

“
Into the ocean. However, they cause absolutely no detriment to marine life in the vicinity,
”
said Ben reassuringly.

“
Interesting,
”
the senator said under his breath.

Being appointed one of the youngest chief supervisors to ever command a nuclear facility had certainly not happened because of Ben
’
s disdain for dealing with the public. It had been due, in part, to his total enthusiasm for this particular form of energy and its potential, but it was mainly due to his brilliance in the field of nuclear physics. Having to deal with skeptical politicians and critical environmentalists taxed his patience. Always eager to display the ingenuity of modern science, his spirits were always quickly dampened by comments that verged on impertinency, especially those which cast doubts on the effectiveness and safety of the nuclear plants.

     To his way of thinking, it would be far better if lay persons, who lacked knowledge of such installations, simply left well enough alone and let the aim of science run its course. Fortunately, the comments thus far were not the impertinent variety. Perhaps he had been  mistaken to expect such from the senators. Maybe they were here simply to view the plant and nothing more.

     The executive officers of West State followed quietly in the entourage, making occasional light remarks that neither added to, nor detracted from, Ben
’
s elaboration. The supervisor suspected that their contributions were so meager because they, themselves, had no thorough understanding of what was before them.

“
Shall we enter for an inspection of the interior?
”
he invited, training his eyes directly on Senator McCauley.

Sensing that the most concern was with the reactor, Ben led the way into the huge, ball-shaped building that housed the core of the reactor. The area was a maze of catwalks, cranes, generating units, and the tall, cylindrical steel vessel containing the core.

“
This gentlemen, is the container that surrounds the reactor core. The core is, of course, the center region with its thousands of fuel rods, and fortunately,
”
Ben smiled benignly at them,
“
the control rods.
”