“So it would have been. Except for a damn fool operator.” Paulsen slammed a fist into his palm. “I could skin the bastard alive.”
Angrily, gloomily, he spelled out the sorry details.
When a huge, steam-powered, oil-fueled generator like Big Lil was started up, procedures were elaborate and precise. An operator, working in a control room with a multitude of instruments to guide him, was trained to follow instructions carefully, step by step. A printed checklist was provided, undue haste forbidden. Normally, the entire process took several hours.
With Big Lil, as with any similar type generator, the boiler which provided steam was activated first. Projecting into the boiler, at various heights, were rings of oil guns—burners which sprayed atomized fuel. These were ignited remotely by the control room operator, level by level, starting at the bottom. For safety reasons, before a higher level was ignited, the level below it had to be burning.
Today, the operator—failing to check his instruments-thought the lowest level of oil guns was alight. It wasn’t.
As succeeding levels of burners came on, the lowest level continued to pour out unburned oil which pooled at the bottom of the boiler. Eventually the accumulated oil and vapor exploded.
“I thought there was a safety interlock …” Nim began.
“Hell!—of course there is.” Paulsen sounded as if he were about to weep. “It’s designed to prevent exactly what happened. But—can you believe this?—the damn fool operator overrode it manually. Said he wanted to bring the unit on line faster.”
“Jesus Christ!” Nim could understand Paulsen’s anger and frustration. He asked, “How much damage did the explosion do?”
“Plenty—to the internal boiler structure, much of the duct and flue work, more than half the water-wall tubes.”
Nim whistled softly. He felt sympathy for Paulsen, but knew that words would do no good. He also realized that a four-month estimate for repairs was optimistic.
“This changes everything, Ray,” Nim said, “especially about rolling blackouts.”
“Don’t I know it!”
Mentally, Nim was running over problems and logistics. Although Big Lil was an oil burner and eventually could fall victim to the OPEC embargo, it was by far the most economical oil-fueled generator the utility had. Now, Big Lil’s output would have to be made up by other units which would use more fuel. Therefore, suddenly, GSP & L’s total oil reserves represented a great deal less electric power than before.
Thus it followed, even more than previously: All oil stocks must be used cagily, rationed strictly.
“Blackouts should start within the next few days,” Nim said.
Paulsen nodded. “I agree.” He got up to go.
“Ray,” Nim said, “I’ll let you know as soon as the chairman comes in.”
“My recommendation,” Nim said at a hastily called conference on Friday afternoon, “is that we begin blackouts on Monday.”
Teresa Van Buren protested, “It’s too soon! We’ve already announced they won’t begin until the week after next. Now you’re saying you’d advance that ten days. We’ve got to give the public more warning.”
“Warning be damned!” Paulsen snapped. “This is a crisis.”
With wry amusement, Nim thought: For once he and Paulsen were in agreement, ranged against the others.
There were five of them, seated around a conference table in the chairman’s office suite—J. Eric Humphrey, Paulsen, Van Buren, Nim and Oscar O’Brien. The general counsel had been called in to consider any legal implications of the blackouts.
Prior to this conference, Nim had had several meetings with department heads to review the latest figures on GSP & L’s oil stocks. They showed supplies were diminishing faster than anticipated, probably due to unseasonably warm weather and heavy use of air-conditioners.
Nim had also telephoned a Washington, D.C., lawyer-lobbyist who represented GSP & L on Capitol Hill. His report was: No breakthrough, or any sign of one, in the United States-OPEC deadlock. The lawyer added, “There’s talk around here of plans to issue a new currency—an external, gold-backed dollar to satisfy OPEC. But it’s talk, no more, and not enough to get the oil moving.”
Nim had passed on the Washington report to the chairman and the others.
“I agree with Tess,” Oscar O’Brien said, “that we ought to give as much advance warning about blackouts as we can.”
