Chernobyl

Chapter 10

At nine o'clock on this Saturday morning the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Station is no longer a part of the Ukrainian electrical grid. No energy flows out along the high-tension lines. Reactors 1, 2, and 3 have been tripped to zero output, and the terrible fires — the fires in the buildings, at least — have been declared out long since. It is only the hundreds of tons of graphite in the exposed core of Reactor No. 4 that continue to burn. So far only one edge of the graphite is ablaze, with a blue-white heat as painful to the eyes as looking at the sun itself, and the firemen can do nothing about it. Their hoses still play on the roofs of the nearby buildings, on the smoldering heaps of rubble, on the walls around the wreck of No. 4, but they have not been able to extinguish the graphite. It is simply too hot; the water flashes into instant steam. There is another problem with using the fire hoses. The water that does trickle away from the core and from each bit of radioactive matter, small or large, dissolves radioactive material as it flows; and then it carries that radioactivity with it wherever it happens to go.

On that morning Vassili Smin's father was sitting in a militia car ten meters outside the gate of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Station, feverishly making notes. They had the windows rolled up tight in the car, and the militia colonel at the wheel was smoking a Bulgarian-tobacco cigarette, the kind that laborers bought for forty kopecks a pack. The car was filled with the heavy smoke. Smin didn't notice. He didn't even hear when, now and then, the militiaman picked up the microphone and issued commands on his radio, or when messages crackled in. Smin had pushed back the white hood of his garment because it made his face and neck itch — he was sweating, and the scar tissue could not sweat — and trying to get everything down while it was all fresh. It was a list of the things that had gone wrong because of deficiencies in training, equipment, and supplies. It was becoming quite a long list:

Smin paused, scratching the itchy scars just below his ear and gazing blankly out at the emergency vehicles that were standing around, engines running, while the few active firemen continued to play their cooling hoses on the endangered walls. None of the things he had written, he realized, attacked the real question: what in the name of God had gone wrong? He wondered if he would ever find out. The stories he had pieced together — that one by one the operators had systematically dismanded all the safety systems, just when the reactor was at its touchiest condition — were simply too fantastic. Smin refused to believe that anyone in the Chernobyl plant could have been that arrogantly stupid. It was almost easier to accept the possibility of that word that had not been much heard in the Soviet Union in recent decades: sabotage.

But that, too, was impossible to believe! Yes, certainly, the CIA or the Chinks, they were quite capable of blowing up a power plant simply to inconvenience the Soviets. But there was no way such a thing could have been possible without the concurrence of everyone in the main control room — and to believe that was as preposterous as to believe in simple, crass, spectacularly gross stupidity.

And the cost of it! Not simply the ruble cost, though that was going to be heavy. Not even the cost to the Plan; it was the cost to human beings that weighed on Simyon Smin. So many casualties! Nearly one hundred of the worst already on their way to the airstrip in the town of Chernobyl, where a special plane was going to take them right up to Moscow for treatment. And two dead already! One man never found, but dead all right because he had been last seen in the reactor hall itself, minutes before the blast. The other dying early this morning in the Pripyat hospital, with burns over eighty percent of his body and terrible radiation damage as well. . and there would be more—

He bent to the pad on his knee and wrote quickly:

"Comrade Smin?"

"Eh?" He looked up at the militiaman, who was replacing the microphone on the dashboard again.

"I said the helicopter from Kiev will be landing one kilometer away, by the river, in five minutes. With the team from the Ministry of Nuclear Energy."

"Oh, of course," said Smin, looking at his watch — nine o'clock! They'd made good time. "Would you mind driving me out to meet them?" And as the militia officer started to say of course, Smin said sharply, '"No, wait. Can you turn on that outside speaker of yours?" He was scowling out the window at the idle firemen in their white hoods and jumpsuits, clustered in knots as they watched their comrades playing water on the walls. "You there!" Smin cried into the microphone, and heard his amplified voice bounced back to him. "Get those men behind shelter! Have you forgotten everything you've just been taught about radiation?" As they turned to gaze at him, he snarled, "Do you want your balls fried?"

It was satisfying to see them jump — but how long had they been standing in the open like that before he noticed them?

