The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (3 page)

“
Ah yes,
”
said Senator Jackson,
“
the control rods govern the speed of the reaction. Right, Dr. Harrington?
”

“
Yes. That
’
s correct. They are the means by which the reaction is controlled. It can be slowed down, by inserting additional rods, or speeded up, by withdrawing rods. You might say that the rods are the insurance that a nuclear reaction never proceeds uncontrolled.
”
He smiled easily as he finished.

“
Dr. Harrington,
”
said Senator McCauley,
“
I was under the impression that an uncontrolled reaction would cause an enormous explosion—not with the ferocity of an atomic bomb, but an explosion, nonetheless. Could that happen in one of these things?
”

“
Absolutely not, sir! That bit about an explosion is a myth perpetuated by....our opponents. Oh, theoretically, whenever the proper amount of fissionable material comes together in the right place, a critical mass could form and an explosion could ensue. But there is positively no means by which this could occur in a nuclear power plant. None, sir!
”
Ben was smug with the certainty that what he said was true.
“
In fact, the very beauty of this system is that it
’
s not only a clean and efficient method of producing electrical energy, but it is also fool-proof.
”

The men paused beside the reactor vessel. Aware that the fissionable fuel was deep within the steel container and hidden from view, they were comforted by the knowledge that as they stood there, near enough to reach out and touch the container, they were well protected and shielded from its inner core. A certain degree of awe and reverence is reserved in every man for those forces too great for his comprehension, and Ben never failed to recognize this on the faces of those few important persons who were treated to the grand tour of White Water.

“
Without belaboring the virtues of our establishment, gentlemen,
”
Ben continued,
“
I should mention that while initial loading of the fuel assembly tends to be very expensive, the overall cost is minute when compared with the vast amounts of fossil fuel used in conventional processes. The estimate is made that one pound, a mere sixteen ounces, of uranium fuel, yields the equivalent of several million pounds of coal. That in itself is the crux of this new industry.
”

Senator McCauley had drifted away, and was now climbing a metal staircase, leading to a catwalk overhead.

     By the time Ben noticed him, he was carefully examining a fuel chute. Although wanting to yell out to the inquisitive little politician, and tell him to stay with the group, Ben instead collected the remaining people and hastily ascended the steps behind the senator.

Bringing up the last of the column, Ben found himself shoulder to shoulder with the vice-president of the utility company.
“
Mr. Pettengill,
”
he said in a low, worried voice,
“
the senator....
”

He wasn
’
t given the chance to finish his statement before Pettengill clapped him on the arm and replied in an equally whispered tone,
“
You
’
re doing fine, my boy. Fine. Just keep it up.
”
An expression of pride was registered on his plump face.

Hurriedly Ben pushed up to the front of the group and again started to explain, only to have the senior senator interrupt him and move away. Suddenly the inspection was assuming an awkward trend. As they toured the remainder of the plant the jaunty, inquisitive Senator McCauley was charting the course the group followed. Pausing at points of interest, he asked for explanations from the supervisor, then, often as not, began to stroll off before Ben had completed the more lengthy responses—a habit that the nuclear physicist found particularly annoying.

When at last every nook and cranny had been presented to the visitors, Ben gladly returned them to the small conference room off the main office. A bright, cheery young lady served the men beverages, then subtly withdrew.

Leaning forward over the long table, Ben endeavored to firmly resume his leadership role.
“
You no doubt know that West State has requested authorization from the A.E.C. for an expansion of these facilities. Our intent is to develop—over the next few years—three more nuclear units at this site. The need for the extra reactors is obvious. It lies just beyond us—metropolitan Los Angeles.
”

“
Dr. Harrington, White Water is a fairly recent addition to southern California. How large is it?
”
asked the senior senator.

    
“
This plant has an eight-hundred megawatt capacity, Senator McCauley.
”

“
And those that are on the drawing boards for future development?
”
asked the senator.

“
The same size. Eight hundred megawatts,
”
Ben said flatly.

“
Would those four, the combined total, be sufficient to supply a substantial amount of the electricity required by L.A.?
”

“
Substantial, yes sir, but not all of the power needed. There are plans, being developed at this moment, which will involve the construction of a fourteen billion dollar nuclear power complex to the north of Los Angeles—for the exclusive provision of power to that city.
”

Senator McCauley seemed surprised by this.
“
Is that right? Well, before too many more years have passed your fair city will be the center of a huge circle of nuclear power plants.
”

Ben shoved his black horn rims a little farther back on the bridge of his nose, then smiled at his guest.
“
That
’
s right, sir, all to meet the demands of one of the world
’
s most rapidly expanding cities. And, of course, in a broader spectrum of terms, it is nuclear energy which will allow the industrial nations of the world to avert a major energy crisis.
”

The younger senator, who had been largely silent through these last hours, spoke up,
“
You aren
’
t giving much credit to the potential in solar, or geothermal methods of capturing energy, Doctor.
”

“
No, I
’
m not, am I?
”
asked Ben.
“
It is my feeling that those forms you have mentioned are nothing more than remote possibilities for yielding the tremendous quantities of energy required by this country. In my opinion, research need look no further for the solution to the increasing problem of energy shortages. We have it,
”
he said adamantly.

