My father was driven only by an insatiable hunger for profit. I remember him sitting at our dinner table reading spreadsheets, and in his office making deals on the phone late into the night. But I have no memory of him teaching me how to tie my shoes or ride a bicycle. I cannot remember a single joke he shared with me, or an occasion when he came to watch me play baseball or football. If there wasn’t money to be earned in the endeavor, he simply did not wish to invest the time.
People like my father are the last ones on earth who should be in a position to manipulate the awesome power of nuclear fission. It unleashes one of the elemental forces of the universe, capable of incredible destruction. One only needs to consider the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki to see this. Then there are incidents such as Chernobyl, Three Mile Island, Fukushima Daiichi, and, now, the tragedy that has occurred here in Silver Lake. These and countless other accidents are somehow either overlooked, underreported, or masterfully spun by PR professionals. Consider the many statements made by industry hawks eager to point out that no deaths occurred due to radioactive fallout as a result of the Fukushima debacle. I’m sure this information did little to buoy the spirits of all the people who were told they would be unable to return to their homes in the Okuma area for at least forty years.
I arranged for you to see my father’s sins as part of a larger objective. My hope was that you would expose them to the public, which in turn would result in the rapid termination of my father’s plans to build yet another plant. From there, and in the wake of his recent health problems, I would be able to begin investing in safer forms of energy production — solar, hydro, wind — with the ultimate dream of shutting down the nuclear aspects of the facility for good. Alternative energies are evolving at a greater pace than ever before, as well they should. When was the last time someone died because a water wheel malfunctioned? What terrorist group has ever attempted to sabotage a wind turbine? And where is there a town that’s been rendered uninhabitable due to a broken solar panel?
There are improvements being made in the nuclear industry as well, I don’t deny that. Better reactor designs, safer fuels, etc. Nevertheless, with so much tragic history as a precedent, we should be moving away from nuclear and closer to energy sources that pose little or no threat to anyone. They are a more plausible option than ever before, so it is unforgivable that we are not embracing them to a greater degree. Someday, perhaps, we will be able to revisit the idea of using nuclear fission to power our world. But for now, we have all the proof we need that we as a race are simply not ready for it. Instead of working to improve the illusion that we can control such power, we first need to improve ourselves. Once that happens, all good things will quickly follow.
Stay hopeful, Marla — and keep fighting the good fight.
Hours later, the two women sat together on the gently sloping hill where the former Corwin plant was visible in the distance. Marla had removed her sandals and blazer, which lay nearby on the grass. Sarah’s knees were up, her arms wrapped around them.
“Now that it’s been fully decontaminated,” Marla said, nodding at the facility, “they’re going to try to repurpose it.”
“Hydro? From the river behind it?”
Marla nodded. “That’s what I hear. It won’t solve all of the local electricity problems, but it’s a start.”
“It’s a good idea if they can pull it off. Cost-effective. No sense wasting all that hardware. And the grid’s already in place.”
“Yeah.”
Sarah closed her eyes and took in a long breath through her nose.
“Ahh… smell that?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Marla gave her a puzzled look.
“Nothing weird, anyway,” Sarah said. “Remember the smell that day?”
“The metallic, ozone smell? Like laser printers?”
“Yeah. I thought I’d never get rid of it. Even when I moved down to D.C., I kept smelling it. Maybe just in my mind, but I could never shake it. Not until now, that is.” She inhaled again. “That’s fantastic. Nothing but warmth and dirt and honeysuckle, exactly as it should be. Nothing says fresh air like the scent of honeysuckle.”
A tern soared above the river, following its course for a time before dipping sharply and snatching something from the water. Then it turned east and disappeared.
“So what now?” Marla asked.
“Now? Hell, I don’t know.” Sarah turned to her. “I think we’ve saved the world enough for one lifetime, don’t you?”
“Maybe… maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’ve been asked to pass along a message.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah — now that this town is getting back on its feet again, it’s going to need a mayor.”
The tiniest of smiles touched upon one corner of Sarah’s mouth. “Are you serious?”
“I am — and so are they. Think about it, because these people need you. Really think about it.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
There was more silence, then Sarah said, “Can I assume you’ll be writing for the local rag again?”
“I will.”
“Can I count on your full support?”
“That depends on what you plan to do about our energy situation.”
Sarah turned back to the plant, studying the high ridge beyond the river.
“Maybe a few wind turbines, up there. And an array of solar panels. Big ones. How does that sound?”
Marla smiled.
“Like progress.”
TOR/FORGE BOOKS BY WIL MARA
Wave
The Gemini Virus
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WIL MARA is the author of Frame 232, a thriller about the John F. Kennedy assassination; The Gemini Virus, a disease thriller; and a tsunami novel, Wave, which won the New Jersey Notable Book Award. He has also written many books, both fiction and nonfiction, for young readers. Mara lives in New Jersey.