Another major earthquake has struck the San Francisco Bay Area. That is not unusual. It happens every few years in Northern and Southern California. If you live there, you know it's going to happen. You're never fully prepared, but each time you're a little less surprised. Someday The Big One will strike, and the San Fernando Valley will end up in Anchorage, Alaska. Or some place. In about a million years. Hopefully, not sooner. Right now, the phones don't work, there are no television broadcasts, and Stan Warner can't locate most of his family, friends, and co-workers. Some of the worst aspects of a major disaster are lack of information and immobility. Don't know; can't find out. Modern, instantaneous communication has spoiled most Americans and a large part of the world. Californians are the worst. An inability to know or to go and find out can be torturous, even if the information is wrong and the effort is pointless. In a disaster almost nothing can be more difficult than being forced to wait. Stan Warner is being forced to wait. For the phones to start working, for the television stations to return to the air, for the inevitable aftershocks to begin. Later, he can wait for the special newspaper editions, magazine coverage, TV movies, and books. People love disasters. From a distance or if they've survived them. But waiting can be agony if you cannot avoid the unfortunate memories of mistakes made, wrong directions taken, what you had, and what you might have had. If you dwell too long on the evil you did, you may never recall the good. Stand Warner is sitting, waiting, and remembering. Luckily, the phone finally rings. Campus Security needs him at the college to make a key decision in the wake of the afternoon's tremor. His choice will have far ranging effects on the environment of the local valley and the financial integrity of the school. "Why me?" he asks. "You're the only one we could find."