js&cs.thebridge-第14部分

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y　slump。　It　had　been　in　operation　for　four　years　with　no　trouble　at　all；　feeding　the　ever…increasing　appetite　for　power　in　the　great　Valley　metro　region。
　　Jenkel　leaned　back　in　his　chair；　absently　fingering　his　bald　spot。　He　was　a　big　man；　with　a　big　beaky　nose　and　the　jowly；　pleasant　face　of　a　favorite　uncle；　and　was　fresh　back　from　vacation…fishing　in　the　Poconos。　He'd　caught　three　trout　and　an　acute　case　of　sunburn；　and　his　roasted　pate　stood　out　from　the　white　of　his　shirt　like　the　bulb　of　an　overheated　thermometer。　He　crinkled　his　brow　in　speculation。
　　He'd　noticed　the　flux　in　the　neutron　population　twenty　minutes　ago；　almost　by　accident。　It　was　a　marginal　increase　in　temperature　and　power；　well　within　the　plus…or…minus　parameters　the　reactor　coolant　routinely　generated。　He'd　caught　it　during　a　casual　spot…check；　duly　noted　the　reading；　then　set　about　leveling　it　by　releasing　a　stream　of　borated　water　into　the　closed…loop　system　that　covered　the　core。
　　The　boron　did　its　molecular　duty；　moderating　the　fission　process；　slowing　the　reactor。　In　his　duties　as　the　nuclear　half　of　the　day　shift's　Reactor　Operator　Team；　Jenkel　had　performed　the　process　countless　times　before。　Borate　the　coolant；　keep　watch　as　the　power　rolls　off　and　the　temperature　drops。　It　was　like　fine…tuning　the　fission　process；　and　it　always　worked　like　a　charm。
　　But　now　the　temperature　was　up　again。　Odd。
　　Jenkel　turned　to　his　younger；　less　experienced　other　half；　whose　duties　minding　the　turbines　and　steam　generators　consisted　at　the　moment　of　reading　Dave　Barry's　column　in　the　Sunday　News　and　snickering　at　every　other　paragraph。　Once　a　pressurized　water　reactor　was　up　they　could　practically　go　home　and　let　the　reactor　run　itself；　or　so　the　training　said。　Normally；　it　was　utterly；　absolutely　true。　But　it　was　a　homily　that　carried　its　own　disclaimer；　a　caveat　like　a　void　if　removed　tag。
　　Unless　something　goes　wrong　。。。
　　〃Hah！〃　Bob　Henkel　laughed　out　loud；　a　sharp　bark　that　stood　out　in　the　quietly　humming　control　room。　〃Man；　this　guy　cracks　me　up。〃　He　chortled　out　loud。　〃He　says　we　should　convert　the　federal　deficit　to　voltage；　right？　And　then　run　it　through　electrodes　attached　to　the　genitals　of　every　member　in　Congress　。。。　〃
　　〃Hey；　Bob；〃　Jenkel　said；　interrupting。　〃Check　this　out。〃
　　Henkel　looked　up；　blue　eyes　watery　with　mirth。　He　was　twenty…nine；　bean…pole　thin；　and　the　physical　opposite　of　Jenkel。　Except　for　the　nose：　broad　and　downward　sloping；　it　was　so　close　to　Jenkel's　that　they　could　have　been　pressed　from　the　same　Play…Doh　Monster　Schnozz　kit。　Add　that　to　their　names；　and　the　jokes　were　inevitable。
　　Henkel　got　up　from　his　chair；　sauntered　over。　〃What's　up；　boss？〃　he　said。
　　〃The　reactor　load；　for　one　thing；〃　Jenkel　answered。　〃Check　out　the　core。〃　Motioning　to　the　meter　with　his　chin。
　　〃The　neutron　count　is　way　up。〃　Henkel　assessed　the　situation　and　shrugged。　〃So　borate　the　water；〃　he　offered。
　　〃Already　did；〃　Jenkel　said。　〃Now　it's　back　up　again。〃
