reaction go at the right speed to be of use to human beings. Graphite, along with a few other materials, has the capacity to 'moderate' or slow down these escaping neutrons, and so in a reactor the speed of the reaction can be controlled.)
Along with the fuel tubes, the slab of graphite is pierced by nearly seventeen hundred pipes containing water. As the uranium fissions, it gives off heat. The water carries away this heat, thus preventing a runaway meltdown of the uranium, and also providing the steam that turns the turbines that generate the electricity. Like every other nuclear reactor in the world, the RBMK-1000 is designed to be totally safe. And it is, as long as nothing goes wrong.
At ten o'clock that Friday night Bohdan Kalychenko was also trying to get to sleep, under circumstances less favorable than Leonid Sheranchuk's. He was in a bunk in the fire department of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Station. Kalychenko had borrowed the bunk from a fireman friend — well, definitely a fireman and at least a sort of a friend — named Vissgerdis, who was a member of the plant's Fire Brigade No. 2. The bunk had been constructed for someone a lot shorter than a man with Lithuanian blood like Kalychenko — or like Vissgerdis himself for that matter. Kalychenko had difficulty in composing himself comfortably in it. It wasn't merely the bunk; it was his job, his boss, his boss's bosses like Khrenov, his girl, his approaching wedding — it was also the fact that before being allowed to get to sleep he had been wheedled into two hours of cards with the rest of the firemen. Now he was eight rubles fifty kopecks poorer than he had been that afternoon, and his fiancee, Raia, was sure to find out that he had been gambling again.
He pulled the thin, sweaty blanket over his head to shut out the noise from the card game. It didn't work. It made it dark for him, but also hot; it did not keep out the men's voices from the next room, or even the reek of tobacco smoke from the game. It was Kalychenko's pride that he did not, at least, smoke. In fact, he was quite intolerant of people who did, like his fiancee — except that in her case it was useful to have her possess at least one vice he did not. It would be particularly valuable after they were married, he thought gloomily. At least, that was when he would need it most.
The idea of getting married was not all joy for Bohdan Kalychenko, Sooner or later, of course, it was what one did. But he was not ready for that sort of surrender, especially since he considered that it was entirely Raia's fault that she had become pregnant. Of course, he reminded himself, when they were married and had a room to themselves in the families' hostel, it would be quite nice to share a bed together every night — at least until the baby came, when one room would no longer seem quite enough for the three of them. And even in Pripyat there was a three-year waiting list for flats. To be sure, first there would be the honeymoon. . But even that, Kalychenko told himself sourly, would not be without its drawbacks. Raia was determined to go to the Black Sea. Neither of them had enough standing to get the plant or the union to get them into one of the special 'sanitoria,' so that meant paying seven rubles a day to some Crimean robber, and lucky if they didn't have six other beds in their room anyway.
He pounded the pillow, threw the blanket off, and sat up angrily.
How could these other men sleep so soundly here? There were at least half a dozen bunks filled, and gentle snores coming from most of them. From the nearest bunk, not so gentle; Kalychenko knew that the fireman there was the football player they called 'Summer,' the best scorer of the Four Seasons.
Kalychenko was still trying to make up his mind whether it was worthwhile to lie down again, when Vissgerdis poked his head in the door. 'Kalychenko? Telephone,' he said. When Kalychenko mumbled a question about who would be calling him here, Vissgerdis only looked upward and jerked a thumb toward heaven before returning to his card game.
That could mean one of two things, either God himself or the organs — the GehBeh. And what in hell could
'With pleasure,' snarled Kalychenko, looking at the clock. It was not even eleven yet! As he dressed he helped himself to half a cup of the concentrated tea the firemen kept for times they needed to wake up in a hurry. He pulled his clothes on rapidly. How like Khrenov to seek him out himself, instead of letting the shift chief do it! It was not that Khrenov interfered in the technical work of the power station — exactly — he was careful, always, to stay within his own sphere of authority.
