Lethal Exposure by Kevin J. Anderson, Doug Beason Page B

the cap from completely covering the plutonium, showing just how close he could come without bringing the core to criticality.
    “Unfortunately, the screwdriver slipped, the cap fell closed, and the plutonium went supercritical for an instant before the cap blew off. The safety trainer marked where all the observers had been standing, then calculated everyone’s estimated dose. The others received varying exposures, and the safety trainer died nine days later.”
    Oddly, Dumenco smiled at her. Trish smiled back, trying not to let the horror show on her face. His exposure was massive enough that he would die long before the more horrendous symptoms manifested themselves, the bleeding gums, loosening teeth, loss of hair, suppurating skin.
    Dumenco patted her forearm. “Even with the hazards of nuclear material, that industry still has the best safety record of any, including chemical or electrical. Look on the bright side, my dear lady, you can add my story to your arsenal of horrifying anecdotes. But please put it in correct perspective. And I shall do my best to describe my symptoms to you, to make one last contribution to science. It’ll give you a broader benchmark for radiation medicine. Perhaps so people would not be so irrationally afraid.”
    Trish shook her head, angry at his attitude. “You’ve already contributed plenty to science, Georg. The Nobel Prize committee doesn’t consider just anyone.”
    Dumenco looked embarrassed. She knew he was an introspective man, trying to unlock the mysteries of the Universe, not for any fame or glory; but he had been immensely proud when his work became recognized, since so much of his earlier research in the Soviet Union had been locked up and classified.
    “Have we heard from Bretti?” he asked. “He is on his fishing trip, and I wonder if he even knows about my accident.”
    “Not a word,” Trish said. “I’ll do my best to contact him. Maybe Craig can track him down.”
    “That would be most kind,” he said. “My great achievement would have been to win the Nobel Prize . . . I had fantasized about it many times.” He looked up at the dark sky, but saw something else, something far away.
    “Sweden, in winter. The Nobel Prizes are presented on the anniversary of Alfred Nobel’s death. December tenth, I believe, in the Stockholm Concert Hall. His Majesty the King of Sweden hands each Laureate a diploma and a medal, then the Ceremony is followed by a banquet for a thousand people.” He smiled wistfully. “I hear it is quite an event.”
    “I’ll bet it is,” Trish agreed. She turned his wheelchair and headed back toward the hospital. Many lights had winked on in the windows.
    “It would have been nice to be there,” Dumenco said with a sigh and a feigned smile, trying to keep a stiff upper lip. “I’ll be long dead by the time the ceremonies take place. The Nobel Prize is not given posthumously, but they make an exception if the scientist is already under consideration at the time of his death. I can take consolation in that loophole at least.”
    “Oh, Georg,” Trish said, but didn’t know what else to say. She pushed the wheelchair faster. The air had become suddenly colder.
    “I’ve accepted the award many times in my dreams. Luckily I have a vivid imagination . . . as all high-energy physicists must. That will have to be adequate for me.”
    As Trish looked down at him, she felt anger and helplessness again, frustration boiling beneath the surface. She had already done much work with PR-Cubed, but they had been ineffective. Trish and others had been just another organization pointing a finger at the evils of the world. They spoke at dinner clubs and community service organizations, and the audiences briefly agreed with their cause . . . but then a different group came to their next meeting and made a different plea for a different problem. . . .
    Radiation accidents didn’t have a cute but pathetic poster child around whom the people could