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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
friend you may be able to help. I'd also like you to dissuade her, if you
can, from viewing her husband's body."
j8
"Oh Christ, Eric," Nim said. "NVhv me?"
"For the obvious reason. Someone has to do this, and you knew them both,
apparently better than any of us. I'm also asking a friend of Danieli's
to go to his wife for the sairie purpose."
Niin wanted to retort: Why don't you go-to the wives of all four men
killed? You're our cornmander-in-chief, paid a princely salary which
ought to compensate for an unhappy, inessy duty once in a while. Besides,
doesn't dying in the service of the company
Brauna E. Pouns, Donald Wrye