Fail Safe (30 page)

Stark started to say something and Swenson looked at him and shook his head silently.

He knew what Stark was going to say: if four 20-megaton bombs are dropped on Manhattan no one is going to survive even if they are in the strongest bomb shelter made for civilian use. Of course, there would be a few exceptions-some technician at a hospital who happened to be in a room supplied with oxygen and surrounded by stout walls, some janitor in a deeply buried basement in which by some quirk he could

suck in the sewer air and subsist on that for a few hours. But it would not be more than twenty or thirty people, Swenson felt sure.

Some old reflexive control kept Swenson from think. Ing of his own family. It could do no good. And at the core of his personality was an almost fierce love and sentimentality about his family. Once exposed, once allowed to express itself, this torrent of love and anguish would render him worthless as a leader. So his cool mind reminded him over and over in an endless subconscious chant: there is nothing you can do, nothIng you can do, nothing.

His job was to keep this group of men intact, in command of the situation, ready to move in whatever direction the President ordered. It was still possible that the Vindicators would not get through, it was posgible that the Soviets might not believe that New York was actually destroyed, it was possible that some third power might panic and start to launch nuclear

weapons.

Swenson's neat prudential mind sorted out the alternatives, weighed them, thought ahead to which man should be entrusted with what tasks in the alternative situations.

The conference line connecting Moscow, Khrushchev, the United Nations, and the White House was open, but there was very little conversation.

Buck no longer felt confusion or embarrassment. He merely felt that during the course of the last few hours he had been greatly toughened. The pressure and tension, so sudden and immense as to be incalculable, had first bewildered him, turned him soft with contradictory moods. But now he felt weathered and sure. WithOut looking ahead he knew that his life would be different after this day.

He found himself looking at the President and running over different ways of approaching the situation.

If the situation had been reversed, if Soviet planes had accidentally been launched toward the United States, would the President have demanded the sacrifice of a

Soviet city?

Probably, Buck thought to himself, although a part of the American tradition and political character would have allowed for time to see if the Soviet attack had been accidental. But how else could it be proved to be an accident? No way, he thought. The Soviet mentality, however, steeped in its own version of Maraist toughness, would not afford the time to wait, must

always make its interpretation on the basis of utmost suspicion of its opponents.

"Mr. President, the activity here in Moscow seems quite ordinary, just like any other day," the American Ambassador said.

Buck sensed that the Ambassador wanted to say something and was asking for permission. The President leaned forward, understanding in his eyes.

"A general alert would be useless, Jay," the Presidànt said. "With the amount of time left it would only cause a mass hysteria and probably not save a single life."

"That is correct, Mr. Ambassador," Khrushchev said.

His voice was quiet "I have activated only those parts of our defense that have a chance of shooting down the Vindicators. Our ICBMs have already begun to stand down from the alert. I want no chance of some harebrained lieutenant getting excited and taking things into his own hands."

It was the opening that the Ambassador wanted.

"What stepS will you take to make sure that this most terrible of tragedies is not repeated, Premier Khrushchev?" the Ambassador asked.

"This is not the most terrible of tragedies," Khrushchev said, but his voice was not belligerent. "In World War Ii we lost more people than we will lose if the two planes get through and Moscow dies. But what makes this intolerable is that so many will be killed so quickly and to no purpose"-he paused, took a breath, and then went on-"and by an accident. The last few hours have not been easy for me, Mr. Ambassador. They are not made easier by the fact that I am talking with you and Ambassador Lentov who will probably be dead in a few minutes. I have learned some things, but I do not have the time to tell them all to you. One

thing I can say: at some point in the last ten years we went beyond rationality in politics. We became prisoners of our machines, our suspicions, and our belief in logic. I am willing to come to the United States and to agree to disarmament. Before I leave I will take steps that will make it impossible for our armed forces to repeat what has happened today."

"Premier Khrushchev, I will welcome you and I shall also take the same steps that you have mentioned in regard to our armed forces," the President said. "You have put your finger on something that has been gnawing at my mind during these last few moments."

The President paused. A calm fell on the line.

"Premier Khrushchev?" There was a tentative note to the President's voice.

