by Joe Haldeman
CUT TO:
MEDIUM SHOT, RAMO SLOWLY TURNING GLOBE
RAMO
We have tolerated this situation through all of recorded history. No longer. China, the Soviet Union, and the United States have stockpiled nuclear weapons sufficient to destroy all human life, twice over. It has gone beyond politics and become a matter of racial survival.
I propose a plan to take these weapons away from them—every one, simultaneously. To this end I have spent my fortune constructing 29 atomic bombs. 28 of them are hidden in various cities around the world. One of them is in an airplane high over Florida. It is the smallest one; a demonstration model, so to speak.
CUT TO:
REMOTE UNIT; PAN SHORELINE
RAMO
VOICE OVER SURF SOUND
This is the Atlantic Ocean, off one of Florida’s Keys. The bomb will explode seven miles out, at exactly 10:30. All shipping has been cleared from the area and prevailing winds will disperse the small amount of fallout harmlessly.
Florida residents within fifty miles of Shark Key are warned not to look directly at the blast.
FILTER DOWN ON REMOTE UNIT
Watch. There!
AFTER BLAST COMES AND FADES
CUT TO:
TIGHT ON RAMO
RAMO
Whether or not you agree with me, that all nations must give up their arms, is immaterial. Whether I am a saint or a power-drunk madman is immaterial. I give the governments of the world three days’ notice-not just the atomic powers, but their allies as well. Perhaps less than three days, if they do not follow my instructions to the letter.
Atomic bombs at least equivalent to the ones that devastated Hiroshima and Nagasaki have been placed in the following cities:
MCU RAMO AND GLOBE
RAMO
TOUCHES GLOBE AS HE NAMES EACH CITY
Accra, Cairo, Khartoum, Johannesburg, London, Dublin, Madrid, Paris, Berlin, Rome, Warsaw, Budapest, Moscow, Leningrad, Novosibirsk, Ankara, Bombay, Sydney, Peking, Shanghai, Kunming, Tokyo, Kyoto, Honolulu, Akron, San Francisco, New York, Washington.
The smaller towns of Novosibirsk, Kunming and Akron—one for each major atomic power—are set to go off eight hours before the others, as a final warning.
These bombs will also go off if tampered with, or if my representatives are harmed in any way. The way this will be done, and the manner in which atomic weapons will be collected, is explained in a letter now being sent through diplomatic channels to the leader of each threatened country. Copies will also be released to the world press.
A colleague of mine has dubbed this effort “Project Blackmail.” Unflattering, but perhaps accurate.
CUT TO:
LONG SHOT RAMO, PODIUM, GLOBE
RAMO
Three days. Goodbye.
FADE TO BLACK
16. Briefing
“They didn’t catch him?” The President was livid.
“No, sir. They had to find out what studio the broadcast originated from and then get—”
“Never mind. Do they know where the bomb is?”
“Yes, sir, it’s on page six.” The aide tentatively offered the letter, which a courier from the Polish embassy had brought a few minutes after the broadcast.
“Where? Has anything been done?”
“It’s in a public parking lot on 14th Street. The police—”
“Northwest?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good God. That’s only a few blocks from here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No respect for … nobody’s fiddled with it, have they?”
“No, sir. It’s boobytrapped six ways from Sunday. We have a bomb squad coming out from Belvoir, but it looks pretty foolproof.”
“What about the ‘representative’ he talked about? Let me see that thing.” The aide handed him the report.
“Actually, he’s the closest thing we’ve got to a negotiator. But he’s also part of the boobytrap. If he’s hurt in any way …”
“What if the son of a bitch has a heart attack?” The President sat back in his chair and lowered his voice for the first time. “The end of the world.”
17. Statistical Interlude
One bomb will go off if any of 28 people dies in the next three days. They will all go off if Ronald Day dies.