But where did that sphere end?
Kalychenko didn't waste time resenting Khrenov's issuing orders, or in wondering how the Personnel man had known where to find him; of course Khrenov knew where to find anyone, all the time. What he did resent was Khrenov's continuing nagging little jokes about Kalychenko's relationship with the woman whom he was pledged to marry. Surely that was none of even the GehBehs' business!
It did not occur to Kalychenko to complain to anyone about Khrenov's actions. Who was there to complain to about the KGB?
Vissgerdis took time out from the game to look in on Kalychenko again. 'What's up?' he asked. 'There's a story that they're doing something strange with the Number Four Reactor tonight.'
Kalychenko paused as he pulled a boot on. 'Oh, of course,' he said, remembering. 'No, it is nothing strange, simply a test of a new energy conservation measure.' They were friends, of a sort — Vissgerdis was half Lithuanian, like Kalychenko himself, and so they both stood out as tall and pale among the stubby Slavs, which had made them at least acquaintances. Nevertheless Kalychenko never forgot that he was an accredited power operator, while Vissgerdis was only a fireman. So he said, in rough comradeship, 'A technical matter. Nothing important.' But, he reflected, the trouble was that when something like that was going on, they would be busy all night. That was a nuisance. Normally Kalychenko actually preferred night duty. After all, the Chernobyl power plant pretty well ran itself. All the operators drowsed off from time to time on the midnight shift; oh, they were careful to see that there was always someone watching the boards and listening for the telephone in case of any messages from the load dispatcher in Kiev, but, really, there was not that much to do at night, when the bosses were all tucked away.
But tonight would be different, he thought glumly.
Reluctantly he left the fire department's comfortable little quarters, waving thanks to Vissgerdis, already back at the card table. The power plant was not quiet — it was never that, with the turbine scream always in everyone's ears wherever they were in the structures — but it was almost deserted. There were hardly more than a hundred people anywhere in the vast expanse at this time of night; construction had stopped for the weekend, and the three thousand workers who swarmed around the plant in the daylight hours were all back in their homes.
When Kalychenko got to the control room for Reactors 3 and 4, it did not look deserted. It was full. The four- to-midnight shift was still there, so were some of those who would take over at twelve, though it was only eleven- thirty by the big clock. And so was Khrenov, gazing thoughtfully at Kalychenko as he came in, and so, for a wonder, was the Chief Plant Engineer, Vitaly Varazin.
The Security chief gave him one of those intimate, understanding looks. 'Are you just out of bed, then, Kalychenko?' he asked — it was his way of showing he was in a good humor, but what was he in a good humor about? 'Did you also manage, this time, to get a little sleep?'
With someone like, say, Smin, Kalychenko would have managed some sort of retort to the effect that it was none of anyone's business whom he slept with, or when. Not with Khrenov. In a quite civil tone Kalychenko said, 'Thank you, yes.' He did not prolong the conversation. He relieved the other operator and took his seat before the big board, frowning as he saw that the main pumps were still disconnected. He called to the shift chief, 'Shouldn't we turn these on again?'
It was Chief Plant Engineer Varazin who answered. 'Not at all, Kalychenko. We've been allowed to take Number Four off line after all, so now we are able to proceed with the planned experiment.'
And Khrenov, standing behind Kalychenko, said pleasantly, 'Aren't you pleased?'
Kalychenko didn't answer. He didn't have to, because two more men were coming into the main control room. They were strangers to Kalychenko, but obviously not to Khrenov, who turned away at once to greet them.
Kalychenko scowled at the board. The best things about his job were that there was so little, really, to do, and that little could be done in comfort, without people standing around to watch you. This night was all different. Another stranger had just come hurrying in, looking as rumpled and sleepy-eyed as the first two. The shift chief whispered to Kalychenko that they were observers — from the turbine factory, from other power stations — but,
