A quick assessment of damage to No. 5 revealed that it was slight. A seized bearing where the lubricating oil supply was cut off by the explosion would require replacement. That was all. Repair work, including replacement of broken steam lines, would take a week, after which the giant generator could be back in service. Ironically, in that time, the slight vibration which the chief engineer had come to inspect could be corrected, too.
3
"An electrical distribution system that's gone into a widespread, non-scheduled blackout," Nim Goldman explained patiently, "is like the kids' game of 'Fifty-two Pickup! One minute you're looking at a full deck, then the next-without warning-a floor littered with cards. They have to be picked up one by one and the whole thing takes a while."
He was in an observation gallery, slightly above and separated by a glass wall from the Energy Control Center, to which reporters from newspapers, TV and radio had been admitted a few minutes ago, the reporters had been dispatched hastily to GSP&L from their various news centers, and the utility's PR vice president, Teresa Van Buren, had appealed to Nim to be the company's spokesman. An impromptu press conference was the result.
Already some of the press people were antagonistic because of what they saw as a paucity of answers to their questions.
"Ob, for God's sake!" a reporter from the California Examiner, Nancy Molineaux, protested. "Spare us that homespun analogy crap and tell us what we came to find out. What went wrong? Who's responsible? What, if anything, will be done about it? When will the power be back on?"
Ms. Molineaux was intense, attractive in a severe way-high cheekbones made her face seem haughty, which she sometimes was-and her usual expression was a mixture of curiosity and scepticism bordering on disdain. She was also chic, wore good clothes well on a willowy body, and was black. Professionally, she had achieved a reputation for investigating, then exposing, venality in public places. Nim regarded her as he would a needle-sharp icicle. Her reporting in the past had made clear that GSP & L was not an institution Ms. Molineaux admired.
Several other reporters nodded agreement.
"What went wrong was an explosion at La Mission." Nim controlled an impulse to snap back angrily. "We believe that at least two of our people have been killed but there's an oil fire and dense smoke, and so far there are no more details."
Someone asked, "Do you have names of the two dead?"
"Yes, but they can't be released yet. The families must be informed first."
"Do you know the cause of the explosion?"
‘No.’, Ms. Molineaux injected, "What about the power?"
"Some power," Nim said, "is already back now. Most of the rest should be restored within four hours, six at the outside. Everything else should be normal by tonight."
Normal, Nim thought, except for Walter Talbot. Word of the chief's involvement in the explosion and his assumed death had reached the Energy Control Center with shattering suddenness only minutes earlier. Nim, a long-time friend of the chief’s, hadn't had time yet to grasp the reality of the news, or to grieve, as he knew he would later. Nim had known Danieli, the La Mission plant superintendent, only slightly, so that his loss, while tragic, seemed more remote. Through the soundproof glass partition separating the observation gallery from the Control Center working area, Nim could see urgent activity continuing at and around the dispatch console. He wanted to get back there as quickly as he could.
"Will there be another blackout tomorrow?" a wire service correspondent wanted to know.
"Not if the beat wave ends, as we understand it will."
As questioning continued, Nim. launched into a description of peak load problems in unexpectedly hot weather.
"So what you're really saying," Nancy Molineaux suggested tartly, "is that you people hadn't planned, hadn't foreseen, hadn't allowed for anything which might jolt you out of the ordinary."
Nim flushed. "Planning can only go so .
The sentence was never finished.
Teresa Van Buren, the public relations director, came into the gallery, from which she had been absent for several minutes. She was a short, plump, bustling woman in her mid-forties who invariably more rumpled linen suits and sensible brown brogues. Often she was untidy and uncombed, and looked more like a harried housewife than the experienced corporation executive she was.
"I have an announcement," Mrs. Van Buren said. Her voice was emotional and a paper in her hand was shaking. The room fell silent.
"We have just learned there have been four deaths, not two. All of the dead are company employees who were working at their jobs at the time of the explosion. Their next of kin are being informed now and we'll have a list of names for you, with brief biographies, in a few minutes. I'm also authorized to say that, while there is no proof at this moment, sabotage is suspected."
Amid the fusillade of questions which followed, Nim eased his way out.
* * *
Step by step, directed by Energy Control, the disrupted distribution system was returning to a state of order.
At the communications console the chief dispatcher, juggling two telephones and manipulating a battery of buttons, was issuing fast low-key instructions to switchmen, in an attempt to restore interconnections with other utilities; these had separated automatically when Big Lil tripped.
When the Pacific Intertie was re-established, the dispatcher leaned back in his gray metal swivel chair and released an audible sigh, then began pushing buttons to start restoring load. He glanced sideways briefly as Nim returned. "We're halfway home, Mr. Goldman."
It meant Nim realized, that nearly half the total area affected by sudden blackout had full electric power restored and the process was continuing.
A computer could, and did, shut down the system faster by far than any human agency. But it took direct switching by technicians, supervised from Energy Control, to put the system back together.
Cities and towns had priority and, district by district, were coming electrically alive once more. Suburbs, particularly those with concentrations of industrial plants, were next. Country villages would follow.
Outlying rural areas, at the bottom of the power totem pole, would be last of all.
A few exceptions were made. Hospitals, water and sewage treatment plants and phone company installations rated special preference because of their essential nature. It was true that such institutions usually had standby generators of their own, but these carried only a partial load and outside power was essential for normal functioning. There were also, here and there, pockets of special consideration for individuals.
The chief dispatcher had transferred his attention to an unusual wiring circuitry map which he was discussing on one of his telephones. The map had a series of colored circles dotted over it.
Waiting for a pause in the phoning, Nim asked, "What's that?"
The dispatcher looked surprised. "You don't know that one?"
Nim shook his head. Even a vice president of planning could not as-similate, or even see, the thousands of minutely detailed charts in an operation as large as GSP & L's.
"Life, sustaining equipment in private homes." the dispatcher beckoned one of his assistants and moved out of his seat as the other replaced him.
"I need a break." He ran a hand through his white hair in a gesture of tiredness, then absently popped another Gelusil tablet into his mouth.
Freed from pressures for the moment, the dispatcher positioned the circuitry map between himself and Nim. "Those red circles are iron lungs-respiratory equipment, they mostly call it nowadays. Green is kidney dialysis machines. This orange circle is an oxygen generating unit for an infant. We've got maps like this for every division and we keep them up to date. Hospitals, who know where the home equipment is located, help us."