Eric Humphrey queried, “Suppose we hold off until next Wednesday and start the blackouts then? That’s five days from now, which should give people time to prepare.”
After more discussion they agreed on Wednesday.
“I’ll call a press conference immediately,” Van Buren said. She addressed Nim. “Can you be available in an hour?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
The remainder of the day proceeded at the same frenetic pace.
Amid the rush of decision-making and conferences, Nim postponed his intended call to Karen, and it was not until late Friday afternoon that he found time to phone her.
Josie answered first, then Karen came on the line. He knew she would be wearing the special lightweight headband, earpiece and microphone which, with a microswitch close to her head, enabled her to use the telephone without assistance if she wished. By arrangement with the phone company, Karen was able to reach an operator directly and have any number dialed for her.
“Karen,” Nim said, “I’m calling about your father. I made some inquiries to see if there was anything I could do, but I have to tell you that there isn’t. What’s happening has gone too far.” He added, hoping it would not sound banal, “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” Karen said, and he sensed her dejection. “But I’m grateful to you for trying, Nimrod.”
“The only advice I can give,” he told her, “is that your father get himself a good lawyer.”
There was a silence, then she asked, “Is it really that bad?”
There seemed no point in lying. “Yes, I’m afraid it is.” Nim decided not to pass along Harry London’s statement that a criminal charge would be laid within the next few days, or London’s estimate of a two-hundred-and-thirty-thousand-dollar loss to GSP & L. Both items of news would be known soon enough.
“The strange thing is,” Karen said, “I’ve always thought of Daddy as the most honest person I know.”
“Well,” Nim acknowledged, “I’m not making excuses for your father. I can’t. But I guess, sometimes, there are pressures which do strange things to people. Anyway, I’m sure that whatever was behind what he did will be considered in court.”
“But he didn’t need to; that’s the tragic thing. Oh, I’ve enjoyed the extra things my parents have made possible with money, including Humperdinck. But I could have managed without.”
Nim didn’t feel like telling Karen that obviously her father had seen a way to expiate some of his guilt feelings, and had taken it. That was something a psychologist or the courts, or maybe both, would have to unravel and pass judgment on. Instead, Nim asked, “You still have Humperdinck?”
“Yes. Whatever else is happening, Humperdinck hasn’t been repossessed yet.”
“I’m glad,” he said, “because you’ll need the van next week.”
He went on to tell her about the new schedule of rolling blackouts beginning Wednesday. “In your area, power will go off at 3 P.M. Wednesday and stay off for at least three hours. So, to be safe, you should go to Redwood Grove Hospital sometime during the morning.”
“Josie will take me,” Karen said,
“If there’s any change,” Nim told her, “I’ll call you. Also we’ll talk about other blackouts later. Oh, by the way, I checked on the Redwood Grove emergency generator. It’s in good shape and the fuel tank is full.”
“It’s truly wonderful,” Karen said, with a flash of her normal brightness, “to be cared about so much.”
15
“I really do believe,” Ruth Goldman observed, turning pages of the Chronicle-West Sunday edition
, “that people are beginning to face reality about an electrical crisis.”
“If they’d listened to Dad,” Benjy asserted, “they would have done it sooner.”
The other three—Ruth, Nim and Leah—all laughed.
“Thank you,” Nim said. “I appreciate the loyalty.”
Leah added, “Especially now it means you’re vindicated.”
“Hey!” Ruth told her, “that vocabulary class of yours is paying off.”
Leah flushed with pleasure.
It was Sunday morning and the family had gathered in Nim’s and Ruth’s bedroom. Ruth was still in bed, having recently finished breakfast, brought to her on a tray. Nim had got up early to cook poached eggs on corned beef hash, a family favorite, for everyone.
Two days ago Ruth had flown back from New York following her second visit there for treatments at the Sloan-Kettering Institute. She had appeared pale on her return, and still did, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She admitted to having experienced some pain as a side effect, as had happened on the previous occasion, and was obviously tired.
