“At full capacity, about a year. But we’re not running full, and we won’t ever be. It takes about ten megawatts to operate the plant. Cooling pumps, control equipment, the lights… you know. That’s one percent of capacity, so we could keep that up for a hundred years. But then we’ve got another set of fuel elements, over in Number Two.”
Tim looked back at the plant. Two enormous concrete domes, which contained the nuclear reactors. Each had a series of rectangular buildings attached that contained the turbines and control equipment.
“Number Two’s not operational,” Weigley said. “Getting her up will be our first job once the water’s gone down. And then we’ll be able to put twenty megawatts on line for somebody else to use. We can keep that up for fifty years.”
“Fifty years.” Tim thought about that. In fifty years the United States had gone from a horse-and-buggy to an automobile civilization; had opened mines, built cities, built industries; discovered electronics and computers, taken space flight from comic books to the Moon. And this one plant could put out more power than the whole United States generated in the Twenties… “That’s exciting. My God, it was worth coming here! Forrester was right, letting anything happen to this plant wouldn’t be an optimum solution.”
“Uh?” Weigley gave Tim a puzzled look.
Tim grinned. “Nothing. Time to try the radio out.”
To enter the conference room was like walking into the past, straight into a Board of Directors meeting. It was all there, the long table with comfortable chairs, pads of paper, blackboards, chalk and erasers, even wooden pointers. Tim was jolted. He wondered what Al Hardy would give for a well-equipped conference room, and bulletin boards to hang maps and lists on, file cabinets…
There was an argument in progress. Johnny Baker waved Tim to a seat on his left. Tim whispered rapidly: The radio gave mostly static, but it worked; they had communications with the Stronghold. No further news. Baker whispered thanks and turned back to listen.
They looked like human scarecrows, diversely dressed, most of them armed, pale as ghosts except for Mayor Allen and a black Detective-Investigator. Their clothes were old, their shoes were worn. A few months ago they would have looked wildly out of place here. Now it was the room that was strange. The people were normal, except that they were so clean.
Tim wriggled inside his clothes. His hand patted his smoothshaven cheek. Clean! There was hot water for bathing, and working electric razors. The washer-dryer hadn’t stopped since the Stronghold party arrived. His shirt and shorts and socks were clean and dry. Tim wriggled and tried to listen. He was hearing the same sentence over and over again: “I didn’t know there was going to be a goddam army after us.”
Barry Price wasn’t as large as the construction crew chief who confronted him, but there was no question who was in charge. Price wore khaki field clothing, bush jacket and a shirt bulging with pens; a pocket calculator hung from his belt; an assistant with a clipboard hovered nearby. His brush haircut and precisely trimmed pencil mustache made him look almost finicky. He said, “So what’s changed? We were never popular.”
“No, dammit, but a cannibal army?” It wasn’t heat that made the crew chief sweat inside his hard hat. “Barry, we got to get out of here.”
“There’s nowhere to go.”
“Nuts. West side of the sea. Anyplace. But we can’t stay here! We cannot fight a whole army.”
“We have to,” Price said. “How can we let all this go down the drain? Robin, you worked as hard as anybody! We’ve got allies now—”
“Some allies. A dozen men.” Robin Laumer leaned across the table toward Barry Price. They might have been alone in the room; certainly nobody was interrupting. “Look. Everything’s got to work or nothing does, right?”
“Right.”
“So they get one hit on the turbines, the switchyard, the cable rooms, the control rooms, and that’s it! We’re underwater, and nothing ever works again!”
“I know all that,” Price said. “So we don’t let them get one hit.”
“Bullshit. Barry, I’m pulling out. Any of my people want to come with me, I’ll take. We’ll give ’em back, but we’re borrowing your boats—”
“Not mine you don’t,” Johnny Baker said. He sat at Barry Price’s left, just across the table from Mayor Allen. “I did not bring boats to help evacuate this plant.”
Laumer seemed about to argue; then he shrugged. “So I take the boats that were already here. One of ’em’s mine anyway, that one I keep. But we’re leaving.”
He stalked out of the room. As he passed Tim Hamner, Tim told him, “You’ll never be clean again.” Laumer broke stride, then kept going.
Baker asked, “Shouldn’t we stop him?”
“How?” Price demanded.
Baker dropped it. None of them were ready to use the only way they had of stopping Laumer. “So how many will go with him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe twenty or thirty of the construction crew. Maybe not so many. We worked like slaves to save this plant. I don’t think any of my operating people will leave.”
“So you can still run the plant.”
“I’m sure of that much,” said Price.
Johnny turned to the Mayor. “How about your people? Especially your cops?”
“I doubt any will go,” Bentley Allen said. “We had too damned much trouble getting here.”
“That’s good,” Baker said. He saw the look on the Mayor’s face. “That they won’t run. And of course you’re staying, Barry…”
The effect on Price was disturbing. He didn’t look nonchalant, or proud; he looked like a man in agony. “I have to stay,” he said. “That ticket’s already been paid for. No, you wouldn’t know. When that goddam Hammer hit, I could go look for somebody in Los Angeles, or stay here and try to save the plant. I stayed.” His jaw clenched. “So what do we do now?”
“I can’t give you orders,” Johnny said.
Price shrugged. “By me you can.” He looked to Mayor Allen and got a nod. “Far as I’m concerned, Senator Jellison is in charge of this state. Maybe he’s President. Makes more sense than the others.”
“You too?” Johnny asked. “How many Presidents have you heard about?”
“Five. Colorado Springs; Moose Jaw, Montana; Casper, Wyoming… anyway, I’ll take the Senator. Give us all the orders you want.”
Johnny Baker spoke carefully. “You didn’t understand me. I’ve got orders not to give you orders. Suggestions only.”
Price looked uncomfortable and confused. Mayor Allen and an assistant whispered together, then Allen said, “Doesn’t want the obligation?”
“Precisely,” Baker said. “Look, I’m on your side. We’ve got to keep this plant going. But I don’t control the Stronghold.”
Mayor Allen said, “You may be the highest-ranking—”
“Try to give the Senator orders? Me? Bullshit!”
“Just a thought, General. All right, feudal obligations work both ways,” Mayor Allen said. “At least they do if the King is Senator Jellison. So he wants to limit his obligations to us. So what suggestions do you have for us, General Baker?”
“I’ve given you some. Ways to build exotic weapons…”
Price nodded. “We’re working on them. Actually, it only took thinking of them. You know, we’ve worked on defenses here, not enough, I guess, but none of us ever thought of poison gas. Incendiaries we knew about, but we didn’t make enough. Or enough muzzle-loader cannon, either. I’ve got a crew on that right now. What else?”
“Lay in supplies. No water shortage, and you’ve got the power to boil it. There’s dried fish coming, and you can catch more. Get set for a siege. Our information is that the New Brotherhood is serious about taking over all of California, and very serious about wrecking this plant.”