Waylon Smithers wasn't quite sure what to do with his weekend. He went downstairs to the meager fitness room at the hotel, and lifted free-weights for a while. It wasn't the same as having a full gym, but it felt good to get his body moving. He also managed to finally get those groceries he'd been intending to pick up.

Saturday evening, he walked down to The Lucky Lady for a drink. Leon, the bartender he'd met the other night was on shift. He smiled and gave Smithers a friendly wave.

"Hey you," he said cheerfully as Smithers sat down. "Ready to try that CliffBoxer today?"

Smithers shook his head. "Beg your pardon?"

"The beer," Leon prompted. "From Plateau City Brewing."

Smithers shrugged. "Alright; sure!"

Leon filled a pint glass from the tap and passed it to Smithers. He glanced up and down the bar. It was busy, but no more so than one might expect for a Saturday. There was a second bartender on shift, a strong looking woman with unnaturally blond hair. She was dressed in a slightly revealing cowgirl themed ensemble, and was chatting with a group of young men at the other end.

Leon gave a glance up and down to see that none of the other patrons needed anything, then sidled over to Smithers.

"Here by yourself tonight?"

Smithers gave a shrug. "I didn't feel like sitting at home."

Leon nodded. "I don't blame you." He dried a few glasses and set them on the shelf behind the bar.

Smithers noticed Leon wore a gold ring in each ear. He hadn't remembered seeing them the other night. Leon was still wearing his cowboy hat and red bandana though. That much at least Smithers recalled. Smithers put an elbow on the bar, and rested his head in his hand. He took a sip of the CliffBoxer. Leon was right; it was better than what he'd been drinking the other night.

After making another circuit around the bar, and tending to refills, Leon sauntered back to Smithers' stool. He leaned on the bar, put his head in his hand, and raised his eyebrows. "So," he began slowly, "what do you think of our little burg so far?"

Smithers took another sip of his beer. "It's nice," he replied. "I mean, I haven't really had a chance to do much exploring. I've only been here a week, and today I bought groceries."

Leon smiled, dark eyes twinkling in the subdued light. "I see you know how to have a good time."

Smithers laughed. "I don't know about that."

Leon stood up, removed his hat and ran a hand through his wooly hair. "Well, we're between the Capital District and New York City. We've got a nice mix of culture here." He placed his hat back on his head. "There's good times to be had if you're looking."

Smithers wasn't sure where this conversation was going. Was Leon hitting on him? He shook his head. Doubtful. Probably just being friendly. He pursed his lips, momentarily lost in thought, and took another long sip of his beer.

"Hey, where'd that look come from?" Leon asked.

"Oh, I was just thinking…" Smithers replied absentmindedly, his voice trailing off.

"Ah," Leon replied discretely. He pointed to Smithers' half-empty glass. "Will you be wanting another one?"

"I don't know," Smithers admitted.

"Do you have to drive?"

"No."

"Then you want another," Leon said decisively. "I'll wait till you've finished that," he added.

"Thank you," replied Smithers.

A server came over with a drink order, which Leon filled. Once he was done, he turned back to Smithers. "So, what brings you to our fair city on the cliffs?"

Smithers ran his fingers around the lip of his glass. He watched the bubbles trickling up from the bottom, like tiny beads. "Career opportunities, I guess."

Leon leaned back on the bar. "You guess? You don't sound very certain about that."

Smithers shrugged. "Well, it wasn't what I planned to do." He lifted his glass and threw back the last ounces of beer in one fell swoop.

Leon grabbed a fresh glass, and poured him a second pint. He slid the glass to Smithers and put his chin in his palm. "Forced relocation?"

"Not exactly."

"Running away from something?"

"Eh," Smithers replied non-committedly.

Leon raised his eyebrows. "Running away from someone?"

Smithers took a long sip. "I guess something like that."

"That person doesn't know what they're missing," Leon remarked casually.

Smithers didn't raise his eyes from his drink. "I don't think he ever knew…" he admitted dejectedly.

"Hey, don't get down," Leon nudged. "Change of scenery, new place, new job. It's a big world. I'm sure the right guy'll come along."

Smithers' head snapped up and he glanced around nervously. "Who said anything about guys?"