　　Henkel　considered　the　problem；　as　well　as　the　older　man's　tone　of　voice；　which　was　more　curious　than　concerned。　He　knew　as　well　as　Jenkel　that　they　were　constantly　making　up　and　letting　down　water　for　the　core　vessel；　filtering　out　particulates　or　ions　and　then　restoring　it　to　the　loop。　Henkel　wondered　offhand　if　this　was　some　kind　of　test；　an　impromptu　spot…quiz　by　ol'　Dead　Fred　to　goose　an　otherwise　slow　shift。
　　〃Uhmm；〃　he　pondered；　〃add　NutraSweet？〃
　　Jenkel　looked　at　him；　he　was　not　smiling。　Maybe　this　was　serious；　after　all。　〃Go　get　Sykes；〃　Jenkel　said。　〃Tell　him　we　might　have　a　problem。〃
　　His　eyes　leveled　with　Henkel's　and　the　younger　man's　smile　evaporated。　Bob　turned　and　quick…walked　over　to　the　open　door　of　the　super's　office。　〃Uh；　Mr。　Sykes　。。。　〃　he　began。
　　But　Fred　Jenkel　was　no　longer　listening。　His　ears　were　tuned　to　another　sound；　a　subsonic　drone　that　he　felt　more　than　heard；　coining　from　a　humming　structure　less　than　a　hundred　yards　away。　From　his　radiation…shielded；　hermetically　sealed　vantage　point；　it　might　as　well　have　been　on　the　moon。
　　He　watched　the　meter's　needle　rise　up　and　level　off；　only　to　scoot　up　a　moment　later。　Rise　。。。　flutter。　Rise　。。。　flutter。
　　〃It's　nothing；〃　he　told　himself；　denying　memory　and　intuition　and　experience。　〃Nothing　at　all。〃
　　Jenkel　watched。　All　the　while　thinking；　The　reactor　could　practically　run　itself。
　　Rise　。。。
　　Unless　something　went　wrong　。。。
　　
　　
　　　Eleven
　　　
　　More　than　anything；　Gwen　Taylor　loved　the　act　of　creation。
　　She　stood　before　her　almost　pleted　work…in…progress；　dressed　in　sweats　and　a　paint…spattered　shirt　stolen　from　Gary。　Blue　and　yellow　mixed　with　a　bit　of　white　on　the　sheet　of　heavy　glass　that　served　as　her　palette。　The　colors　swirled　together；　three　melding　to　one；　making　teal。
　　She　wet　her　brush；　scooped　up　some　of　the　paint；　and　held　it　aloft。　〃Okay；　your　Highness；〃　she　said；　scrutinizing　her　target。　〃Here　es　greatness。〃
　　Gwen　took　aim　and　let　fly。
　　On　the　nursery　wall；　the　Faery　Queen's　left　cheek　came　to　vibrant　life。　A　twin　slash　quickly　adorned　the　right。　Gwen　worked　fast　and　loose；　showing　amazing　skill　and　alacrity　in　the　most　random　of　motions。　She　dabbed　here；　stroked　there；　a　layer　of　cool　green　sprouted　across　the　breadth　of　the　mural　in　no　time。
　　〃Yes　。。。　yes；　yes　。。。　〃　Gwen　said。　David　Byrne's　〃Rei　Momo〃　jangled　from　the　speakers　of　her　spattered　studio　boom　box。　Gwen　grabbed　up　a　brushful　of　magenta　and　peppered　the　shadows　around　the　figure　with　hot　color。　〃This　is　a　good　look　for　you；〃　she　winked。
　　The　nursery　was　spectacular；　a　magical　blend　of　innocence　and　mystery。　Stuffed　animals　hung　from　a　hammock　in　the　corner；　shower　booty　awaiting　tiny　hands　to　bring　them　to　life；　an　antique　oak　crib　lovingly　refinished　by　Gary　consumed　one　whole　er　of　the　room；　tempo　rarity　hiding　under　a　protective　drop　cloth。　A　mobile　floated　lazily　above　it；　bobbing　on　an　almost　imperceptible　breeze。　It　was　a　room　full　of　dreams；　waiting　to　e　true。
　　Gwen　could　hardly　wait　for　Spike　to　see　it。
