Frederik Pohl: Chernobyl

When Sheranchuk had given his name to the secretary, he said, "Well, hello." And then, for lack of something better to say, "You were on duty that night, weren't you?"

"For a time," Kalychenko admitted cautiously.

Sheranchuk looked at him thoughtfully. "We must get together and compare notes sometime soon, if you don't mind," he said. "There are still a lot of questions in my mind."

"Of course," said Kalychenko politely, wishing the man would drop dead. Questions! As if he had not already answered ten thousand questions-with another ten thousand more no doubt coming up as soon as the new First Section Secretary admitted him.

But when First Section Secretary Ivanov came out of his office, he gave Kalychenko only a quick, disinterested glance. It was Sheranchuk he turned to with a welcoming smile. "Yes, please," he said. "Come right in!"

"Thank you," Sheranchuk said politely, "but I think Shift Operator Kalychenko was here before me-"

"No, no! That's quite all right," Ivanov said. "I'm sure the shift operator won't mind waiting for a bit." He turned to the secretary. "No interruptions," he ordered, and swept Sheranchuk into his office, leaving Kalychenko glowering morosely after them.

There was certainly a difference between Khrenov and the new man, Ivanov; one sly and intimate, the other effusive and jolly, but it was the difference between raspberry ice cream and cherry. The inside of both men was at the same temperature, and that temperature was frigid. The fact that on this day Ivanov was cordial, even effusive, as he escorted Sheranchuk inside meant nothing for the future. It meant only that on this day Ivanov wanted the hydrologist-engineer to think of him as a friend.

So Sheranchuk was not at all surprised when, with a wink, Ivanov produced a bottle from somewhere in his desk, and with a twinkle confessed that it was unfortunately only wine, but at least the best Georgian. "Please, Leonid," he said, filling the glass to the brim, "sit down. No, please, not there in the hard chair. Take that couch by the window, and let me pull my chair over to you." He raised his glass. "I drink to the future of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Station! Like our nation, it weathers all storms and grows stronger through adversity!"

"Of course," Sheranchuk said warily. He sipped at the wine, noticing that the Personnel man had only dampened the bottom of his own glass.

Something had changed.

What it was Sheranchuk could not guess, but there was definitely something in the air that had not been there in his brief meeting with Ivanov in Moscow. The man was not merely welcoming, he was positively beaming. "As I told you, my dear Leonid," Ivanov said, "you are very much needed here. I think I should tell you-it is not official yet, but there is no reason you shouldn't know-the preliminary investigations of the accident show no fault to be laid at your door."

"Investigations?" Sheranchuk repeated warily.

"Very preliminary ones, of course," Ivanov assured him. "And what a rotten mess they are uncovering, as I am sure you can guess! But as to you personally, your actions are beyond reproach. It is clear that you continually warned of deficiencies and worked to correct them when you could. So there is no accusation of any kind against you. Indeed, I think you will wind up with some commendations, at least. There is even talk of a medal."

"I don't want any medals," Sheranchuk growled.

"My dear man! I quite understand. None of us wants such things, really, but nevertheless you behaved admirably, and if the state desires to make its approval public, it will, at least, be an example to many others."

Sheranchuk shook his head. "The man who should be getting the medals is dead."

"Oh? Really? And which man is that, may I ask?" Ivanov asked politely.

"Is there any doubt? Deputy Director Smin, of course."

"Ah," said Ivanov, pursing his lips. "I see. Smin, eh?"

"Of course Smin! You were not here then, Ivanov. You have no idea what Smin did for this plant. There has been talk of inferior materials and poor labor discipline-not untrue, all of it; but it would have been far worse if Smin had not been here. And far better if he had been in complete charge, as he deserved to be!"

"Ah," said Ivanov noncommittally, reaching for the bot-de. "Here, let me refill your glass." And when, over Sheranchuk's attempts at polite withdrawal, he had it full to the brim again, he said, "It is interesting that you should mention Smin at this time because, to be truthful, I have much curiosity about him. I never met him while he was alive, you know. I can form an opinion of him only from what the record shows, and from what people like yourself can tell me."

Ivanov paused, smiling at Sheranchuk over his glass as he waited for a response. Ah, thought Sheranchuk, there it was. The subject of the questioning was to be Smin.

He said cautiously, "Deputy Director Smin was a great man."

"Indeed." The Personnel man pursed his lips. "Well, you see, I must rely on your perceptions. Would you mind if I helped make my own estimate of him by asking you some questions?"

"What kind of questions?"

"Oh, various ones. Just to help me form a picture. For example, I understand you shared Smin's room for a time in Hospital Number Six in Moscow. I wonder-what sort of things did you talk about?"

And then the questions stopped being about what Sheranchuk had talked about, becoming about who Smin had seen. Sheranchuk, on his third glass of wine, realized that it was quite clear Ivanov already knew a great deal about Smin's visitors, no doubt from friendly voices among the hospital staff. Still he wanted to know more-for example, if Sheranchuk, as Smin's roommate, had heard anything of Smin's conversations?

Sheranchuk's answers became more and more cautious. There was no doubt that Ivanov had all the official records available to him, so Sheranchuk skated around what he heard, or guessed, of the elder son's drug arrest. Visitors other than

Smin's family? Well, yes, one or two. And two in particular in quite high places, wasn't that right? Ivanov asked with a smile.

Sheranchuk hesitated, suspicious. Still, what was there to worry about? Certainly the fact that he had friends in the highest of places could do Smin no harm. So Sheranchuk was perfectly willing to talk about the two men from the Central Committee-he confessed that he had been very impressed to see them there-but, as a matter of courtesy, he did not eavesdrop and in fact was tactfully out of the room most of the time when Smin had private visitors.

"Of course," said Ivanov courteously. "All the same, there are other ways of communicating with people. Letters, for example. Perhaps a journal? Do you recall seeing Smin writing anything in the hospital?"

Sheranchuk hesitated. He did not like the direction the questions were taking. "Well, yes," he conceded reluctantly, "but I don't know what he wrote. He never showed me any of it. I assumed they were letters to his family, perhaps a will-I don't know, since I had never seen any of it at close range."

"And Comrade Smin's reading? Did you see him reading anything?"

"Reading? No. Hardly ever. You see, it was painful for him to read. I think I saw him with Pravda now and then, perhaps once or twice with a book, but never for long."

"I see," said Ivanov. "Only a newspaper, and perhaps now and then a book. Well, there is no harm in that, is there? But, you see, I am thinking in particular of a document that he might have been reading. A sheaf of perhaps typewritten pages, seventeen or so. And you saw nothing like that?"

Sheranchuk shook his head. Ivanov gazed pensively at the wall for a moment. Then he asked, "And have you ever met either Comrade Mishko or Comrade Milaktiev, the two men from the Central Committee?"