Eagerly, using both sights, I begin to search. The hunger within me to return to work is still strong, but I try to ignore it.
—
Operations Chief Ted Forester was across the control room, looking at the power monitors, when Vic O'Brian made the laconic announcement.
"Glitch in Number Twenty-Seven. Bad one."
Forester was at his shoulder in four strides. The indicator was indeed flashing red; the data were already appearing on the screen. "Damn," Forester muttered under his breath, scanning the numbers.
"Not puttin' out a damn thing," O'Brian commented with thinly veiled disgust. "This is the fourth time in three weeks he's drifted off-mark."
"I can count," Forester said shortly, aware that the other two operators had suspended their chitchat and were listening silently. "Have you tried a booster yet?"
"Don't figure it'll do much good this time." O'Brian tapped at a number on the screen. "He's got all he oughta need already. I figure it's just time to terminate this one; he's nothin' but trouble."
Forester kept his temper firmly in check even as the first twinges of anxiety rumbled through his ulcer. "Let's not go off the deep end right away. We'll try a booster first—double strength."
He waited in silence as O'Brian adjusted the setting and pressed the proper button. "Nothin'," the operator said.
"Give it a minute," Forester said, eyes on the radiation readouts from the conveyer by Twenty-Seven's position. Come on, he urged silently, and for a moment the numbers crept upward. But it didn't last; in fits and jerks the readings slid back down, until only the normal radiation of nuclear waste was registering.
Forester let out a long breath that was half snort, half sigh. Reaching over O'Brian's