Leon gave him a knowing wink. "You did; when you said 'he.' Don't worry," he added, "I don't judge." He gestured to Smithers' glass. "Another?"

"I probably shouldn't."

Leon shrugged. "You should, and it'll be on the house."

Smithers held up his hands in surrender. "Well if that's the case…" he said with faint smile. "But after that I'm closing my tab."

"Fair enough."

Leon poured him another CliffBoxer, and handed it over. Smithers passed his credit card to Leon, who looked it over, front and back, before swiping it and handing it back. Smithers signed the receipt, and passed it back to Leon.

"There's another bar that you might like," Leon said, putting the receipt in a jar. "I bartend there too, mostly during the week. It's a, eh, singles bar; the sort where people can go to meet others with similar interests." He gave Smithers a knowing look.

"Oh…" said Smithers, catching the meaning.

"Here," Leon wrote the name and address down on a napkin and slid it over to Smithers. "It's called J. Vernie's, downtown. The patio has a great view of the river. I think you'll like the crowd, it's a very laid-back atmosphere."

Smithers finished his beer and smiled.

"Thanks, Leon. I'll have to check it out."

"No problem, Waylon. Hope to see you there."

Smithers paused. "How did you know my name?" he asked, somewhat confused.

Leon smirked, and gave a tip of his hat. "Just doin' my job," he said with a western twang. He winked. "Have a good night."

Monday morning, bright and early, the fuel rod relocation was already well underway by the time Smithers arrived on shift. The storage pool was divided into different sections, each area housing fuel rod assemblies of different ages. Most of the transporting had already been done, but a few basket-like assemblies had been left for Smithers.

Smithers glanced at Gary. "If you don't feel comfortable doing this," Gary whispered, "then don't do it. A little nervous is good, but not too much."

"I can manage," Smithers replied, trying to project a confidence he didn't feel.

This wasn't like the simulator. A single mistake here would require an emergency evacuation of the entire plant while the decontamination teams moved in. That was the best case scenario. At the very worst, a meltdown could occur, and Plateau City would have to be evacuated.

The engineer currently manning the crane glanced over at Smithers and Gary. Gary gave a twirling gesture with his hand, and the man stepped aside. I'm not ready for this, Smithers thought nervously. I can see the headlines now: Careless Employee Causes Nuclear Disaster. He didn't stop though, his feet moved as if someone were guiding him forward.

Well, Waylon, he considered, one can never be fully prepared for everything. Time to do it, old boy.

Smithers took his place at the controls of the crane above the fuel rod storage pool.

A huge, cylindrical drum had been lowered in, just like in the simulation. The containment unit for the individual baskets of spent fuel rods. Dimas was there, Preston hovering nearby looking snooty. A team of guards was on standby as well. Whenever nuclear material was being moved, security got involved.

Smithers swallowed nervously and adjusted his bowtie.

Gary gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. "Take a deep breath, and relax. It's just like the sim." Gary hopped down from the platform and moved out of the way. Smithers energized the main controls, and checked the gauges. Carefully he moved the crane forward on its tracks, over the assemblies of rods to be moved. The fuel rod assemblies, the baskets, were spaced so that they could be easily grasped.

It was, he reflected, just like the simulator. He swung the arm into place and down, grabbing the first basket and slowly bringing it up. With great care and precision, he moved it over the open mouth of the cask, and slowly lowered it into the heavy cylinder. There was a moment of panic when he released the basket, fearing perhaps it hadn't been seated properly. He breathed a sigh of relief when the receptacle clamps locked over the top of the assembly.

There was only one basket of rods left.

Smithers quickly and easily moved it into place in the transport cask. Afterwards, he raised the crane, and gently settled it back in its cradle beside the pool. So much easier than back at Springfield, he thought to himself. He took off his glasses and wiped them with his handkerchief. Safer too.

The engineers took over capping the cylinder before removing it from the pool. There was an access port on top. A hose was hooked up, pressurized gas pumped in, and the cooling water pumped out.

"Where's it going now?" Smithers asked as he and Gary headed towards the control room.

