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erect and urgent. His hands began moving gently and he sigheda mixture

of sensual pleasure and contentment.

He whispered, "Daphne darling, all day I've been wanting this to happen.

He heard a gurgle of soft laughter. A finger reached out, groping for his

lips to bridge them, cautioning silence. A low voice warned, "Shut up,

you idiot! It isn't Daphne. I'm Ursula."

Shocked, Nim released himself and sat upright. His inclination was to

leap from the bed. A hand restrained him.

"Listen to me," Ursula said urgently and softly. "I want a baby. And next

to Thurs, who can't give me one-and I know he told you about that-I'd

rather have it by you Nim, than anyone else I know."

He protested, "I can't do it, Ursula. Not to Thurs."

"Yes you can, because Thurs knows I'm here, and why."

"And Thurs doesn't mind?" Nim's voice was unbelieving.

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"I swear to you, no. We both want a child. We both decided this is the

best way." Again the soft laugh. "Daphne minds, though. She's mad as hell

at me. She wanted you herself."

Conflicting emotions swirled within Nim. Then the humor of the situation

got to him and he laughed.

"That's more like it," Ursula said. She pulled him toward her and he

stopped resisting as their arms clasped each other again.

She whispered, "It's the right time of the month. I know it can happen.

Oh, Nim dear, help me make a baby! I want one so."

What had he ever done, be wondered, to deserve all the exotic things that

happened to him?

He whispered back, "Okay, I'll do my best." As they kissed and he became

erect again, he asked impishly, "Do you think it's all right if I enjoy

it?"

Instead of answering she held him tighter, their breathing quickened, and

she cried out softly with pleasure as he caressed, then entered her.

They made love repeatedly and gloriously, Nim finding that his bandaged

left hand impeded him not at all. At last, be fell asleep. When he awoke,

daylight was beginning and Ursula bad gone.

He decided to go back to sleep. Then, once more his bedroom door opened

and a figure in a pale pink negligee slipped in. "I'll be damned," Daphne

said as she took the negligee off, "if I'm going to be left out

altogether. Move over, Nim, and I hope you have some energy left."

Together, happily, they discovered he had.

Nim's return flight to the West Coast, again with United, was in late

afternoon. Thurston drove him to the airport; Ursula and Daphne came

along, Daphne bringing her small son, Keith. Though conversation during

the drive was friendly and relaxed, nothing was said about the happenings

of the night. Nim kissed both sisters goodbye at the car. While the women

waited, Thurston accompanied Nim into the terminal.

At the passenger security checkpoint they stopped to shake hands.

Nim said, "I appreciate everything, Thurs."

"Me too. And good luck tomorrow and the other days at the hearings."

"Thanks. We'll need it all."

Still clasping Nim's band, Thurston seemed to hesitate, then said, "In

case you're wondering about anything, I'd like to tell you there are

things a man does because be has to, and because it's the best out of

limited choices. Something else: There are friends and exceptional

friends. You are one of the second kind, Nim. You always will be, so

let's never lose touch."

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Turning away toward the aircraft boarding ramp, Nim discovered that his

eyes were moist.

A few minutes later, as he settled into his first-class seat for the

homeward journey, a friendly air hostess inquired, "Sir, what will you

have to drink after takeoff?"

"Champagne," he told her, smiling. Quite clearly, he decided, nothing

else would match his successful weekend.

12

The young, presiding commissioner tapped lightly with his gavel.

"Before the examination of this witness begins, I believe it would be in

order to commend him for his conduct two days ago when his prompt action

and courage saved the life of a public utility employee in another state."

In the hearing room there was scattered applause.

Nim acknowledged, with some embarrassment, "Thank you, sir."

Until this morning he had assumed that news reports of the drama on the

conveyor belt would be confined to Denver. Therefore be bad been surprised

to find himself the subject of an Associated Press wire story, featured

prominently in today's Chronicle-West. The report was unfortunate because

it drew attention to his visit to the coal-generating plant and Nim

wondered what use, if any, the opposition forces would make of this

knowledge.

As on previous hearing days, the oak-paneled chamber was occupied by

commission staff, counsel for various parties, waiting witnesses, officials

of interested groups, press reporters, as well as a sizable contingent of

the public-tbe last composed mainly of opposition supporters.

Again, on the bench, the same presiding commissioner was flanked by the

elderly administrative law judge.

Among those in the bearing room whom Nim recognized were Laura Bo

Carmichael and Roderick Pritchett, representing the Sequoia Club; Davey

Birdsong of p & lfp, his outsize figure garbed as usual in shabby jeans and

open-necked shirt; and, at the press table, Nancy Molineaux, smartly

dressed and aloof.