All of these men and women are fairly young and in good physical condition. But they are under considerable strain and also perhaps unusually susceptible to “accidental” death. Say each of them has one chance in a thousand of dying within the next three days. Then the probability of accidental catastrophe is one minus.999 to the 29th power.
This is .024 or about one chance out of 42.
A number of cautionary cables were exchanged in the first few hours, related to this computation.
18. Evening
The Secretary of Defense grips the edge of his chair and growls: “That old fool could’ve started World War III. Atom … bombing … Florida.”
“He gave us ample warning,” the Chairman of the AEC reminds him.
“Principle of the goddam thing.”
The President isn’t really listening; what’s past is over and there is plenty to worry about for the next few days. He is chainsmoking, something he never does in public and rarely in conference. Camels in a long filtered holder.
“How can we keep from handing over all of our atomics?” The President stubs out his cigarette, blows through the holder, lights another.
“All right,” the Chairman says. “He has a list of our holdings, which he admits is incomplete.” Ticks off on his fingers. “He will get a similar list from China: locations, method of delivery, yield. Chinese espionage has been pretty efficient. Another list from Russia. Between the three, that is among the three I guess—” Secretary of Defense makes a noise. “—he will probably be able to disarm us completely.”
He makes a tent of his fingers. “You’ve thought of making a deal, I suppose. Partial lists from—”
“Yes. China’s willing, Russia isn’t. And Ramo is also getting lists from England, France and Germany. Fairly complete, if I know our allies.”
“Wait,” says the Secretary, “France has bombs too—”
“Halfway to Reykjavik already.”
“What the hell are we going to do?”
Similar queries about the same time, in Moscow and Peking.
19. Morning
Telegrams and cables have been arriving by the truckload. The President’s staff abstracted them into a 9-page report. Most of them say “don’t do anything rash.” About one in ten says “call his bluff,” most of them mentioning a Communist plot. One of these even came from Akron.
It didn’t take them long to find Ramo. Luckily, he had dismissed the bodyguard after returning safely to the Beachcomber, so there was no bloodshed. Right now he is in a condition something between house arrest and protective custody, half of Miami’s police force and large contingents from the FBI and CIA surrounding him and his very important phone.
He talks to Reykjavik and Day tells him that all of the experts have arrived: 239 atomic scientists and specialists in nuclear warfare, a staff of technical translators and a planeload of observers from the UN’s International Atomic Energy Agency.
Except for the few from France, no weapons have arrived. Day is not surprised and neither is Ramo.
Ramo is saddened to hear that several hundred people were killed in panicky evacuations, in Tokyo, Bombay and Khartoum. Evacuation of London is proceeding in an orderly manner. Washington is under martial law. In New York and Paris a few rushed out and most people are just sitting tight. A lot of people in Akron have decided to see what’s happening in Cleveland.
20. Noon
President’s intercom buzzes. “We found Ramo’s man, sir.”
“I suppose you searched him. Send him in.”
A man in shirtsleeves walks in between two uniformed MP’s. He is a hawk-faced man with a sardonic expression.
“This i
s rather premature, Mr. President. I was supposed to—”
“Sit down.”
He flops into an easy chair. “—supposed to call on you at 3:30 this afternoon.”
“You no doubt have some sort of a deal to offer.”
The man looks at his watch. “You must be hungry, Mr. President. Take a long lunch hour, maybe a nap. I’ll have plenty to say at—”
“You—”
“Don’t worry about me, I’ve already eaten. I’ll wait here.”
“We can be very hard on you.”
He rolls up his left sleeve. Two small boxes and some wiring are taped securely to his forearm. “No, you can’t. Not for three days—you can’t kill me or even cause me a lot of pain. You can’t drug me or hypnotize me.” (This last a lie) “Even if you could, it wouldn’t bring any good to you.”
“I believe it would.”
“We can discuss that at 3:30.” He leans back and closes his eyes.
“What are you?”
He opens one eye. “A professional gambler.” That is also a lie. Back when he had to work for a living, he ran a curious kind of a lathe.