"Oh, dry storage at a location I can't disclose. The Nuclear Regulatory Commission authorized us to re-rack our spent assemblies, but Dimas doesn't want to do that. Our pools are rated for five hundred thirty assembly baskets total. There are a few plants that are holding more double their capacity."

"Really?" Smithers asked. "Why?"

Gary sat down at his desk. "Dry storage is expensive, and visible. The public doesn't want to know about it. You know, back in 2013 the nuclear plant a nuclear plant closer to Albany had some over-crowding issues in their pond."

Gary tapped his pen on the desk as he recalled the details. "Their pool was rated for two hundred sixty-four assemblies. Last known amount they had was over twelve hundred."

Smithers sat down at the table and started pulling out log books to document the transfer. "How is that even legal!? Shouldn't someone report them to the NRC?"

Gary gave a barking laugh. "Report? Hah, Waylon! The NRC signed off on it! 'Add boric acid to the water, you'll be fine,' they said. 'Once you reach capacity, then we can consider dry storage!' Hah, Dimas didn't buy that. Especially with the NRC constantly redefining what they call 'capacity.' He's been lobbying New York and Congress to open more repositories for dry storage." Gary jotted down some figured and peered at Smithers, his round face creasing slightly. "Seriously, you didn't know about this?"

Smithers looked away, abashed. "Well, Mister Burns never really discussed with me the transport procedures for the spent rods."

"They're not all still in your pool, are they?" Gary asked probingly. Gary was clearly not a master of subtle interrogation.

Smithers shook his head. "They're fished out and transported…" his voice trailed off. Fished out, ah, if Gary only knew how literally he meant that phrase. What does Mister Burns do with the used plutonium, he found himself wondering. He knew Burns made a few illegal deals now and then, but their cooling pools were rarely crowded. I should ask Mister Burns next time I see- Nope! he interrupted himself. I don't care anymore. Not my problem.

He pressed down firmly with the pen and finished his logs.

Gary watched silently.

Smithers finished up the rest of the week uneventfully. Friday afternoon, Preston brought him before Thaddeus Dimas.

Dimas was seated in a leather chair behind a modern looking desk. "Waylon, my boy, come in!" he greeted Smithers warmly, extending a hand. Smithers shook his bear-like hand, and sat down in a chair Dimas indicated. The fact that Dimas was close to his own age, and yet still called him boy: Smithers wasn't sure if he should be flattered, or insulted. He had to admit he looked younger than Dimas.

"So I saw you helping move the rods Monday. First time, eh? What did you think of it?"

"It was… it was nerve-wracking," Smithers replied with a modest laugh.

Dimas nodded. "If that's how you felt, you didn't show it. Gary's been speaking highly of you; but I want to hear your views. So, Waylon, how are things going for you here?"

Smithers thought for a minute. "It's a great opportunity to get to work here, Mister Dimas. I've probably learned more about the fundamental workings of a nuclear generating station in two weeks here than I have in all my years at Springfield."

Smithers tried to smile as he spoke. As much as he wanted to look cheerful, Burns' cutting words, and his undesired departure, were still raw. 'Sometimes the pain cuts so deep, you must lock it away,' his mind quoted.

"I was surprised to learn you were campaigning so heavily for dry storage of nuclear waste," Smithers admitted.

"Ah yes, a touchy subject," Dimas interlaced his thick fingers and narrowed his small, dark eyes. "It's never been an environmental issue, only a political one. I know Monty Burns always finds ways to circumvent the system," he added almost wistfully.

Smithers shifted uncomfortably. "Mister Burns has connections I don't know about."

Dimas made a dismissive gesture. "I don't care if you do. What he chooses to do with his plant all the way on the other side of the country is his business. I have my own plant to run." Dimas eyed Smithers up and down. "I'm sure, if you join the fold, you'll find your own methods that suit you."

"You mean a permanent position here?" Smithers asked, slightly confused.

Dimas gave his trademark belly laugh. "Oh, my boy, let's not jump the gun! You've only been here two weeks. How do you even know this is where you'd like to stay?"

Smithers fidgeted uneasily. Despite Dimas' friendly demeanor, Smithers could not forget the man was a politically-connected 'atom baron.' At the end of the day, most of these people were all the same: their bottom line was the only one that mattered.

