NineThe next morning Nathaniel Machuzak, expunging the weariness from his bones, awoke before dawn, swilled a standing cup of coffee, and drove south. The temperature swings, severe this time of year in the semi-desert, sent him shuddering in the jeep, whose top he’d left open. By the time he reached the outer gate, the landscape had turned purple and he began to shake off the cold. The chill mounted.
Down the road he badged himself in at the guard booth and noticed the sign hung to the left of the boom:
Remember:
Turn in Your Radiation Badges
Today
Only the tritium handlers and the techs who spent their days on the machine would remember. For everybody else, radiation doses were no greater than the Austin background and they would do only one thing with the monthly reminder: ignore i
