Thirty-OneBut how? A month after he’d taken the job, Machuzak had no idea how to disperse the intangible haze, neither autumn mist nor smog, that now shrouded the final descent into the valley. Outside the main gate the family was gone, but a larger group of locals had taken its place, brandishing posters for Nuclear Free America, Save the Environment, Solar People. Nathaniel couldn’t be certain whether this was protest or advertising. Along the drive, over the big sign proclaiming the number of accident-free man-hours, someone had spray-painted the number of sabotage-free hours. Not many. Nathaniel called maintenance.
Below Bill Balustradi’s photo inside the lobby, a small tangle of action heroes charged about blindly, colliding with one another. Machuzak puckered his lips, tore off the
