Powerless by Tim Washburn

seated in his office reading through the latest data when Kaylee Connor taps on the door.
    â€œSam, we have reports of power outages in Alaska and Northern Canada as well as rolling blackouts all along the eastern seaboard.”
    â€œThis storm is moving much faster than I thought possible.”
    â€œYou think solar flares might be causing it or is this the leading edge of the geomagnetic storm?”
    â€œI don’t know. I would find it hard to believe that the CME is already here. I told the President we probably have another eight hours. And I thought that was a safe estimate. What does the latest data tell us?”
    â€œThat’s just it, Sam. Not only is ACE dead, but as recently as five minutes ago, the Solar and Heliospheric Observatory was no longer broadcasting information.”
    Dr. Blake stands. “SOHO’s dead?”
    â€œWe don’t know. NASA is working to reestablish communication. They don’t know if this is an anomaly or if the satellite is fried. My bet is that the satellite is toast.”
    â€œDamn.” Sam thumbs his glasses farther up his nose. “I think the plasma storm could hit much sooner than we thought.” He brushes past Kaylee, on a beeline back to the conference room. Kaylee follows.
    Sam flips on the camera, clips on the microphone, and inserts the earpiece in his ear. “Can anyone hear me? Hello? This is an emergency. Is anybody listening?” He turns to Kaylee. “How does this thing work?”
    â€œI think it has to go through the satellite for them to hear you.”
    â€œWell, we know that’s not going to work.” He yanks off the microphone and removes the earpiece. “See if you can get in touch with Major Garcia. Maybe she can work this up through the command, if I’m unsuccessful.”
    â€œWhat are you going to do?” Kaylee shouts after him.
    â€œI’m going to try to contact the President.” In his office, Sam scoots around his desk and sits. He taps the mouse to wake the computer but stares at the screen. Then he launches Google and types in a search phrase. When the results appear, he reaches for the phone and punches in the digits.
    â€œHello, you’ve reached the White House. All operators are currently . . .”

C HAPTER 24
    Point Lepreau Nuclear Generating Station
Maces Bay, New Brunswick, Canada
Wednesday, September 29, 12:15 P.M .
    Â 
    O n a point of land jutting into the Bay of Fundy, part of the Atlantic between New Brunswick, Canada, and Nova Scotia, sits Canada’s only Atlantic coast nuclear reactor. Three years behind schedule and one billion dollars over budget on the latest refurbishment, the CANDU 6 reactor has just recently been restarted, generating 630 megawatts of electricity.
    Pierre Gagnon, a slender man of French descent, and three other employees are manning the state-of-the-art control room that rivals even the most sophisticated control rooms at NASA headquarters. The front wall contains lights, dials, and gauges by the hundreds, all to prevent a nuclear mishap. Set away from the wall, taking up most of the middle portion of the room, is a large desk that contains the group data displays, or computers, which provide feedback from the nearly three thousand other sensors scattered throughout the plant. Gagnon is manning the main desk while swiping through cell phone pics of his recently born second son.
    Without warning, the front wall lights up with warning lights and a siren sounds just before the power to the control room dies.
    His cell clatters to the desk. His coworkers, who had been making progress notes at the main display, freeze in place when the lights extinguish. The automatic diesel generator kicks on to relight the control room. The backup generator powers only the control room so the nuclear plant can be safely shut down.
    Although there are numerous built-in fail-safes to halt the fission of nuclear material during a power loss, the staff is