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the ground between the reactor building and the turbine annex before the sensors detected it.”
    “The robotic sensors?” I couldn’t resist nettling him. Juvenile, I know.
    “Yes. We’re equipped with state-of-the-art sodium iodine detectors. The DOE inspector’s report said they detected it far earlier than any human system would.”
    I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I liked people, wasn’t comfortable around machines. Especially not machines smarter than I was. “And the second accident?”
    “Simple human error. A crapped-up piece of metal got thrown into the recycling. But our sensors caught it before it left the facility perimeter.”
    “Crapped up?”
    “Contaminated.”
    “So your sensors caught it inside the plant?”
    He studied the map as if it held the answers. “Well, no. We caught it here.” He pointed to the inner perimeter fence. “In the recycling truck.”
    “Didn’t that contaminate everything in the truck?”
    “Yeah. Very low level, though. Nothing dangerous.”
    I was beginning to wonder at his definition of “dangerous.”
    “The third accident,” he stressed the last word, “was totally unrelated to the first two. A valve stuck and a small amount of water overflowed from the coolant tanks.”
    “Overflowed where? Into the river?”
    “Oh no. Nothing like that. It backed up into a drain—left standing water on the floor, and a few workers had their shoes exposed.”
    He frowned again—more than a frown, a scowl. As if he were being singled out unfairly. Or rather, his plant was. “Since it’s the first of its kind, Colleton Landing has come under more scrutiny than any other plant in the nation. Unlike other places that have real problems—like Indian Point, which lost 100,000 gallons of coolant before anyone noticed. Or Vermont Yankee, which has leaked not just tritium but also cesium into the groundwater. And don’t get me started on the mess up in Washington State—workers repeatedly finding new caches of plutonium that the government forgot existed, hundreds of gallons of uranium, plutonium, strontium, and cesium dumped into the Mohawk River. Yet, we’re the ones in the spotlight.”
    Wow. Guess I hit a sore spot. But Grandel’s passion was the first thing I’d liked about him since we met. “The investigations have cleared you each time?”
    “Yes. In fact, in the first two, both the DOE and the Nuclear Regulatory Commission congratulated us on our prompt and early response and interventions.” He gave his head a small shake, as if wondering at the state of the world. “Of course, the press never mentions our commendations or the part where the DOE calls us a model facility. All they talk about is how negligent we are and the risks to the community.”
    Finally he ran out of steam. Both Elizabeth and I were staring at him. He blushed slightly—guess underneath that corporate raider exterior he was human after all. It was nice to see.
    “I’d like to learn more about those other incidents in other plants,” I said. “It will give me context.”
    “No problem. I have reams of incident reports. I brought them with me.” He nodded to his bulging brief case. “You can read them on the plane.”
    “Plane?”
    “Sure. I have our Gulfstream waiting.”
    Elizabeth and I exchanged glances. “Seems like you were pretty sure we’d help you.”
    “Pretty desperate is more like it. I’m involved in very sensitive negotiations with foreign investors. If we don’t prove that we can successfully meet the isotope demand with Colleton Landing and that our plant design poses no public risk, I’ll be ruined.”
    “Not to mention all those patients who won’t get the care they need,” Elizabeth added.
    “Of course. That’s always a priority. But now you understand why this is so urgent. Any more shutdowns—even if it’s only for a day or two to investigate another mishap—and we’ll be so far behind schedule that we’ll never catch up.”
    “I