　　She　dropped　the　brush；　picked　up　a　finer　one　to　lay　in　some　highlights　of　yellow。　Then　she　scooped　up　a　raggedy　bit　of　sponge　that　she'd　custom…plucked　for　maximum　texture　and　began　patting　the　surface　of　the　fresh　paint；　adding　a　stippled　coral　effect。
　　It　was　a　technique　that　would　have　appalled　her　art　school　painting　instructors；　but　fuck　'em。　Gwen　was　a　firm　believer　in　the　right　misuse　of　technology。
　　After　all；　she　reasoned；　necessity　isn't　the　true　mother　of　invention。
　　Weirdness　is。
　　Gwen　was　nothing　if　not　original。　Her　instructors　had　hated　her　style；　which　was　quirky　and　unschooled　but　bristling　with　energy；　charming　in　its　imagination　and　sheer　enthusiasm。　They　told　young　Gwen　Kessler　that　as　an　artist　she'd　make　a　great　hairdresser。　One　told　her　he　now　understood　why　previous　generations　preferred　their　women　barefoot；　pregnant；　and　in　the　kitchen；　another　even　suggested　in　front　of　the　entire　class　that　she'd　be　better　off　enrolling　in　the　art　school　that　advertised　on　matchbooks。　Draw　Binky；　Make　Big　。
　　So　when　she　finally　got　fed　up　with　getting　shat　upon　by　the　hierarchical　cliques　of　snotty　conceptual　types　at　the　Atlanta　College　of　Modern　Art；　she　fought　back　by　declaring　herself　a　postmodern　neoprimitive　guerrilla　cartoonist　and　staging　her　own　one…woman　protest　show　outside　the　main　entrance　of　the　school；　which　was　also　the　Peachtree　Road　entrance　for　the　prestigious　and　oh…so…stuffy　Atlanta　Museum　of　Modem　Art。　She　spray…painted　the　title　of　her　point　across。　It　was　smarmy　and　titillating　and　played　wholly　for　yocks；　and　it　utterly　missed　the　point。
　　The　cameraman　got　her　contact　info　from　the　rap　sheet；　stewed　over　her　for　a　day；　and　finally　called　her　up。　He　apologized。　She　did　not　accept。　He　asked　her　out。
　　She　told　him；　very　sweetly；　to　go　fuck　himself。
　　He　proceeded　to　find　out　the　date　of　her　arraignment。　When　she　showed　up；　he　was　there。　She　had　bee　a　minor　celebrity　by　that　point；　albeit　an　embarrassed　one：　Channel　Two　followed　up　on　her　case　periodically；　invariably　running　the　same　smarmy　clip　of　her　thrashing；　bare…butted　arrest。
　　He　asked　her　out　again。　She　recognized　him　from　the　news　crew　and　told　him　to　please　leave　her　alone。
　　He　was　back　again　at　her　court　date。　She　got　six　months'　probation。　He　handed　her　a　rose　and　a　present　wrapped　in　a　brown　paper　bag。　She　opened　it　up　in　the　cab　on　the　way　home。
　　Inside　the　envelope　was　a　note　with　his　phone　number。　The　note　read：
　　Everybody　deserves　a　second　chance。
　　She　unwrapped　the　package。　Inside　were　a　couple　of　three…quarter…inch　videotapes。　The　masters　and　the　dubs。　All　of　it。
　　Channel　Two　didn't　run　any　coverage　that　night；　or　ever　again。
　　The　next　day　Gwen　called　the　cameraman　and　thanked　him。　He　said　it　was　his　pleasure　and　apologized　yet　again；　and　didn't　even　ask　her　out。
　　Three　days　later；　she　called　him　again。　This　time　she　invited　him　to　lunch；　her　treat。　He　said　yes。　Everybody　deserves　a　second　chance。
　　The　cameraman's　name　was　Gary　Taylor。
　　And　the　rest；　as　they　say；　was　history　。。。
　　Gwen　blushed　with　the　memory。　It　was　a　long　way　from　Atlanta　to　here；　s