As the militia car pulled away from the plant gate, Smin caught a glimpse through the trees of the bright towers of the town of Pripyat, prettily colored in the morning sun. He should, he thought, have put his message to his wife and son more strongly, so that they would keep away until things became more normal—

If things ever would. But Smin, at least, had a pretty clear idea of what the radionuclides that had erupted from Reactor No. 4 were going to do to the buildings, streets, and soil of Pripyat, once the wind changed — were already doing, no doubt, to the little farm villages in Byelorussia, just across the border to the north.

Smin recognized the little park by the river. It was where people swam in the summer, and the plant's football team practiced on its greensward. Now the goal cages had been torn away and the people there were not playing football. Some were on stretchers, waiting for the airlift to the larger hospital in Chernobyl.

Smin was surprised to see Chief Engineer Varazin bustling toward him. The man was neatly dressed, even freshly shaved, though the lines on his face suggested he had not slept. "Eh, Simyon," Varazin sighed gloomily. "What a night! Wouldn't you know, the minute the Director goes out of town!" Then he brightened. "You'll be glad to know that I've made sure all our observer guests are safe, and I've made arrangements for the new ones from the Ministry."

"Well, that's very good, anyway," Smin said wonderingly.

"Exactly! Put the past behind us. Get on with the work ahead, right, Simyon? But I'd better be doing it than talking about it," Varazin said, and trotted away, glancing up at the sky.

Smin shook his head. Was it possible the man thought that escorting the observers to Pripyat would do anything to ameliorate the miseries that lay ahead for him? Well, for both of them, to be sure, Smin thought resignedly; but there was no time to worry about that sort of thing now. He peered up into the sky. He could hear the helicopter approaching from the southeast, but it did not come directly to the pad. It veered away and slowly circled the Chernobyl plant. Sensible of them to take a good look at the ruin, Smin thought, and wished he could do the same.

"Deputy Director Smin?" It was one of the Ponomorenko brothers, the footballer they called Autumn.

Smin searched for his actual name and came up with it. "Hello, Vladimir. No game today, after all."

"No. Can you tell me, please, if you know anything of my cousin Vyacheslav? They say he is missing."

"Was he on duty?" Smin thought for a moment. "Yes, of course he was. On the night shift. Well, no, I haven't seen him. Probably he had the good sense to go home when the plant was evacuated."

"He isn't at home, Deputy Director Smin. Thank you, I'll go on looking." Ponomorenko hesitated. "My brother is in the hospital over there," he said, waving toward the distant towers of Pripyat. "He got some radio thing."

"He'll have the best of care," Smin promised, trying to sound more certain than he was. "We can't spare the Four Seasons, after all!" He glanced up. The helicopter from Kiev had completed its leisurely tour and was fluttering down toward them. "Well, here come the experts from the Ministry of Nuclear Energy, so we'll have everything straightened out quickly now."

It was a way of trying to reassure the football player, but it was not, Smin admitted to himself, a realistic statement. Even the experts from the Ministry had had no experience of anything like this, since nothing like it had ever happened before. Not even in America, Smin thought wryly, remembering how he had boasted to the Americans just the night before. It was a definite first in nuclear technology, and once again the Soviet Union had led the way.

There were four of the experts from the Ministry of Nuclear Energy jumping out of the helicopter, and Chief Engineer Varazin was ducking under the blades even before they had stopped revolving to greet them. Smin recognized a couple of the men, but Varazin introduced them all around anyway. "Comrades Istvili, Rasputin, Lestilyan," he said, and waited for them to introduce the fourth man. They didn't. Rasputin, the one Smin had not met before, shook Smin's hand heartily.

"No, I am not the mad monk," he said, smiling. "I'm simply from the section on biological effects of radiation. I'm not related to the writer, either."

"A pity," Varazin said chattily. "My wife is a great admirer of his thrillers." He hesitated. "I had thought perhaps our Director Zaglodin might have been with you."

Istvili shook his head. He was a tall, heavyset man, with the dark, almost Mediterranean look of a Georgian. "We hoped that, too, but he had not been located when our special plane left Moscow — at six this morning," he added. "It's been a long trip."

"Of course," Varazin sympathized. "Well. I've prepared a command post just five kilometers away; it will all be ready when you require it. I think it will be suitable. But first I'm sure you would like to inspect the station—"

Smin was listening in amazement to the casual chatter; why, Varazin was talking to these men exactly as though they were visiting Yemenis, no more than a mild annoyance to a busy man. "Can I borrow your helicopter?" he asked brusquely.

