Chapter 2 — Climbing Through the Storm

The technical meeting room of Hải Lộng Electricity can only accommodate twenty people, but today it was crammed with nearly thirty, even standing in the space behind the last row of seats. The old ceiling fan spinning loudly above their heads was not enough to dispel the heat radiating from so many people intently looking at the district's electricity grid map hanging on the magnetic board.

Chế Đình Lượng stood next to the map, holding a laser pointer in his hand, its red light trembling a little every time he hovered over the markers. He was fifty-two years old, his hair more than half gray even though he was not yet at retirement age, and his black-rimmed glasses always slid down the bridge of his nose because he habitually bowed his head to read documents rather than looking directly at the person he was speaking to.

"According to the latest update at nine o'clock this morning, storm number 11 has strengthened to level 10 and is continuing to increase in level," he spoke, his voice monotonous as if reading a report, even though the content was not normal at all. "The forecasting center estimates that in the next thirty-six hours the storm may reach level 13, level 15, with a high possibility of landing directly in the Hải Lộng area tomorrow night or the morning of the day after tomorrow."

Murmurs arose throughout the room. Thắng stood in the second row, arms crossed over his chest, saying nothing, just staring at the map, at the red lines representing 110kV lines running across the district like blood vessels.

"The branch's response plan includes three parts," Quan continued, dragging the laser dot to another diagram. "One, move all mobile equipment, cranes, and backup generators out of low-lying areas before eighteen o'clock today. Two, proactively cut off power to high-risk lines before the storm hits to ensure safety and avoid widespread fires. Three, after the storm subsides, mobilize all operations teams and support teams from neighboring branches to restore according to the approved priority order."

"What is the order of priority?" A female voice asked from behind, it was the dispatcher shift leader.

"Class one load first," Lượng replied, without looking at the documents because he had memorized this number for a long time. "Hải Lộng Medical Center, anti-flood pumping stations, district central telecommunications switchboard. Then comes the intermediate transformer station, then residential areas according to density."

Thắng raised his hand, not waiting to be invited to speak, because that was not his habit in storm duty meetings.

"Mr. Lượng, I want to ask about the Hải Lộng - Vàm Sương route," he said. "Column 42 on that line, I have had three documents proposing to strengthen the foundation from last year until now. What is the current status of that column in this risk assessment?"

The whole room was a bit quiet. Not because the question was strange, but because everyone knew this wasn't the first time Thắng asked this question, and it wasn't the first time the answer made the atmosphere uncomfortable.

Lượng stopped holding the laser pointer and placed it on the table, a small gesture but enough for a careful observer to realize he needed some silence to choose words.

"Column 42 is on the watch list, not on the emergency reinforcement list this year," he said. "Maintenance budgets are allocated according to scoring risk, and that column ranks eleventh on the priority list, while this year's budget only covers the top seven items."

"Who calculates that risk score?" Thắng continued asking, his voice still calm even though there was tension creeping into every word.

"The corporation's evaluation software, based on pole lifespan, incident history, and population density in the power supply area," Lượng replied. "I do not arbitrarily rank, Mr. Thắng. I follow the issued criteria."

"Does that software take into account the actual ground erosion measured at the site, or does it only calculate according to the original design documents?"

The question made Lượng silent for a beat longer than before. He adjusted his glasses, his eyes avoided looking directly at Thắng, and turned to look at the map as if the answer lay there.

"According to the original design documents," he admitted. "I have forwarded your field measurement data to the corporation's technical department to request an adjustment to the risk score, but so far there has been no updated response."

"So that means that on the system, column 42 is still being considered more secure than it actually is," Thắng said, not a question anymore, but a conclusion he put straight in the middle of the room.

"Mr. Thắng." The voice of the branch manager, a middle-aged man sitting at the chair desk, spoke up, not harshly but enough to interrupt the flow of debate. "Your opinion is noted. But now is not the time to argue about the budget allocation process. The storm will make landfall in less than two days. Mr. Lượng, please provide a separate solution for columns on the watch list such as column 42."