In the back of his mind, Smithers wondered if he were being too cynical in his assessment of Dimas. The man had been nothing but welcoming.

"I like what I've seen of the city," Smithers admitted. "Everything's close together. It makes things easier."

Dimas smiled warmly. "Glad to hear that, Waylon. Plateau City's got a neat history. Did you know once upon a time it was planned to be the capital of New York. Albany beat out Plateau City merely be ease of access. It was decided the palisades made it too hard to get here." Dimas chortled as if at some private joke. Smithers wasn't sure he saw the humor.

"Have you been down to Monument Park?" Dimas asked. "It overlooks the river, has a handful of statues of famous people. That's how it got the name. It's no 'Empire State Plaza,' but it's a nice place to visit."

"I'll be sure to stop there."

"You do that." Dimas paused thoughtfully. "How are you making on with your team? The rest of my people? I know Gary thinks you must walk on water…"

Smithers blushed.

"I'm getting to know a few people."

"Good. No man's an island, Waylon. It can be hard moving to a new town, regardless the reason. I just want you to know that the Plateau City Nuclear Generating Station family is here for you." He gestured to his office. "I have an open door policy. If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, sir." Smithers bowed his head graciously.

"You're welcome Waylon." He lifted up a stack of papers and leafed through them. "It looks like you're scheduled to finish with Gary this week, then you'll be transferred over to infrastructure." He raised an eyebrow. "Of course, we don't need to rush things. Or, we can always rotate you back through. Monty didn't say how long I'd have you." He tapped the stack of papers on the desk to straighten them, and passed them over to Preston.

Smithers gave a weak shrug. "He didn't tell me either."

Dimas laughed. "That man's a maverick," he chuckled. "Well, I'll keep you here as long as either of you wants. I mean, I'm not holding you against your will, you know where the door is. But if you want to stay, I'm in no rush to see you go." He glanced at Preston. "I can always use a second in command around here."

Preston stiffened. "But, Mister Dimas, as your personal assistant, and valedictorian of my class, you need me to ensure everything is done properly!" he babbled, clearly flustered.

Dimas patted Preston's arm. "There, there. You're not going anywhere. But Waylon Smithers here does have quite the impressive background, don't you think?"

Preston huffed indignantly. "If you consider a degree from a community college impressive."

Dimas smirked. "Don't discount experience, Preston. That's something you recent graduates always tend to forget about. A degree is just a piece of paper."

Preston didn't reply. He gave Smithers an icy look through his round-rimmed glasses, grabbed his tablet, and stalked off.

Dimas watched him go. Smithers followed the man's gaze apprehensively. "Oh, don't worry about Preston," Dimas reassured. "He takes himself very seriously. He needs to learn to lighten up a bit. Having you here is good for him, whether or not he realizes that."

Dimas ran a hand through his short, black hair. "I have to get back to these figures. I've got a second meeting in Albany in a few weeks, but there's never enough time it seems to get everything ready. Still," he added, "if there's anything we can do to help you out here, my door's always open to you."

The meeting was at an end. Smithers rose, giving an awkward half-bow, and retired to his office nearby.

He wished Dimas hadn't mentioned Mister Burns. It felt like even now he was living in the old plutocrat's shadow. He turned on the computer and brought up a map of Plateau City.

Monument Park was located at the cultural center of downtown.

Out of curiosity, he decided to look up the bar Leon had mentioned, J. Vernie's.

Ah, that was convenient. J. Vernie's was at the north-east end of the city center, just across the marble expanse of Monument Park. There was an art museum as well. The Lowry Gallery, it was called. Smithers enjoyed museums. He'd always had a fondness for classical art since he could remember.

He smiled. It might be early in the week, but at least he had his weekend planned. As long as he could stay busy, he could easily keep his mind Burns-free.

Author's Note

Everything about the condition of over-crowding in the spent rod cooling pools is completely accurate, including the numbers (rated for 264 assemblies, currently holding 1,218 of the things). You can find instructions for re-racking on the NRC's pages. The overcrowding in the cooling ponds is something I try not to think about at night. You'll probably sleep better if you don't think about it either.