Frederik Pohl - Chernobyl

Smin was dozing lightly when he became aware he had company again. "We didn't wake you, I hope?" said the taller of the two men who had parted his curtains.

"It's a pleasure to know that I can still wake up," Smin said, nodding to them. "Fedor Vassilievitch Mishko. Andrei Pavlovich Milaktiev. I am honored to be visited by two members of the leadership."

"By two old friends, Simyon Mikhailovitch," Mishko corrected. "If not friends, at least men with whom you have worked in the past. Are you feeling well?"

"I am feeling very poorly," said Smin, his smile now an uncomfortable grimace. "I would feel a little better if I knew whether you were here to inquire after my health or to tell me I am in disgrace."

"Unfortunately, both," Milaktiev said heavily. He was a slim old man except for a pot belly that his expensive, Western-cut clothes nearly succeeded in concealing. His hair was still dark and so was his thick, bristly mustache-almost a Stalin mustache, Smin thought.

"Nevertheless," Mishko added, "also as friends. I hope you believe that, Simyon Mikhailovitch."

Smin thought that over carefully. The men had pulled the curtains behind them, but they had taken chairs in with them. They had seated themselves, waiting patiently for his answer. "I believe," he said at last, "that my mother had the very highest regard for your father, Fedor Vassilievitch."

Mishko grinned. He was taller than his partner, and dapper in a pale tan sports jacket and paisley tie. "In fact," he said, "if my father had not been purged in the Stalin years, you and I might now be stepbrothers."

"So my mother has told me," Smin said. "She has spoken often of the Stalin years."

"Which, I am sure, she never wants to see return."

They had been speaking softly in any case, but Mishko both lowered his voice still more and glanced at the gap in the curtains as he spoke. So even a member of the Central Committee wondered who might be listening at times! "I do not suppose," Smin said, "that you came here to discuss the cult of personality with me. Would you mind telling me what you want?"

Mishko sighed. "Actually we have two purposes. The official one is to ask you some questions about the accident."

"The GehBehs have already asked me."

"And no doubt they will ask you more." Mishko nodded. "The organs are still thorough. But it is, after all, a serious matter, Simyon Mikhailovitch. I suppose you know that every RBMK generator in the Soviet Union has been shut down?"

Smin was shaken. "I didn't know that."

"The economic consequences are serious. We've lost export sales of food because the foreigners think our tomatoes will make them glow in the dark. Production is down in the factories requiring electrical power. Tourism, of course-there is no tourism now. And I do not even speak of the loss of life."

"Am I charged with sabotage?"

"Simyon," the other man said gently, "you aren't being charged with anything. Do you mind if I smoke?"

There were Ne kurit signs all over the room, but Smin shrugged. "I wish I could join you."

Milaktiev lighted up before he spoke. He considered for a moment. Then: "When the Party entrusted you with a very high position, it expected you to live up to its responsibilities. Have you given your people good leadership?"

"I gave them good food, good housing, good pay, fair treatment-as much as I could, with the First Department breathing down my neck. I don't know how to measure leadership."

"One way to measure it," said Milaktiev, "is by the number of shift chiefs, engineers, and others who deserted their jobs. There were one hundred fifty-eight of them at the Chernobyl Power Plant."

"And nearly three thousand others remained for duty," Smin replied.

"What about defective materials?"

"There were some, yes. I have reported this in full. They were not in essential places. After the article in Literaturna Ukraina appeared-I believe you are familiar with it-"

"Oh, yes," Mishko smiled, answering for both of them.

"-I instituted a complete inspection of all essential systems. Where there were faults, I replaced them. In any case, if anything failed and so helped to cause the accident, it probably was the instrumentation."

"The instrumentation?"

"Which was imported from France and Germany," Smin pointed out. "Go sue the French."

The man from the Central Committee said, "We are not speaking of lawsuits, Simyon Mikhailovitch. We are speaking of faults in the management of the plant. If you say to me, 'I did everything correcdy,' then I say to you, 'But still it happened.' "

Smin shrugged. "I was only Deputy Director."

Mishko sighed. "The Director will face prosecution," he said.

"And will I?"

"I hope not, Simyon Mikhailovitch. Of course, you are likely to be dismissed from your post. You may also, of course, be expelled from the Party."

"Of course," said Smin bitterly. "Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to vomit."

The two men looked at each other. Then Milaktiev, stubbing out his cigarette, leaned forward and spoke more softly still. "If you must vomit, do it. But now we're finished with the official part of our visit, and there is another matter to discuss."

"And what is that?" asked Smin, fighting against fatigue; there was something going on here, and he had to know what it was.

"Would you, Simyon Mikhailovitch, make a complete statement for us of what happened at Chernobyl? I don't mean the accident. I mean before the accident. We are asking you to describe everything that made it difficult for you to run the plant properly. Directives which could not be complied with, or which did actual harm. Political pressures. The appointment of a Director who was incompetent. The corruption. The drunkenness and absenteeism. The interference from the First Department. Everything. Do you understand what I mean by 'everything'? I mean everything."

Smin was feeling really faint now. The sober old face grew fuzzy before him. "I don't follow you," he said faintly. "I've already given all this to the organs."

"Who may or may not pass it all on to us. We want it all."

"Do you mean that you want me to put on paper everything that is kept secret?"

"Exactly that, yes."

"And-" Smin licked his sore lips. "And if I do, what use will you make of it?"

They looked at each other again. Then, "I cannot say. I don't know," said Milaktiev. "Yet."

When Leonid Sheranchuk finally came back to his room, he saw that the curtains around Smin's bed were still drawn. Someone was there, because Sheranchuk could hear an almost inaudible mutter of voices. And when he bumped against his bed, a head popped out of the curtains to stare at him. It withdrew in a moment, and he heard one of the voices say to another, "Smin is almost asleep, anyway. We'll come back another time." But Sheranchuk thought that that head had looked familiar, and when its owner came out with another man, nodding politely to him as they left, he thought the face on the other man looked familiar too. Not as friends. Not even as someone he had run across in a casual meeting; as a face he had seen in a newspaper or on television. He lay down on his bed, pondering the question. Then he got up. Tired as he was, he hobbled to the open window and peered out at the courtyard.

Sure enough, a few moments later, there they were, tan sports coat and conservative gray, appearing on the steps below. From the other side of the little grove of trees in the courtyard a car purred forward from its parking niche to meet them.

The car was a Zil.

Sheranchuk stared at it as it spun away, traffic miraculously opening before it. He had never been in the presence of two members of the Central Committee before.

Wednesday, May 7