21. 3:30 P.M.
The President comes through a side door and sits at his desk. “All right, have your say.”
The man nods and straightens up slowly. “First off, let me explain my function.”
“Reasonable.”
“I am a gadfly, a source of tension.”
“That is obvious.”
“I can also answer certain questions about that bomb in your backyard.”
“Here’s one: how can we disarm it?”
“That I can’t tell you.”
“I believe we can convince you—”
“No, you don’t understand. I don’t know how to turn it off. That’s somebody else’s job.” Third lie. “I do know how to blow it up—hurt me or kill me or move me more than ten miles from ground zero. Or I can just pull this little wire.” He touches a wire and the President flinches.
“All right. What else are you here for?”
“That’s all. Keep an eye on you, I guess.”
“You don’t have any sort of … message, any—”
“Oh, no. You’ve already got the message. Through the Polish embassy, I think.”
“Come on now. I’m not naive.”
The man looked at him curiously. “Maybe that’s your problem. Mr. Ramo’s demands are not negotiable-he really is doing what he says; taking the atomic weapons away from all of you … strange people.
“What sort of a deal do you think you could offer an 80-year-old millionaire? Exbillionaire. How would you propose to threaten him?”
“We can kill him.”
“That’s right.”
“In three days we can kill you.”
The man laughs politely. “Now you are being naive.”
The President flips a switch on his intercom. “Send in Carson and Major Anfel and the two MP’s.” The four men come in immediately.
“Take this man somewhere and talk to him. Don’t hurt him.”
“Not yet,” the civilian Carson says.
“Come on,” one MP says to the man.
“I don’t think so,” the man says. He stares at the President. “I’d like a glass of water.”
22. 15 October 1975
The only nuclear weapons in the United States are located in Colorado, Texas, Florida and, of course, San Francisco, Washington D.C., and Akron, Ohio.
23. 16 October 1975
2:30 A.M.
The only nuclear weapons in the United States are located in Colorado, Texas, Florida, San Francisco and Washington, D.C. There is no Akron, Ohio.
Of the 139 who perished in the blast, 138 were very gutsy looters.
10:00 A.M.
Only San Francisco and Washington now. The others are on their way to Reykjavik.
The man who was named Andre Charvat walks down a deserted 14th Street with a 9-volt battery in his hand. A civilian and two volunteer MP’s walk with him.
He walks straight up to the Econoline’s rear bumper and touches the terminals of the battery to two inconspicuous rivets. There is a small spark and a click like the sound of a pinball machine, tilting.
“That’s all. It’s controlled by Reykjavik now.”
“And Reykjavik is half controlled by Communists. And worse, traitors,” Carson said huskily.
He doesn’t answer but walks on down the street, alone. Amnesty.
In a few minutes a heavy truck rumbles up and men in plain coveralls construct a box of boilerplate around the Econoline. People start coming back into Washington and a large crowd gathers, watching them as they cover the box with a marble facade and affix a bronze plaque to the front.
The man who owned the parking lot received a generous check from the Nuclear Arms Control Board, in kroner.
24. Quote
“NUCLEAR WARFARE …. This article consists of the following sections:
I. Introduction
II.Basic Principles
1. Fission Weapons
2. Fusion Weapons
III.Destructive Effects
1. Theoretical
2. Hiroshima and Nagasaki
3. Akron and Novosibirsk
IV.History
1. World War II
2. “Cold War”
3. Treaty of Reykjavic
V.Conversion to Peaceful Uses
1. Theory and Engineering
2. Administration Under NACB
3. Inspection Procedures
(For related articles see DAY, RONALD R.; EINSTEIN, ALBERT; ENERGY; FERMI, ENRICO; NUCLEAR SCIENCES (several articles); RAMO, HOWARD K.; VALE, PHILIP; WARFARE, HISTORY OF.”
—Copyright © 2020 by Encyclopaedia Britannica, Inc.