"The operations team will increase visual inspection before the storm, temporarily reinforcing with additional ropes if conditions allow," Lượng replied. "That is the only viable option in the remaining time. Reinforcing the concrete foundation requires a minimum of five days, and cannot be completed before the storm hits," Thắng sat down and said nothing more, but the hand he placed on his thigh clenched into a fist and then slowly relaxed, a movement that only the person sitting next to him could see. Cả Xuyên sat to his right, leaning over and whispering.

"You did your best," he spoke softly. "Three documents, measured on-site, no one can do better."

"Extremely does not mean enough," Thắng replied, equally quietly, still looking at Lượng who was continuing to present the rest of the plan.

The meeting lasted another forty minutes, assigning specific tasks to each team, each area, and the twenty-four out of twenty-four duty schedule starting this afternoon. Khánh Thi sat in the last row next to Hứa Duy Vọng, a thirty-year-old young man with broad shoulders and a voice louder than necessary in the cramped meeting room space, his hand tapping his thigh the whole time out of impatience.

"Do students also have to be on duty?" Vọng asked softly, glancing at Khánh Thi.

"I guess so," she replied, her eyes still glued to the map, trying to remember the locations of the columns circled in red, in which column 42 was located in the middle of a cluster of three columns near the coast, nearly fifteen kilometers from the district center along the red dirt road.

"Don't worry, students usually only provide ground support, not climbing in the storm," Vọng said, his voice was a bit joking, but his eyes glanced at her appraisingly, the kind of assessment of someone who had seen many students quit their job after the first panic attack on the high pole.

She didn't answer, just nodded, but in her heart she knew better than anyone that statement might be wrong, and she wasn't sure she was ready for the day it was wrong.

After the meeting ended, everyone rushed into the hallway, footsteps and talk about shoring up houses and evacuating relatives echoed everywhere. Thắng lingered in the room, waiting until there were only him and Lượng left, along with a few chairs that had not been rearranged yet.

"Mr. Lượng," he called, as Lượng was rolling up the map.

"What is it, Mr. Thắng?"

"I don't blame you," Thắng said, choosing each word with a care that was rare for him. "I know you're not the one deciding on the budget. But if column 42 collapses in this storm, I need you to remember that I said it first."

Lượng stopped scrolling the map, stood up straight, and looked straight at Thắng for the first time during the meeting.

"I remember," he spoke, his voice suddenly losing the bureaucratic monotony from before, revealing the fatigue he had been trying to hide the whole time. "I remember every number in your three documents, Mr. Thắng. I read more carefully than you think."

"So why are you still putting it off?"

"Because I have to choose," Lượng replied, his voice choked up a bit. "Choose between reinforcing the seven columns with the highest risk score according to the criteria above, or reinforcing your column which I believe is correct but is not on the approved list. I choose what I have the right to choose, not what I want to choose."

He carried the map roll, walked past Thắng, stopping for a second at the door.

"I hope this storm goes off track," he said, without turning back. "It's just empty hope, I know. But that's all I can do right now."

The door closed behind him, leaving Thắng standing alone in the middle of the empty room, looking up at the board from where the map that had just been taken down still left a brighter space around, the blurry rectangle like the ghost of what had just disappeared.

He packed up his notebook, folded the page with the drawing of the Hải Lộng - Vàm Sương route, and walked out into the hallway. Outside, Khánh Thi was standing next to the duty roster, holding the shift list that had just been posted, her eyes searching for her name in it.

"Your shift starts at 18:00 this afternoon," Thắng said as he passed by. "On duty at the material warehouse, assist in counting and packing spare equipment according to the list. Not at the scene, not at the right time."

"So when is the time, uncle?" She asked, folding the list.

"When the storm clears and I see you're ready," he replied, without stopping. "Not before that."

Khánh Thi watched his figure disappear at the end of the hallway, her heart was both relieved and had a feeling that was hard to name, like when she was left out of something important and didn't know whether to be happy or feel guilty about it. She folded the piece of paper, stuffed it into her pocket, then walked towards the supply warehouse where the loudspeaker was broadcasting weather updates every thirty minutes.

Outside the window, the afternoon sky had turned leaden, and the first clouds of the outer edge of the storm were beginning to roll in, low and heavy, casting shadows over the town.