It was still too early to know the effect of the treatments, and she would go back to New York in another three weeks. Ruth reported cheerfully, though, that the doctors she had talked with were “very hopeful.”
Nim informed her about the impending “rolling blackouts” and that their own home would be affected, beginning Wednesday.
Characteristically, Ruth had said, “No problem. We’ll plan ahead, and manage.”
For a while, Ruth’s mother, Rachel, would be coming in several days a week to help with the house and allow Ruth to rest.
“Listen to this.” Ruth had turned to the Chronicle-West editorial page and began reading aloud.
THE POWER STRUGGLE
This newspaper, which tries to be honest and forthright in its opinions, admits to having second thoughts about some stands we have taken in the past.
We have, like many others, opposed increased development of nuclear electric power. We have, because of concern about pollution, aligned ourselves with opposition to coal-burning electric generating plants. We have supported wildlife preservation groups who opposed building additional dams for hydroelectric projects on the grounds that wildlife, especially fish populations, might be diminished. We expressed doubt about permitting more geothermal electric plants, fearing they would upset the economies of established tourist areas.
We do not apologize for any of these stands. They represented, and still do, our convictions in specific areas.
But, viewed as a whole, we are forced—in fairness—to agree with the electric power companies of California which argue that their hands have been tied while we have demanded of them what they cannot now deliver.
Instead of compromising here and there, as a give-and-take society should, we have said “no” to almost everything.
Let us remember that when the lights go out next Wednesday.
Perhaps we deserve what we are getting. Whether we do or not, the time has come for serious reappraisal of some long-held views—our own and others’.
“There!” Ruth declared, putting down the newspaper. “What do you all think of that?”
Benjy said, “I think they should have mentioned Dad.”
Ruth reached out and mussed his hair affectionately.
“It’s a smooth piece of writing,” Nim said. “Unfortunately, that’s all it is. Oh yes, and it’s five years late.”
“I don’t care,” Ruth said. “I suppose I should care, but I don’t. All I care about right now is being home, and loving you all.”
In the afternoon, despite it being Sunday, Nim went to GSP & L headquarters and his office. There was plenty of activity, and decisions needing to be made. In a way, with regular blackouts only three days away, the utility was entering new and uncharted territory. As the chief dispatcher put it when Nim dropped into the Energy Control Center, “We assume everything will go smoothly and, as much as we can, we’ve all made sure it will. But there’s always factor ‘u’—for the unexpected, Mr. Goldman. I’ve seen that devil ‘u’ bollix things too many times to believe it won’t happen anywhere at any moment.”
“We’ve had quite a few unexpected things already,” Nim pointed out.
“Always room for one more, sir; sometimes two,” the dispatcher said cheerfully. “Anyhow, that’s the way I see it.”
On his way home later, Nim wondered about the week to come, and the dispatcher’s factor “u.”
An hour or two after Nim went home, Georgos Archambault ventured out from his North Castle apartment. Now that his day for action—Tuesday—was so near, Georgos was more edgy and nervous than at any time since going into hiding. He sensed an observer or pursuer around each corner and in every shadow. But it proved to be imagination only. He obtained food, without incident, at a delicatessen, buying enough to last him until his departure for La Mission on Tuesday evening.
He also bought the Sunday newspapers and, on his way back to the apartment, mailed the envelope which contained that stupid Consumer Survey from Golden State Piss & Lickspittle. Briefly, Georgos hesitated at the mailbox, wondering if he should mail the letter after all. But, observing that the box had already had its single Sunday collection, and would not be cleared again until midmorning Monday, he dropped the envelope in.
16
Monday, relatively speaking, passed uneventfully. Tuesday, in the early morning hours, did not.
Nature, as if conspiring to embarrass GSP & L at a troublous time, mounted its own onslaught at the utility’s geothermal field in the mountains of Sevilla County.