A Mind of His Own
Sometimes stories are written for catharsis, and they may be useful therapy for the author, but most of them shouldn’t see print, because a priori the author’s story sense and stylistic judgment are subordinated to his emotional need. They usually read like cries for help.
This said, I’ll admit the following story was written for catharsis, and, to make matters worse, it’s a story about self-pity. But I wouldn’t have included it in this collection if I’d thought it was bad.
The protagonist of this story is missing a leg and a foot, and I really don’t remember whether I chose that disability consciously, but it is appropriate. Some years ago I lay in a crowded jungle hospital in Viet Nam, not yet recovering from the effects of having stood too close to a booby trap when a booby set it off. I was a veritable encyclopaedia of shrapnel and blast wounds—it had been a company-sized boobytrap—but the only ones here relevant were the left leg, which was pretty well shattered and flayed, and the right foot, which had a hole in the heel, where your socks wear out. In the first surgery, there wasn’t enough skin to stitch the leg wounds up, so the limb was wrapped in a huge roll of blood-soaked bandage, for safekeeping. The flies were so taken with it that they ignored my waving, and they also beleaguered the foot wound, which hadn’t been bandaged—which, in fact, the surgeons had missed. It was ungodly hot and humid.
A harried-looking doctor came through, stopped at my bed, and warned me that I might lose the leg, and then left (I’ve always wondered why he felt he had to tell me). At least I got an orderly to put a bandage on the foot, to keep the flies off it. He didn’t put any antiseptic on it, though, and the next day it looked terrible and smelled bad, and I could just imagine what my leg looked like under all that cloth. Even the fact that losing my leg would surely get me out of the war couldn’t cheer me up very much.
All’s well that ends, though, and some brilliant anonymous surgeon-perhaps the one who had scared me so—did fix up the leg and foot, and miscellaneous other parts, and after a mere four months of painful physical therapy I was able to be a soldier again, and then a civilian.
Another damned war story, you say, but no, that’s not the particular demon I was trying to put to rest here, even th
ough war did provide a certain amount of the detail. The real experience to be exorcized is the more subtle one of reaching up one day and finding that your halo’s gone. I had a friend who was suddenly and severely disabled, and he reacted in a human way, sliding into bitterness, lashing out at the people around him, driving away his family, then his friends, and then one day I left him too, in spite of knowing how he felt. Exit plaster saint.
“What we need is a technology of behavior … were it not for the unwarranted generalization that all control is wrong, we should deal with the social environment as simply as we deal with the nonsocial.”
B. F. Skinner
Leonard Shays came back home to Tampa from the Lebanese conflict with a chestful of medals—which was no distinction—a slightly fractured mind, a medical discharge and two fairly efficient prosthetics, replacing his left foot and the right leg from the knee down.
The singleshot laser boobytrap he had triggered on patrol in the slums of Beirut had been set to scan at chest level, to kill. But Leonard, canny with experience, had tossed in a microton grenade before entering the hovel, and the explosion jarred the mounting of the boobytrap so that it scanned in a downward slant across the doorway. It was practically no pain at first, much pain later, and now just a feeling that his nonexistent toes were curled down in spastic paralysis. It made it hard to walk but the VA was giving him therapy. And he couldn’t get a job, not even with his Ph.D. in mathematics, but the VA was also giving him a small check on the first of every month.
“Morning, Dr. Shays.” His favorite therapist, Bennet, closed the bathroom door quietly. “Ready for the workout?”
“Am I ever? Ready to get out of this damn thing, though.” Bennet picked up Leonard gracelessly and pulled him out of the whirlpool bath. He set him on the Formica edge of a table and gave him a starchy towel.
He studied the stumps professionally. “How’s the wife?”
“Don’t ask,” he said, scrubbing sweat from his hair. “We had a long talk Friday. Our contract comes up for renewal in ’98. She decided not to renew.”
Bennet turned off the motor and pulled the plug on the bath. “It’s her right,” he said. “Bitch.”