Without warning Senator McCauley began getting to his feet.
“
Dr. Harrington, we appreciate your kindness and your patience. We know we must have torn you away from very serious duties to guide us through this facility. We thank you.
”

Ben breathed a quick sigh of relief and protested weakly at terminating the session.
“
Oh, we have a film which traces the history of White Water from its inception to present day, Senators. Wouldn
’
t you like to view it before departing?
”

“
No, no. Time doesn
’
t permit our presence here any longer, Doctor. Besides, with the exemplary facility you have, and the dedication of its personnel, we feel sure that we will be hearing of White Water again,
”
said the senior senator.

Chapter Two

Tuesday

The day began like any of a thousand others, with Sara
’
s voice summoning him from bed, while she went about the preparation of breakfast.

Slowly, Ben slung his feet onto the floor, and walked across to the bathroom. His movements were sluggish, for the events at the plant on the previous day had drained his stamina. Bloodshot eyes stared back at him as he leaned toward the mirror and began the daily routine of shaving off the dark, thick bristles.

A mourning dove cooed to its mate in the canyon below the house. It was a soft, pleasing sound, one that was rapidly becoming an oddity in the heavily congested stretch of land that bordered on the Pacific, extending southward from Los Angeles. The gentle, sweet cooing had become such an integral part of the beginning of each morning that Ben had wondered about the eventual time when houses would be thrown up on the sides of the canyon, driving the birds away. When they moved, he and Sara would search for another quiet spot still near a natural habitat, unspoiled by giant earth-moving machines and the strange glass and wood affairs that were designed by eager, far-seeing architects.

A strong aroma of coffee drifted into his nostrils, luring him into the kitchen.
“
Ah, good morning, sweetheart.
”
He placed a kiss on his wife
’
s neck, lifting her long blond hair away.

The tall, lovely woman returned his show of affection by brushing his chin with her lips, while never taking her eyes off the omelet. She flashed him a tender look of concern.
“
You
’
re tired, dear. But, then, you didn
’
t rest well.
”

“
No. I had trouble unwinding after the staff meeting last night,
”
he said as he ambled toward the table.

“
I
’
d wanted to wait up for you, but as it got closer to midnight, I finally had to go to bed. Suddenly I need so much sleep.
”

“
You shouldn
’
t have waited at all. I told you I
’
d be late.
”
He picked up his glass of juice and quickly drained it. Then he noticed the glass by her plate, and its burgundy colored liquid. With his back to her, and wondering about the unusual breakfast drink, he asked,
“
Did you go in for your examination yesterday?
”

“
Yes. I had a one o
’
clock appointment, remember?
”

He vaguely recalled she had told him that, but the previous day was such a jumble of events that his wife
’
s visit to the physician had been pushed far aside in his mind.
“
Well?
”
he asked, as he turned to her.
“
What did he say?
”

She lifted the omelet onto a dish and moved toward the table.
“
He said I shouldn
’
t have any trouble carrying this one if I
’
m careful.
”

“
Careful?
”
he asked quizzically.
“
What does that mean?
”

“
Follow his advice, I think,
”
she answered as she took a seat. He was still standing, absorbed in what she would say.
“
Did he have any advice about why you had the miscarriage?
”

She shrugged,
“
He couldn
’
t know, Ben. He wasn
’
t the attending physician. Besides, he says there are dozens of reasons why pregnancies are naturally aborted.
”

Ben lifted the glass of deep red fluid to his nostrils. The scent of wine wafted through the air. Puzzled, he asked,
“
Is this what you
’
re drinking for breakfast?
”

She looked at him out of huge brown eyes, and smiled warmly,
“
Is there something wrong with it?
”

Ben scrutinized the high cheek bones and the rich full lips of his wife. Her head was regally tilted to the side, letting the shining blond hair fall like a curtain behind her as she awaited his answer.
“
It doesn
’
t seem to me that drinking this stuff in the morning is going to help you with the baby one bit, Sara.
”

That she had poured it at all was a shock to him. Sara was familiar with the best wines, the gourmet drinks, but she had never cultivated a taste for them. Ben recalled his first visit to the home of her parents. Her father possessed a lavishly-equipped wine cellar, the pride of the older man. Yet, Sara was totally unconcerned with its stock.
“
Is this a fetish or something—a craving that you suddenly have?
”
he asked as he set the glass down.