Nim had already been sworn, agreeing to "tell the truth, the whole truth

and nothing but the truth." Now, the utility's portly general counsel,

Oscar O'Brien, on his feet and facing the bench, would lead him through his

testimony.

"Mr. Goldman," O'Brien began, as they had rehearsed, "please

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describe the circumstances and studies which lead you to believe that the

proposal, now being submitted to this commission, is necessary and in the

public interest."

Nim settled himself in the witness chair, aware that his presentation would

be long and arduous.

"The studies of Golden State Power & Light," he began, "supplemented by

those of government agencies, estimate that California's growth by the

middle of the next decade, both of population and industry, will

substantially exceed the national average. I will deal with specifics

later. Parallel with that growth will be an escalating demand for electric

power, greater by far than present generating capacities. It is to meet

this demand that . . ."

Nim strove to keep his tone conversational and easy, to hold the interest

of those listening. All the facts and opinions he would present were in

briefs filed weeks ago with the commission, but spoken evidence was

considered important. It was an admission, perhaps, that few would ever

read the mountain of paper which grew in size daily.

O'Brien spoke his prompting lines with the confidence of an actor in a

long-running play.

"As to environmental effects, will you please explain . . .

"Can you be specific about those coal deliveries which . . .

"You stated earlier there would be limits on disturbance of flora and

fauna, Mr. Goldman. I think the commission would like assurance that

Please enlarge on

"Would you say that . . .

"Now let's consider the. . ."

It took slightly more than a day and a half, a total of seven hours during

which Nim remained in the witness chair, the focus of attention. At the end

he knew he had presented the GSP & L case fairly and thoroughly. just the

same, he was conscious that his real ordeal-a succession of

cross-examinations-was still to come.

In midafternoon of the second day of the resumed hearings, Oscar O'Brien

faced the bench. "T'hank you, Mr. Chairman. Tlat concludes my examination

of this witness."

Tle chairman nodded. "I think Mr. Goldman deserves a break, and the rest of

us would welcome one." He tapped with his gavel. "This hearing is adjourned

until 10 A.M. tomorrow."

Next day the cross-examinations began slowly and easily, like a car moving

through low gears on a stretch of level road. The commission counsel, a

dry-as-dust middle-aged lawyer named Holyoak, was first.

"Mr. Goldman, there are a number of points on which the commissioners

require clarification . As it proceeded, Holyoak's questioning

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was neither friendly nor hostile. Nim responded in the same way, and

competently.

Holyoak took an hour. Roderick Pritchett, manager-secretary of the

Sequoia Club, was next and the interrogation moved into higher gear.

Pritchett, spare, neat and with mannerisms to match, wore a dark,

conservatively tailored three-piece suit. His iron gray hair was

precisely parted and in place; occasionally he put up a hand to satisfy

himself it remained undisturbed. As he rose and approached the witness

stand, Pritchett's eyes appeared to gleam behind his rimless glasses.

Shortly before the interrogation he had been conferring intently with

Laura Bo Carmichael, seated beside him at one of the three

counsel-witness tables.

"Mr. Goldman," Pritchett began, "I have here a photograph." He reached

back to the counsel table and picked up an eight-by-ten glossy print.

"I'd like you to examine it, then tell me if what you see is familiar to

you."

Nim accepted the photograph. While he studied it, a Sequoia Club clerk

was handing additional copies to the commissioner and administrative law

judge, counsel, including Oscar O'Brien, Davey Birdsong and the press.

Several more copies went to spectators who began passing them around.

Nim was puzzled. Most of the photo was black, but there was a certain

familiarity . . .

The Sequoia Club manager-secretary was smiling. "Please take your time,

Mr. Goldman."

Nim shook his bead. "I'm not sure."

"Perhaps I can help." Pritchett's voice suggested a game of cat-andmouse.

"According to what I have read in newspapers, the scene you are looking

at is one you personally observed last weekend."

Instantly Nim knew. The photo was of the Cherokee plant coal pile at

Denver. The blackness was explained. Mentally he cursed the publicity

which bad disclosed his weekend journey.

"Well," he said, "I suppose it's a picture of coal."

"Please give us a little more detail, Mr. Goldman. What coal and where?"

Reluctantly Nim said, "It's stored coal for use by a Public Service

Company of Colorado plant near Denver."

"Precisely." Pritchett removed his glasses, wiped them briefly, then

replaced them. "For your information, the photograph was taken yesterday

and flown here this morning. It isn't a pretty picture, is it?"

'No.

Ygly, wouldn't you say?"

'I suppose you could call it that, but the point is .

"The point is," Pritchett interrupted, "you have already answered my

question-1 suppose you could call it that,' you said-which means you

agree that the picture is ugly. That's all I asked. Thank you."

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Nim protested, "But it should also be said . . ."

Pritchett waved an admonitory finger. "That's enough, Mr. Goldman! Please