Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pete looking at me as I walked toward a bedroom. He was a good man and I could tell he was worried about me. We’d seen some hard times together, and we knew each other’s moods, likes and dislikes, and most importantly, each other’s frame of mind. In all the years I’d known him, he’d never let me down. Considering what we’d been through, that’s saying something. Stretching out on a bed, I let my mind wander back to a day several years ago. I closed my eyes and dropped off into an uneasy sleep.
CHAPTER 31
Dave Street woke up at 4:40 p.m, glad it was Friday and his workweek was almost over. He never felt well rested when working graveyards. Humans just weren’t supposed to work at night and sleep during the day, and he fit that profile well. His circadian rhythm lent itself to being diurnal, rather than nocturnal. The good news was that he only had to do it for three or four nights in a row, depending on where in the five-week work cycle he was. Today wasn’t even his night to take the watch, as he’d already done his three-night stretch. But he had to cover for a guy who’d called in sick. Even though he was management, at least he got overtime for working tonight — something most guys in management didn’t get. It was one of the few perks of being a shift-worker.
He had about an hour to shower and shave, grab a bite to eat, and get out to the plant by 6:30 p.m. He liked to get there at least a half hour before the start of his 7 p.m. shift and let the off-going shift manager get out a bit early. In turn, the on-coming shift manager would hopefully relieve him a bit early, too. It was still a twelve-hour shift, but it always felt good to go home early.
Dave dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom to get cleaned up. A hot shower always felt good, but he didn’t linger tonight. Too much hot water zapped his energy and made him even groggier than usual. Tired and unsteady wasn’t something he wanted to be when overseeing the operation of a five-billion-dollar nuclear power plant. Dave took his job seriously; despite the long hours of working all night, he enjoyed the challenge it provided him. Not demanding from the aspect of being a hard job to figure out, but from knowing how it all worked and tweaking the two massive 1,200-megawatt electric Westinghouse turbines to squeeze every bit of juice he could out of them. His pay was the same regardless of how much power the plant produced, but it was a matter of pride with him, and a little bit of a competition, to operate this state-of-the-art power station better than his peers on the other four crews. Even though tonight’s crew wasn’t his usual team, as the shift manager he was the one who was ultimately responsible for the performance of the plant. He was planning on having a good night.
After his shower, he dressed in his usual tan Dockers, ankle-high Red Wing work boots, and a crisp, white dress shirt with The Headlands logo stitched over the left breast pocket. Despite his position of authority, he wasn’t required to wear a tie. As a matter of fact, it was considered a safety hazard around rotating equipment. If it got caught on the shaft of a motor that was rotating at 1,800 rpm, it could literally rip his head off. So, a tie was not part of his routine attire.
Dave checked his pen to make sure it was retracted before he put it in his pocket. He’d ruined too many shirts by putting away a pen with the tip extended and bleeding ink all over the cotton fabric. Annoying as that was when it happened, at least the company provided the shirts and he didn’t have to pay for them. He would, however, suffer the slings and arrows of his merciless crew. They would make endless fun of him.
Badge, watch, wallet, and keys all put in their various pockets, he headed down to the kitchen to check for messages on the phone and grab a bite to eat. He half expected to hear from Kay, but the little red light on the answering machine wasn’t blinking. No messages. Probably just as well. He assumed Kay and the kids were enjoying their visit with Nana. He tended to be a bit cranky on graveyards, and he didn’t want to get into an argument with Kay over some silly, unimportant thing.
He nuked a frozen Mexican dinner in the microwave and sat down to check the stock market and the latest world news on his laptop. He also wanted to see how his retirement portfolio was doing. It wasn’t doing what it used to do a few years ago. The economy was in flux and there was no telling if it would be up by several hundred points or down by a similar margin. Weird.
After he choked down the ‘fine’ cuisine, he threw together a quick lunch of a can of soup, some fruit, and his favorite desert, Hostess Snowballs. He could get something to drink from the gedunk machines out at the plant later. He looked around the kitchen on his way out to the garage to make sure the house was locked and the lights were off. Satisfied everything was in order, he got in his truck and headed to the plant. He was anticipating another quiet night with both units at 100 percent power and no major maintenance in progress. The plant was heading into an outage shortly and most maintenance was being deferred to when the plant would be shutdown.
At 6:25 p.m., he pulled into the staff parking lot. At this time of night, he generally had his choice of spots because the day shift folks had all gone home for the night. It was chilly as he got out of the truck so he pulled on a light jacket. He seldom drove with a jacket on because it was bulky and uncomfortable, but usually had one with him for the walk to the plant.
Dave entered the security building and walked into the search train. He put his lunch on the conveyor, where it was x-rayed for contraband, and stepped into the explosive detectors. He stood there as a gentle whoosh of air washed over him. The gentle electronic ‘ding’ told him he was good to continue. He waved at the security officer stationed there to observe the process, picked up his lunch off the conveyor, and exited through a one-way turnstile to the outside and the short walk to the admin building.
Once outside, he heard the familiar drone of the station. Some of it was the mechanical noise generated by the various pumps and equipment in the turbine building. The flow noise from both water and steam on three levels of moisture separator reheaters, feedwater heaters, and the massive condenser was so loud inside the turbine building you couldn’t hear someone speak to you unless they were shouting in your ears. Other noise was a humming coming from three stationary, gas-filled giant transformers as they converted the 25-thousand volts of electricity developed by the immense hydrogen-cooled generators into 500-thousand volts for transmission to the Western Intertie. The electrical grid was more than one hundred miles from the plant and ran up and down the central valley of California, connecting the western states, which gave it it’s name. Most people mistakenly thought the station provided electricity to the local community. In fact, The Headlands—like all power plants producing electricity — supplied electricity to a common network. Brokers at corporate headquarters in San Francisco and elsewhere buy and sell power based on supply and demand.
The Headlands was what’s called a base load plant, meaning it’s purpose was to run at one hundred percent power all the time, with smaller peaking units elsewhere in the state adjusting for the changes in demand. After a dozen years at the plant, Dave could tell whether the plant was running at full power or something less just by listening. As he expected, it sounded like it was running at full load tonight. Good for the company, but ultimately a boring night for him and the crew.