A flare as still as a candle in an airtight room, except that every once in a while, some burp in the system caused the flame to surge. The flare was not dangerous, its height was within the provincially regulated limits, but, not quite believing these lenient rules could last, Bill’s company had recently imposed its own clean-air regimen. That was what Bill’s flare was exceeding. If anyone in the computing heart of the upgrader was reviewing all systems—or chanced to walk or drive past Bill’s flare—there would be hell to pay and bosses to appease. In front of the control room’s arc of windows stood an extended desk, where Bill’s crew sat staring at screens and poking keyboards. Each man and woman was trying to find the cause of the errant flare, but the only one capable of doing so was Bill’s junior engineer, Henry Shields. Still, Bill felt it important the others try. Extended periods of non-emergency bred overconfidence and made his crew feel they were responsible for the peace and equilibrium.
