At the Beach

There were a number of government planes flaying in the area. I wondered how many had missions that justified flying over a reactor out of control. One military fighter plane was almost overhead. I noticed that it was in difficulty.

"Look," I said to Rob. "It's begining to affect the planes." Control problems are an expected phenomenon of reactor breakdowns because of the intense electromagnetic radiation emitted from the reactor assembly. We both watched the small jet. It was flying more like an old propeller-driven craft with engine trouble. Its speed and attitude were erratic and several times it approached a stall. Twice I was sure that the fighter would plow nose first into the campus grass, but it didn't. The pilot took the plane low and accelerated across the water, a maneuver intended to reduce the amount of direct radiation the plane was receiving. I think he succeeded in getting away, but I'm not sure.

Over at the Land Station a space authority helicopter started its engines. It was in an area immediate adjacent to the disabled space ship. It should never have been allowed even to start its engines so close to the reactor. I was sure the Land Station hadn't authorized the takeoff.

"That must be a military pilot," I said.

"Probably," Rob agreed. Despite the military component of our agency mission, there was little love for the defense agency in the ranks of the space authority. Perhaps that grew from the division of the old military departments when the best people came to us. In any case, the defense pilots seemed very able to feed our prejudices with their errors.

The chopper managed to rise about 9 meters before the pilot lost control the first time. Then he fought the reactor's forces for nearly ten minutes before he was able to bring it back down to the ground – safely, but not without serious damage to the helicopter. We saw the pilot step out and start to run off just when we reached the first of the willow-crowned sand dunes at the beach.

We jumped down the far side of the low ridge of sand and climbed up the next ridge. At this point on the beach there was no third dune (the typical number here). We dropped down the lake side of the dune and sat, our backs leaning against the bare sand and our heads about a foot below the crest of the dune. In front of us the great blue lake stretched to the horizon, small waves marching regularly up to the beach. The warm sun and gentle lake breeze in front of us contrasted with the droning fire alarms behind.

Suddenly the fire horns stuttered and then stopped. People began to turn to each other and wonder if this meant the danger was past, but I surmised that an electromagnetic pulse from the reactor had disrupted the electrical transmission system. In its own way, that was good news. In a non-explosive failure, the reactor itself would not generate an electromagnetic field intense enough to disrupt a power grid. Failure of the electrical distribution meant that the reactor shielding had been excited enough to radiate intensely – but this would only be true if the shields were still intact, protecting us from the more dangerous higher-frequency radiation. I lay back against the sand and closed my eyes, hoping that the reaction would still be contained and the crisis would soon be over.

Suddenly I realized that the tone of conversation on the beach had changed. Voices were louder and lower pitched; there was even an occasional laugh here and there, and the sound of feet on the sand surrounded me. I opened my eyes to see the crowds beginning to move off. Next to me Rob was getting up and beyond him I saw two of the Land Station's technicians. They were still wearing their protective suits, but they carried their helmets in their hands and they were laughing with some of the Land Officers. Other Land Officers and campus police were walking along the beach, signalling the end of the troubles to the people there.

"Well, I think I'll go home now," Rob said. " Somewhere where there isn't a spaceship."

I laughed. "Sounds good," I said. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow."

"Maybe," he said, and started back over the dune toward the campus.

I took out my library book and, settling comfortably against the sandy bank, began to read about new ideas in telemetry.