Deep in the earth beneath “Old Desperado,” the wellhead which had once blown out of control and was never capped entirely, a subsidence of rock and subsoil released new geothermal steam under enormous pressure. The steam rushed to the surface with the force of twenty locomotives. Then, in a spectacular display which rivaled Dante’s Inferno, hot mud, stones and rock were hurled high into the air with apocalyptic force.
Obeying another natural phenomenon, namely, “what goes up must come down,” the tons of muck splattered widely over other portions of the geothermal field.
By sheer good luck, the blowout occurred at 2 A.M. when only a handful of workers was on duty, and all were under cover. Consequently, there were neither deaths nor injuries, which would have been inevitable if the blow had happened in the daytime.
But the geothermal field’s switching and transformer yard was less fortunate. It was deeply covered in wet muck, as were transmission lines nearby. The muck was a conductor of electricity. As a result, everything shorted out and the flow of power from all geothermal-driven generators to the GSP & L transmission system was instantly cut off.
No great or lasting damage was done. All that was needed was a massive cleanup job which would take two days. As for Old Desperado, its bout of mischief over, it settled back to sporadic, harmless steaming like a simmering kettle.
But for forty-eight hours, until the cleaning was complete, GSP & L would be deprived of seven hundred thousand kilowatts from its normally reliable geothermal source, and would need to find an equivalent amount of power elsewhere. The only way it could be done was by bringing more oil-powered generators on line, and thus the utility’s precious reserve of oil was further, and unexpectedly, depleted.
One other question mark hung over Tuesday’s operations.
Because of the time of year, out of the company’s more than two hundred generating units, an unusually large number were removed from service and undergoing maintenance in preparation for the summer peak-load period. Thus, with the abrupt loss of Big Lil four days earlier, and now all geothermals, GSP & L’s total generating capacity—irrespective of the oil shortage—would be stretched thin for the next two days.
Nim learned of the geothermal failure and the potential capacity shortage on coming in to work on Tuesday morning.
His first thought was: How uncanny that the chief dispatcher’s factor “u”—
the unexpected—had intruded, precisely as the dispatcher said it might. His second was that until geothermal was back on line, GSP & L could not withstand and absorb another factor “u” episode.
The realization made him decide, before he started work, to telephone Karen Sloan.
“Karen,” Nim said when she came on the line, “you’ve arranged to go to Redwood Grove Hospital tomorrow. Right?”
“Yes,” she answered, “I’ll be there in plenty of time before the afternoon blackout.”
“I’d prefer it if you went today,” he told her. “Could you do that?”
“Yes, of course, Nimrod. But why?”
“We’re having a few problems—some we weren’t expecting—and it’s possible there could be a non-scheduled power cut. It may not happen, in fact it probably won’t, but I’d feel easier if you were at the hospital and close to that standby generator.”
“You mean I should go now?”
“Well, fairly soon. It’s just a long-shot precaution.”
“All right,” Karen said. “Josie’s here and we’ll get ready. And, Nimrod.”
“Yes?”
“You sound tired.”
“I am,” he admitted. “I guess we all are over here. It hasn’t been the best of times, not lately.”
“Take care of yourself,” she told him. “And Nimrod, dear …bless you!”
After Nim hung up, he thought of something else and dialed his home number. Ruth answered. He told her about Old Desperado, the geothermal cutoff, and the doubtful capacity situation.
She said sympathetically, “Things do seem to happen all at once.”
“I guess that’s the way life works. Anyway, with all this, and rolling blackouts starting tomorrow, I’d better not come home tonight. I’ll sleep on a cot in the office.”
“I understand,” Ruth said. “But be sure you get some rest, and remember that the children and I all need you for a long time to come.”
He promised to do both.
The special staff which had been assembled to process the so-called Consumer Survey in North Castle had been totally disbanded two weeks earlier. The basement room at GSP & L headquarters, where returned questionnaires had at first flooded in, was now in use for another purpose.