Chernobyl

The Yemeni looked puzzled. 'What do submarines have to do with it?'

Smin smiled. 'Do you know why the Americans stay with the pressurized-water reactors? It is because they are trapped in their own historical accidents. They are in a rut. The first power reactors ever built in America were designed for their nuclear submarines. Those had to be of the pressurized-water type, since nothing else would work inside the confined space of a submarine. Advanced models like our RBMKs simply cannot be used for submarine engines. So when at last the Americans decided to try to generate utility power with atomic energy, they simply built new and larger submarine engines. The RBMK is quite different, and by 'different' I mean 'better.' For one thing, it is extremely responsive. The American generators, like all pressurized-water generators, are only good for baseline power — they are very slow to start and very slow to stop. The RBMK is quick to respond. If there is a sudden need for power, an RBMK can be brought on line in less than one hour. And — well, I remind you of safety. Three Mile Island was a pressurized-water reactor, you know.'

'If all that is so,' said the older Yemeni suddenly, 'then why have you not shown us Reactor Number Four?'

Smin shook his head compassionately. 'Unfortunately, Reactor Number Four is about to be taken out of service for maintenance. So no one is permitted in the area because of some slight risk of radiation exposure, you see. It is a precaution very strictly enforced — you see, in spite of glasnost articles in the newspapers, we really are very cautious. What a pity! But perhaps you could come back tomorrow, when things will be tranquil again?'

'Unfortunately,' said the Yemeni glumly, 'tonight we stay in the Dniepro Hotel in Kiev, and fly to Moscow in the morning.'

'What a pity,' repeated Smin, who had known that all along. 'And now your car is here! I hope you have had an interesting visit with us, here at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Station, and I look forward to our meeting again!'

Smin was still thinking of the Yemenis when he stopped, simply as a precaution, to make sure the experiment was still ready to go before going up to the main control room. But when he heard what the shift operator had to say he forgot the Yemenis. 'Canceled? Why is it canceled? What are we going to do with all those people?'

The shift operator sighed. 'If you figure that out, please tell me; they are still here. All I know is that the power dispatchers in Kiev say we can't go off line now. I didn't speak to them; you'll have to ask the Director. What? No, he isn't here; I think he's in the turbine room below.'

Smin put the phone down, frowning. Now, that was a nuisance. There were almost a dozen observers on hand. They had gathered at Chernobyl from as far away as Leningrad, power-plant managers and representatives of turbine builders and electrical engineers, for the single purpose of seeing how the experiment in generating extra power from residual heat and momentum after a reactor was shut down would work. The experiment should be beginning right now, which would mean they would all be getting into their cars and bothering somebody else before dark.

But now what?

The only person who could answer that was the Director, so Smin went looking for him. Smin was meticulous about making sure his workers dressed for their work, and set them a good example by putting on the dosimeter badge and the white cap and coveralls and cloth slippers before he walked into the turbine hall.

He also fitted the plugs in his ears. The turbine rooms, particularly the big one that combined the output of Reactors 3 and 4, were the noisiest places in the Chernobyl Power Station. Perhaps they were the noisiest places in the world, Smin thought, but he welcomed the noise. The scream of the steam in the turbines was good news. It meant that the heat of the dying atoms was spinning the great wheels and magically turning steam into electricity to feed the lights and radios and television sets and elevator motors of a quarter of the Ukrainian Soviet Federated Socialist Republic — with enough left over to export electricity to their Socialist neighbors in Poland and even Bulgaria and Romania.

What was less pleasing, he thought, remembering, was that the Yemenis had asked unpleasant questions. The worst was the one about Kyshtym.

Was there any truth to the story about Kyshtym?

People had asked him the same question at the IAEA in Vienna. They hadn't been put off as easily as the Yemenis, either. They had even handed him a copy of a book by the renegade, Zhores Medvedev, with a worrying story. It said that in 1958 some nuclear enterprise had gone terribly wrong in Soviet Siberia. Nuclear wastes — or something! — had somehow, unbelievably attained critical mass. They had exploded. Lakes were destroyed. Streams were poisoned. Villages were made uninhabitable, and a whole countryside had become a radioactive waste.

Could such a thing be true?

Smin confessed to himself that he did not know. Yet even if that story were true, Smin thought rebelliously, what he had said—most of what he had said to the Yemeni about such questions — was demonstrably quite true. Soviet nuclear power had never had an accident. At least not one that was related to the nuclear reactors, and certainly not at Chernobyl!

Even with the plugs in his ears, the vast roar of the turbines made his head ache. He was glad to see the Director, Zaglodin, at the far end of the room. With him were the Chief of the Personnel Section, Khrenov, and the Chief Engineer, Varazin, talking with a fourth man. Talking was not the right word. The four men seemed to be having a sort of perverted flirtation, there under the towering half-cylinders of the turbine housings. The three high officials had their heads close together, and the fourth man was thrusting his own face in among them, shouting to be heard over the turbine scream.

As Smin approached, the fourth man broke away and, scowling, walked past Smin to the door. It was Sheranchuk, the power station's hydrologist-engineer, usually a friendly man, but he gave Smin only a short nod as he stalked angrily past.

An engineering work team, taking readings on Turbine No. 6 with checklists in hand, was more agreeable. They all gave Smin a hand wave of respectful comradeship as he passed, and he returned it, smiling.

Khrenov noticed the exchange. Smin was not surprised. As Director of the plant's First Section, Personnel and Security— which was to say, the section that reported to the KGB — it was Khrenov's job to notice everything. The Director, on the other hand, was scowling. He gestured Smin to go back, and all four of the senior officers exited to the comparative quiet of the hallway outside.

As soon as their earplugs were out, Khrenov observed, 'You are very popular with the workers, Smin.'

'Popularity is not what matters,' the Director said testily. 'Have you heard, Smin? What do you think the dispatchers in Kiev are telling us now? The grid needs our power; we can't go off line today.'

'I see,' said Smin, understanding. The experiment could be performed only when one of the reactors was being shut down. 'And the observers?'

'The observers,' the Director said with a glance at the Chief Engineer, 'are now Comrade Varazin's pleasure to look after. He has just volunteered to take care of them.'

'God knows how,' the Chief Engineer said gloomily. 'Perhaps tomorrow I can give them a little tour of the reactor chambers. None of them are nuclear; this is all interesting to them.'

'I'm sure they'll enjoy it,' said Smin, pleased to learn that he, at least, was not expected to give up his weekend. He added with a smile, 'At least we will now be able to overfulfill our plan for the month of April.'

Director Zaglodin looked at him speculatively, then allowed himself to return the smile. 'At least,' he corrected, 'I can now leave to catch my plane. Is there anything you would like me to bring back for you from Moscow? — not that I will have time, really, for shopping,' he added quickly, in case Smin intended to surprise him and actually ask for something.

'My wife would no doubt have a list, Comrade Director,' Smin said good-humoredly, 'but she isn't here. Have you orders for me for your absence?'

Of course Zaglodin had orders. He ticked them off on his fingers, one by one. 'The cement plant has already delivered five hundred tons for the base for Reactor Number Five. Well, naturally, we are not ready; and also I think the cement is not up to quality. See to it, Smin.'

'Of course, Comrade Director.' Smin caught the understanding look from Khrenov. He did not bother to comment. All of them knew that that meant that Smin now had the responsibility of either accepting substandard concrete or perhaps delaying pouring the foundation for the new reactor, which added up to a classical case of a no-win situation. How fortunate for Director Zaglodin that this weekend he was going hunting outside Moscow, with