Istvili understood at once. "Of course. It's worth a look from above. Then" — he glanced at his watch—"it's eighteen minutes after nine now. Can we meet at ten in this command post for a first conference? Good, then let's go."

Simyon Smin had seldom been in a helicopter before, but the rapid, efficient movements of the pilot didn't interest him on this occasion. His eyes were all for the plant. "Stay away from that plume of smoke," he ordered the pilot. "Not too low — not below two hundred meters. But get as close as you can."

"Of course," the pilot said, not even looking around — no doubt he had had the same orders from his last passengers. But Smin wasn't listening, either. He was staring out the window, scuttling over to the seat on the other side as the helicopter turned, keeping the plant always in view. As they approached from the undamaged side, over the cooling pond, the plant looked almost normal — at least, if you did not count the pall of dark smoke that was drifting slowly northward from the still-smoldering embers. Firemen were methodically removing their suction hoses from the pond. The roof was not yet in view.

Then it was, and Smin groaned. There were still firemen on the roof, and they were still playing hoses on patches that smoked. Idiots! Didn't they know the debris on the roof was radioactive — some of it right out of the core itself? Then, as the helicopter lurched upward, the ruin of Reactor No. 4 came into view, and Smin forgot about the endangered firemen.

From the ground he had not seen quite how terrible the destruction was. There was actually nothing at all left of the reactor building, no refueling hall, no roof. He saw twisted metal that might once have been the refueling crane. Most of all, he saw the naked core itself. He squinted between his fingers, instinctively protected his eyes, suddenly aware that even two hundred meters was not too far to be from that radioactive ember. An arc of brilliant blue-white light from one edge showed the burning graphite — not more than ten percent of the exposed surface burning now, Smin thought, and wondered if that was less than an hour ago — or more.

The helicopter veered away from the smoke plume. The pilot called, "Shall I duck under the smoke? Or would you like to go back around again?"

Smin sank back in his seat. "I've seen enough," he said.

Varazin's "command center" turned out to be nothing more or less than Varazin's own comfortable dacha, set a hundred meters off the road in the fir forest. Its large main room was twice the size of anything in Smin's flat, but it was crowded by the time the meeting began. Smin, Varazin, the four men from the Ministry, the general of fire brigades, the head doctor from the Pripyat hospital, Khrenov (looking worn but confident), two men from the Council of Ministers of the Ukrainian Republic (when had they arrived?), half a dozen from the Pripyat Party Committee, an Army general. Smin looked at the crowd in dismay. This was an emergency meeting, not a Party rally. It was his firm conviction that the effectiveness of any conference was in inverse ratio to the number of people sitting around the table, and over five you might as well sleep through the proceedings.

But Istvili, the Georgian from the Ministry of Nuclear Energy, took firm charge. For a man who'd been wakened at four in the morning and had been traveling ever since, he was surprisingly clear-eyed and collected. "We won't wait for the people coming from Kiev by car," he announced. "Our first order of business is a situation report. I understand the Chernobyl plant is now completely shut down."

"I gave the order for Reactors One and Two myself," nodded Varazin. "As a precaution. Of course, I consulted the load dispatchers in Kiev first."

"So that situation is stable," said Istvili. "Now we come to damage control."

"The fire was extinguished at eight minutes after three this morning," said the general of fire brigades.

Smin cut in. "Yes, but, excuse me, your firemen are still on the roof and the hoses are still going."

The general looked down his nose at him. "They are cooling the scene down and extinguishing small outbreaks."

"I don't think I am making myself clear. All that water from the hoses is contaminated with radioactivity. It must go somewhere, and wherever it goes it's dangerous."

"Radiation," said the general thoughtfully. "That's not our concern. Our business is fighting fires, and we put this one out in an hour and a half. Radiation is your business."

"It's the business of your firemen too! They're in great danger, out there without protective gear!"

Istvili raised a hand. "Please. Two issues have been raised now, contamination of water from the runoff from the fire and proper gear for the workers controlling the damage. When we have finished — What is it, Varazin?"

The Chief Engineer only wanted to announce, "There is some tea and mineral water coming in now. My wife is bringing it."

And his wife, with a young girl beside her, was hovering in the doorway, trays in their hands. "Thank you, Comrade Varazin," Istvili said dryly. "As I was about to say, when we have finished this preliminary conference, we will establish working groups to deal with each of these. First we have to deal with immediate problems. The graphite in the core is still burning."

