Overload (4 page)

superintendent, scarcely recognizable, were described by a horrified plant

employee as "like boiled lobsters"-tbe result of exposure to superheated

steam.

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 bad come to inspect could be corrected, too.

14

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-witbout 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 p.r. 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-bigh cheekbones

made her face seem haughty, which she sometimes was-and her usual

expression was a mixture of curiosity and skepticism 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 investi-

gating, then exposing, venality in public places. Nim regarded her as he

would a needle-sharp icicle. Her reporting in the past bad 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?"

15

I I I

'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, Niin thought, except for Walter Talbot. Word of the chief's

involvement in the explosion and his assumed death bad reached the Energy

Control Center with shattering suddenness only minutes earlier. Nim, a

longtime friend of the cbief'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 gal]cry,

from which she had been absent for several minutes. She was a short,

plump, bustling woman in her mid-forties who invariably Nvore 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.

16

At the communications console the chief dispatcher, juggling two tele-

phones and manipulating a battery of buttons, was issuing fast lowkey

instructions to switchmen, in an attempt to restore interconnections with

other utilities; these bad 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 bad 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 concen-

trations 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 bead. 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."

17

"You've just filled a gap in my education," Nim acknowledged. He

continued to study the map, which fascinated him.

"Most people relying on life-sustaining equipment have the kind that

switches over to batteries in emergency," the dispatcher continued. "Just

the same, when outside power fails it's traumatic for them. So what we

do, if there's a local outage, is check quickly. Then, if there's any

doubt or problem, we rush in a portable generator."

"But we don't have that many portables-surely not enough for a widespread

outage like today's."

"No, and there aren't many crews available either. But today we were

lucky. Divisions have been checking. No users of life-sustaining equip-

ment at home were in trouble." The dispatcher indicated the map. "Now,

in all these spots we have power back on."

The knowledge that a human element so small in numbers was being watched

and cared about amid vaster concerns was moving and reassuring. Nim

studied the map, his eyes roving. He found a street intersection he knew

well. Lakewood and Balboa. One of the red circles marked the site of an

apartment house he bad driven by many times. A name beside it read

"Sloan"-presumably the iron lung user. Who was Sloan? Nim wondered. What

was he like?

His musing was interrupted. "Mr. Goldman, the chairman wants to speak to

you. He's calling from La Mission." Nim accepted a telephone which a

control room assistant offered.

"Nim," Eric Humphrey said, "you knew Walter Talbot pretty well

personally, didn't you?" Despite the crisis, the chairman's voice was ur-

bane as usual. Immediately after first reports of the explosion, be bad

summoned his limousine and left, along with Ray Paulsen, for La Mission.

"Yes," Nim said, "Walter and I were good friends." He was conscious of

a catch in his voice, with tears not far away. Almost since Nim's

recruitment to Golden State Power & Light eleven years ago, he and the

chief engineer bad shared a mutual liking and habitually confided in each

other. It seemed inconceivable there would be no more confidences ever

again.

"And Walter's wife? How well do you know her?"

"Ardytbe. Very well." Nim sensed the chairman hesitate, and asked, "How

is it out there?"

"Grim. I never saw bodies of men burned by superheated steam before. I

hope I never do again. There's virtually no skin left, just a mass of

blisters with everything underneath exposed. Faces are unrecognizable."

For a moment Eric Humphrey's composure seemed to waver, then be recovered

it. "That's why I'd like you to go to Mrs. Talbot as soon as possible.

I understand she's taken the news badly, which is not surprising. As a