He was thinking about her as he drove.
What he would do, he decided, was make a direct personal appeal to Laura Bo Carmichael concerning Tunipah and the other two power plants which Golden State Power proposed to build. Perhaps, if lie argued the urgent need convincingly, the Sequoia Club might not oppose the projects or at least would be moderate in opposition. He must arrange a meeting as soon as possible. Preferably today.
Nim had been driving automatically, paying little attention to street names. Now he noticed, at an arterial stop, that he was at the intersection of Lakewood and Balboa. It reminded him of something. What?
Suddenly he remembered. The day of the explosion and power failure two weeks ago, the chief dispatcher had produced a map shoving life-sustaining equipment in use in private homes. Colored circles on the map denoted kidney dialysis machines, oxygen generating units, iron lungs and similar apparatus. At Lakewood and Balboa a red circle had warned of a person dependent on an iron lung or some other kind of powered respirator. The equipment was in an apartment building. For some reason the memory had stayed with Nim; so had the user's name -Sloan. At the time, be recalled, be had looked at the small red circle and wondered what Sloan was like.
There was only one apartment house at the intersection-an eight-story, white stucco building, modest in design but, from its outward appearance, well maintained. Nim's car was alongside it now. A small forecourt contained several parking spaces, two unoccupied. Oil impulse, Nim turned in, wheeling the Fiat into one of the empty places. He got out and approached the apartment house entrance.
Above a series of mailboxes was a score of names, among them "K. Sloan."
Nim pressed a button beside the name. Moments later the front door opened. A wizened old man appeared, wearing baggy trousers and a windbreaker. He looked like an ancient squirrel as he peered at Nim through thick lenses. "You ring Sloan?"
"Yes, I did."
"I'm the janitor. Rings down my place, too,"
"Can I see Mr. Sloan?"
"Ain't no Mr. Sloan."
" Oh." Nim pointed to the mailbox. "Is it Mrs. Sloan, then? Or Miss?"
Unaccountably be had assumed Sloan to be a man.
"Miss Sloan. Karen. Who're you?"
"Goldman." Nim showed a GSP & L identification card. "Am I correct in believing Miss Sloan is an invalid?"
"You could be. Except she don't like being called that."
”How should I describe her, then?"
"Disabled. She's a quadriplegic. Know the difference between that and para?"
"I think so. A paraplegic is paralyzed from the waist down, a quadriplegic through the whole body."
"That's our Karen," the old man said. "Been that way since she was fifteen. You want to see her?"
“Do you know if it's convenient?"
'Soon find out." the janitor opened the front door wider. "Come in. This way."
A small lobby matched the building's exterior; it was simple and clean.
The old man led the way to an elevator, motioned Nim inside, then followed. As they ascended be volunteered, "Place ain't the Ritz. But we try to keep her shipshape."
"That shows," Nim said. The interior brass of the elevator gleamed and its machinery hummed smoothly.
They got out on the sixth floor. The janitor led the way and stopped before a door while he selected a key from a large bunch. He opened the door, knocked, then called out, "It's Jiminy. Brung a visitor for Karen."
"Come in," a new voice said, and Nim found himself facing a short, sturdy woman with a dark skin and Hispanic features. She wore a pink nylon smock similar to a nurse's uniform.
"You selling something?" the question was asked cheerfully, without hostility.
"No. I was just passing and...”
"Never mind. Miss Sloan likes visitors."
They were in a small, bright vestibule which opened onto a kitchen on one side and what appeared to be a living room on the other. In the kitchen, cheerful yellows and whites predominated; in the living room the decor was yellow and green. Part of the living room was out of sight and from it a pleasant voice called, "Come in-whoever you are."
Janitor said from behind Nim. "Got things to do
"I’ll leave you now," the janitor left.
As the outer door closed, Nim stepped inside the living room.
"Hello," the same voice said. "What do you know that's new and exciting?"
Long afterward, and through the months ahead when fateful events unfolded like succeeding tableaux of a drama, Nim would remember this moment-the first in which he ever saw Karen Sloan-in sharply vivid detail.
She was a mature woman, but appeared young and was extraordinarily beautiful. Nim guessed her age as thirty-six; later he would learn she was three years older. Her face was long with perfectly proportioned features-full, sensuous lips, now opened in a smile, wide blue eyes appraising Nim with frankness, and a pert nose, suggesting mischief. Her skin was flawless and seemed opalescent. Long blonde hair framed Karen Sloan's face; parted in the middle, it fell to her shoulders, with golden highlights glinting in a shaft of sunlight. Her hands were on a padded lapboard, the fingers long, nails manicured and shining. She wore an attractive light blue dress.
And she was in a wheelchair. A bulge in her dress showed that a respirator was beneath it, breathing for her. A tube, emerging below the dress hemline, was connected to a suitcase-like device secured to the rear of the chair. The respirator mechanism emitted a steady bum along with a hiss of air, inward and out, at the normal pace of breathing.
The chair's electric components were connected by a cord to a wall power outlet.
"Hello, Miss Sloan," Nim said. "I'm the electric man."
The smile widened. "Do you work on batteries or are you plugged in too?"
Nim grinned in response, a trifle sheepishly, and uncharacteristically he had a moment's nervousness. He wasn't sure what he had expected but, whatever it was, this exquisite woman before him was completely different. He said, "I'll explain."
"Please do. And won't you sit down?"
"Thank you." He chose a soft armchair. Karen Sloan moved her bead slightly, putting her mouth to a plastic tube extending on a gooseneck. She blew softly into the tube and at once her wheelchair swung around so she was facing him directly.
"Hey!" he said. "That's a neat trick."
"I can do lots more. If I sip instead of blow, the chair moves backward."
She showed him while be watched, fascinated.
"I'd never seen that," he told her. "I'm amazed."
"My head is the only part of me I can move." Karen said it matter-of-factly, as if speaking of a minor inconenience. "So one learns to do some necessary things in unusual ways. But we got sidetracked; on were going to tell me something. Please go on."
"I started to explain why I came," Nim said. "It all began two weeks ago, the day we had the power failure. I saw you as a small red circle on a map.
"Me-on a map?"
He told her about the Energy Control Center and GSP & L's watchfulness over special power users, like hospitals and private homes with life-sustaining equipment. "To be honest," he said, "I was curious.
That's why I dropped in today."
"That's nice," Karen said. "To be thought about, I mean. I do remember that day-well."
"When the power went off, bow did you feel?"
"A little frightened, I suppose. Suddenly my reading light went off and other electrical things stopped. Not the respirator, though. That switches over to battery right away."