Everyone turned to look at the fire commander. He looked annoyed. "That is a different question from the fire in the structure," he explained. "However, we are continuing to hose it. We have more pumpers coming, even a couple of water cannon; they should drown it, just as the British did at Windscale."

"No, no!" cried Smin, but the other man from the Ministry, Lestilyan, spoke ahead of him:

"That is unacceptable for the reasons Smin has given. Also, it probably will just fracture the graphite and expose more combustible surfaces to the air. We'll have to cover the core."

"What with?" the fireman demanded. "Foam's out of the question."

"Things much denser than foam. Sand, clay, even lead. Probably boron, too, because that swallows neutrons."

"And how are you going to get it on the core?" the fire commander asked sarcastically. "Do you want my men to carry it up there in hods, like bricklayers?"

Lestilyan said crisply, "Of course, we will need heavy earth-moving machinery. That, too, I think, should be referred to a working group?"

"Exactly," Istvili said promptly. "In fifteen minutes I will adjourn this meeting and we will start the work of the groups. Comrade Rasputin? Do you want to say anything about the casualties and risks?"

"All of the injured are being evacuated; the Pripyat hospital can't handle them all, so most of them are being sent elsewhere—"

The head of the hospital raised his hand. "The hospital itself should be evacuated, I think. And probably also the town itself."

"Of course," Smin put in. "As soon as possible."

One of the men from the Council of Ministers in Kiev stirred himself. "Why of course? The wind is blowing the smoke the other way, isn't it?"

"It could change at any moment."

"That's true," added Rasputin. "And rain would be a serious added problem; rain brings fallout. It was raining in Kiev earlier this morning."

"It isn't raining here. Evacuation would cause mass panic," the man from Kiev stated.

"Then at least the people should be informed," Smin said doggedly. The man frowned.

"That decision is not ours to take, Comrade Smin."

"But if we wait for Moscow to approve, it could be hours! At least, let us have an announcement on the Pripyat radio station," Smin urged.

Istvili took over command of the meeting. "We simply do not have enough information yet for public announcements to be made. When we have full facts to give them, yes. Then it will be authorized. For now that discussion is closed. Now let us turn to the cause of the accident."

There was one thing you could say for these high-powered people from the Ministry of Nuclear Energy, Smin thought to himself. At least they got things done. All three of the section chiefs had spoken quickly but unhurriedly; the meeting had been going less than seven minutes by Smin's watch. Against his will, Smin was beginning to respect, even almost to like them; it was hard for him to remember that these men were the "they" who had bombarded him every week with stern orders to hurry up, increase the proportion of working time, fulfill the Plan! Even the fourth man, the one no one had bothered to introduce, was appearing to be getting down to business. For the first part of the meeting he had been sitting quietly, smoking a cigarette and sipping his cup of tea as he gave each speaker polite but detached attention. But now that they had come to the question of the cause of the accident, he had taken out a pencil and was beginning to make notes.

"It appears," said Istvili, "that the accident occurred during the course of an unusual experiment, which involved shutting off some or all of the safety systems of Reactor Number Four. Is that correct?"

Chief Engineer Varazin set his cup down so hard he spilled some tea. "It was not an 'unusual' experiment. It was approved in advance in all particulars by the Ministry!"

"Not quite in all particulars, I think," said Istvili. "Not to take place at one o'clock in the morning. Not without a safety inspector present."

Varazin said obstinately, "There was no directive about the time or about safety inspectors."

"There was also no directive giving authority to dismantle the automatic systems, however," Istvili pointed out, and Smin sucked in a deep breath.

"Then it's true," he groaned. "Is it? The idiots turned everything off? My God, Varazin! How could you let them?"

Chief Engineer Varazin had never been a really close friend, but it was in that moment, Smin saw, that he had converted him into a irreconcilable enemy. The engineer kept his face straight, but muscles were jumping in his cheeks as he ground out, "At least I was there! And, if you are so wise, Deputy Director Smin, why weren't you yourself present?"

The whole meeting waited patiendy for Smin's answer. Why? Because the Chief Engineer should have been responsible? Because at last word the experiments had been postponed indefinitely? Because he had not for one second imagined such stupidity?

Smin shook his head, more to himself than to the men from the commission. "I agree that I should have been present," he said clearly, and watched the silent man from Moscow carefully writing his words down.