“The state of Nevada has no nuclear power plants of its own. Why should you be forced to store someone else’s dangerous waste?” Garibaldi continued. “Is your state just a dumping ground?”
“It’s not fair!” shouted someone. “Nevada was screwed.”
“We’re all being screwed if we keep nuclear power,” Garibaldi said. “It’s an addiction, and it’s time we go cold turkey. We will suffer from withdrawal, but in the end we’ll be strong and we’ll be healed.”
Some of the volunteer protesters were members of the Western Shoshone tribe in full traditional costume. The Shoshone tribe had objected strenuously to Yucca Mountain being turned into a waste storage facility, claiming that the site was on sacred lands that held great cultural importance.
The Walker River Paiute tribe had also added their voices to the dispute, because their reservation lands were directly on the transport route for any nuclear waste to be delivered to Yucca Mountain. By a large margin, the people of Nevada were opposed to the facility, although the seven counties immediately surrounding the designated land were in favor of it. They just weren’t seeing the big picture.
Because his scheduled protest had drawn so much publicity, he wasn’t surprised that a group of counterprotesters came to cause trouble. Local ranchers and miners, construction workers and government employees. Like an opposing team, they stood in a group, angry and shouting, waving handmade signs in sharp contrast with the professionally designed placards Sanergy had produced. Yucca Mountain now! said one of the signs. Save Our Jobs and Store It Here!
“It’s perfectly safe,” yelled one gruff, broad-shouldered man in a plaid shirt. “I’ve read the reports.”
“Reports can be doctored,” Garibaldi said. “No one can be certain there won’t be a quake or a fracture or a leak. They can’t guarantee the waste won’t be disturbed for a hundred thousand years.”
The man shouted back, “That’s bullshit. Scientists can’t predict anything for a tenth that long.” The two groups remained separated, but the TV cameras approached, closing the gap.
One of the other locals stood beside the first man. “Opening that facility will create hundreds of jobs. If it isn’t here, they’ll put the stuff somewhere else, in Texas or New Mexico.”
“If the government tries that, we’ll protest it there, too,” Garibaldi said. “It’s a fundamental problem, and we have to stop it.”
A young woman on the opposing side sounded shrill and frustrated. “But it exists. The nuclear waste exists. You can’t ignore it. We have to do something about it.”
“And the nuclear power plants will keep producing more and more,” Garibaldi said. “If we find a simple and easy solution to store the waste, then what’s their incentive to shut down the plants? We need to get off this addiction! The only way for us to wean ourselves from nuclear power is to force the development of alternative energy.”
“What are we going to do in the meantime?”
“We may have some tough years, I won’t lie.” Garibaldi was prepared for that. He’d used the same argument when he advocated for dramatically increasing gasoline prices, even though it would hurt consumers in the short run, because then people would demand greater fuel efficiency and get themselves off dependence on gas and oil. People would not voluntarily change when they thought the system was working. They were like a frog sitting complacently in the pot of water as the temperature increased one degree at a time until the water boiled.…
Someone threw a rock. Garibaldi didn’t see where it had come from, but it struck the sign held by a protester next to him. Suddenly, a howl of outrage erupted from his own followers, mirrored by a chorus of mocking jeers from the locals.
“You aren’t even from around here!” said the man in the plaid shirt.
Garibaldi knew that many of his volunteers did come from Las Vegas, but the difference between the city of Las Vegas and rural Nevada couldn’t be more dramatic.
The MPs at the gate edged forward, sensing violence — as did the TV cameras.
“This is America,” said one of the local supporters waving a Store It Now sign.
Garibaldi seized on that. “Yes, this is America, and Americans can achieve great things. America created the Manhattan Project. America created the Apollo program. We can solve this, not sweep it under the rug. But we all have to work together.”
“Yucca Mountain does solve the problem, you idiot — but you hate nuclear power so much you just can’t see it!”
One of his own volunteers picked up a rock and hurled it at the man, and that was just the start. Like a chain reaction gone critical, the two sides began shouting, hurling rocks, and then they rushed together in a brawl. The Air Force MPs hesitated just a few seconds, then they emerged from the gate, charging into the fray to break up the violence, but not before both sides of the debate suffered cracked skulls, multiple bruises, and lacerations.
The TV news had covered it all, and Garibaldi became even more of a celebrity. Thanks to the publicity from the Yucca Mountain incident, he had booked dozens more talk-show appearances, and he had also learned how to make his point. He would be calm and reasonable as he presented his case, not just fearmongering but genuinely looking at the big picture. Simon Garibaldi could be very convincing.
Even with his successful actions, he couldn’t take full credit for shutting down the Yucca Mountain project, but the protests continued. The grassroots opposition persisted, and the next administration had made sure that Yucca Mountain would never open.…
Now, Garibaldi blinked, bringing himself back to the present, and Mrs. Garcia and the dry waste storage chamber swam into focus. He drew in a breath, remembering where he was. Yes, it had been like stopping a giant oil tanker, but he, along with countless other like-minded people, had succeeded. So he knew it could be done.
But now Hydra Mountain! An astonishing solution accomplished by fiat. No, he couldn’t support this. Not at all.
11
Rob Harris tried to maintain a calm, professional demeanor as he followed his exec from the storage vaults, but the urgency was plain on Drexler’s face. The young man was not one to cry wolf, and he would never have interrupted the high-level tour unless something truly unexpected had happened. Moving at a brisk pace, Harris imagined dozens of dire scenarios on the site, but both men remained silent as they hurried to the ops center.
As site manager, Harris was used to dealing with unexpected circumstances, but the timing was unfortunate with so much at stake here today. His entire plan relied on the review team members being able to see the looming problem with their own eyes, and draw the right conclusion. He knew they would put the pieces together.
Harris wished he’d had time to speak with Undersecretary Doyle alone, now that she’d finally been read into Valiant Locksmith. Because of her own Special Access Program, Doyle was the only person on the team besides Senator Pulaski with the proper access to understand the real dangers of having so much high-level waste inside Hydra Mountain — especially down in the lower cavern.
The Undersecretary needed to see for herself what van Dyckman had done, but until just a few minutes ago she hadn’t even known that his covert program existed. Once Doyle got to the lower level, though, she would fully understand.
Then all hell would break loose.
Thanks to draconian SAP security constraints, Harris was restricted from telling anyone else not cognizant of both programs about the problem. Period. Each person had to see their own part, and Harris had to hope they would put the clues together. It was like the parable of blind men trying to describe an elephant, each touching only one part of the animal and not grasping the whole thing. If they could only use their eyes!