Moments later Nim joined the group inside the trailer. Teresa Van Buren announced, "I think most of you know Mr. Goldman. He's here to answer questions."
"I'll put the first question," a TV correspondent said cheerfully. "Can I mix you a drink?"
Nim grinned. "Thanks. A vodka and tonic."
"My, my!" Nancy Molineaux observed. "Aren't you the important one, to come by helicopter when the rest of us rated a bus!"
Nim regarded the young, attractive black woman cagily. He remembcred their previous encounter and clash; also Teresa Van Buren's assessment of Ms. Molineaux as an outstanding newspaperwoman. Nim still thought she was a bitch.
"If it's of any interest," he said, "I had some other work to do this morning, which is why I left later than you and came the way I did."
Nancy Molineaux was not deterred. "Do all the utility executives use helicopters when they feel like it?"
"Nancy," Van Buren said sharply, "you know damn well they don't."
"Our company," Nim volunteered, "owns and operates a half-dozen small aircraft, including two helicopters. Mainly they are used for patrolling transmission lines, checking mountain snow levels, conveying urgent supplies, and in other emergencies. Occasionally-very occasionally-one will convey a company executive if the reason is important. I was told this session was."
"Are you implying that now you're not so sure?"
"Since you ask, Miss Molineaux," Nim said coldly, "I'll admit to having doubts."
"Hey, knock it off, Nancy!" a voice called from the rear. “The rest of us are not interested in this."
Ms. Molineaux wheeled on her colleagues. "Well, I am. I'm concerned about how the public's money is squandered, and if you aren't, you should be."
“The purpose of being here," Van Buren reminded them all, "is to view our geothermal operations and talk about . . ."
"No!" Ms. Molineaux interrupted. "That's your purpose. The press decides its own purposes, which may include some of yours, but also anything else we happen to see or hear and choose to write about."
"She's right, of course." the comment came from a mild-mannered man in rimless glasses, representing the Sacramento Bee.
"Tess," Nim told Van Buren as he sipped his vodka and tonic, I just decided I prefer my job to yours."
Several people laughed as the PR director shrugged.
"If all the horseshit's finished," Nancy Molineaux said, "I'd like to know the purchase price of that fancy eggbeater outside, and how much an hour it costs to operate."
"I'll inquire," Van Buren told her, "and if the figures are available, and if we decide to make them public, I'll make an announcement tomorrow. On the other hand, if we decide it's internal company business, and none of yours, I'll report that."
"In which case," Ms. Molineaux said, unperturbed, "I'll find out some other way."
Food had been brought in while they talked-a capacious platter of hot meat pies and, in large earthenware dishes, mashed potatoes and zucchini. Two china jugs held steaming gravy.
"Pile in!" Teresa Van Buren commanded. "It's bunkhouse food, but good for gourmands."
As the group began helping itself, appetites sharpened by the mountain air, the tensions of a moment earlier eased. When the first course was eaten, a half-dozen freshly baked apple pies appeared, accompanied by a gallon of ice cream and several pots of strong coffee.
"I'm sated," Los Angeles Times announced at length. He leaned back from the table, patted his belly and sighed. "Better talk some shop, Tess, while we're still awake."
The TV man who had mixed Nim's drink now asked him, "How many years are these geysers good for?"
Nim, who had eaten sparingly, took a final sip of black, unsweetened coffee, then pushed his cup away. "I'll answer that, but let's clear up something first. What we're sitting over are fumaroles, not geysers.
Geysers send up boiling water with steam; fumaroles, steam only much better for driving turbines. As to how long the steam will last, the truth is: no one knows. We can only guess."
"So guess," Nancy Molineaux said.
"Thirty years minimum. Maybe twice that. Maybe more."
New West said, "Tell us what the bell's going on down there in that crazy teakettle."
Nim nodded. “The earth was once a molten mass-gaseous and liquid. When it cooled, a crust formed which is why we're living here and now and not frying. Down inside, though-twenty miles down it's as damned hot as ever and that residual heat sends up steam through thin places in the crust. Like here."
Sacramento Bee asked, "How thin is thin?"
"We're probably five miles above the hot mass now. In that five miles are surface fractures where the bulk of the steam has collected.
When we drill a well we try to hit such a fracture."
"How many other places like this produce electricity?"
"Only a handful. The oldest geothermal generating plant is in Italy, near Florence. There's another in New Zealand at Wairakei, and others in Japan, Iceland, Russia. None is as big as California's."
“There's a lot more potential, though," Van Buren interjected. "Especially in this country," Oakland Tribune asked, "Just where?"
"Across the entire western United States," Nim answered. "From the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific."
"It's also one of the cleanest, non-polluting, safest forms of energy,"
Van Buren added. "And-as costs go nowadays-cheap."
"You two should do a soft-shoe routine," Nancy Molineaux said. "All right-two questions. Number one: Tess used the word 'safe.' But there have been accidents here. Right?"
All the reporters were now paying attention, most of them writing in notebooks or with tape recorders switched on.
"Right," Nim conceded. “There were two serious accidents, three years apart, each when wellheads blew. That is, the steam got out of control. One well we managed to cap. The other-'Old Desperado' it's known as-we never have entirely. There it is, over there."
He crossed to a window of the trailer and pointed to a fenced-in area a quarter mile away. Inside the fence, steam rose sporadically at a dozen points through bubbling mud. Outside, large red signs warned: EXTREME DANGER-KEEP AWAY. The others craned to see, then returned to their seats.
"When Old Desperado blew," Nim said, "for a mile around it was raining hot mud, with rocks cascading down like hail. It did a lot of damage.
Muck settled on power lines and transformers, shorting everything, putting us out of action for a week. Fortunately, it happened at night when few people were at work and there were only two injuries, no deaths. The second blowout, of another well, was less severe. No casualties."
"Could Old Desperado ever blow again?" the stringer for small-town papers inquired.
"We believe not. But, like everything else to do with nature, there's no guarantee."
“The point is," Nancy Molineaux insisted, "there are accidents."
"Accidents happen everywhere," Nim said tersely. “The point Tess was making, correctly, is that the incidence is low. What's your second question?"
"It's this: Assuming everything the two of you have said is true, why isn't geothermal more developed?"
"That's easy," New West offered. “They'll blame environmentalists."
Nim countered sharply, "Wrong! Okay, Golden State Power has had its differences with environmentalists, and will probably have more. But the reason geothermal resources haven't been developed faster is-politicians. Specifically, the U. S. Congress."
Van Buren shot Nim a warning look which he ignored.
"Hold it!" one of the TV correspondents said. "I'd like some of this on film. If I make notes now, will you do it again outside?"
"Yes," Nim agreed. "I will."