"Yes, Mr. President?"

"This crisis of ours-this accident, as you say... . In one way it's no man's fault, No human being made any mistake, and there's no point in trying to place the blame on anyone." The President paused.

"I agree, Mr. President."

Buck noticed the President nod, receiving the agreement as if both men were in the same room talking together. The President continued, in part thinking aloud: "This disappearance of human responsibility is one of the most disturbing aspects of the whole thing. It's as if human beings had evaporated, and their places were taken by computers. And all day you and I have sat here, fighting, not each other, but rather this big rebellious computerized system, struggling to keep it from blowing up the world,"

"It is true, Mr. President. Today the whole world could have burned without any man being given a chance to have a say in it."

"in one way," continued the President, "we didn't

even make the decision to have the computerized sys. tems in the first place. These automated systems became technologically possible, so we built them. Then it became possible to turn more and more control decisions over to them, so we did that. And before we knew it, we had gone so far that the systems were able to put us in the situation we are in today."

"Yes, we both trusted these systems too much." A new grimness crept into Khrushchev's voice. "You can never trust any system, Mr. President, whether it is made of computers, or of people
   
He seemed lost in his own thoughts and his voice faded.

"But we did trust them," said the President. "We, and you too, trusted our beautiful Fail-Safe system, arid that's what made us both helpless when it broke down."

Buck was translating quickly. The President's thoughts came tumbling out, were arrested for a moment, then started again. He had been speaking as if long-pent-up worries were suddenly being released. A thought flashed through Buck's mind. These two men seemed to understand each other now even before their words were translated. Out of the crisis shared they were developing an intuitive bond. Buck watched the President's face as he was thinking, searching for his next words, and Buck realized a strange fact. There were some things, some profoundly important problems, that the President could communicate to only one other man in the world: Premier Khrushchev. Buck sensed that both men felt this and were grateful for the empty moments now available to them, It let them make a breach in the awful isolation of their positions.

The President was still talking. "Today what we had was a machine-made calamity. And I'm thinking that

today you and I got a preview of the future. We danin well better learn carefully from it. More and more of our lives will be determined by these computerized systems."

"It is true," Khrushchev said simply. "I wonder what role will be left to man in the future. Maybe we must think of man differently: 'The computer proposes; man disposes.'

"Yes, that may be the best we can hope for, but we can't even be sure of that today. Somehow these computerized systems have got to be brought under control. They represent a new kind of power-despotism even-and we've got to learn how to constitutionalize it.,,

"Mr. President, that would be a kind of constitutionalism I could approve. But this is a problem for politicians, not for scientists." He laughed. "Computers are too important to be left to the mathematicians,"

There was another silence, lasting no more than twenty seconds. The President stirred in his chair,

Then it happened very quickly.

"Mr. President, I can hear the sound of explosions coming from the northeast," the American Ambassador said. "They seem to be air bursts. The sky is very bright, like a long row of very big sky rockets. It is almost beautiful, like a Fourth of July-"

And then his voice was cut off. It was drowned in a screech that had an animal-like quality to it. The screech rose sharply, lasted perhaps five seconds, and then was followed by an abrupt silence,

Buck's ears could hear the silence broken by a strange sound. It was, he guessed, made by the throats of approximately fifty men who simultaneously remembered that they must breathe. Somewhere there was

the sound, discreet and isolated and perfectly audible, of a single sob.

"Gentlemen, we can assume that Moscow has been destroyed," the President said, He paused, looked at Buck, seemed to be waiting for a miracle, unable to talk. Then he spoke. "I will contact General Black, who is now orbiting over New York City."

It was a beautiful flying day. Black was flying his "hold" pattern, an effortless oval 46,000 feet above Manhattan. At 15,000 feet there was some small puffy cumulus which gave the firm lines of the Hudson and the East River silvery contrast. Manhattan stood out in clear-cut blocks and rectangles. Even from this height one could make out the soft greenness of Central Park, the odd enclave of grass in a forest of cement. Black had taken the boys there recently with ball and bat- abruptly his mind pulled away from the whole subject. He completed his final check. Everything was in order. The bombs were armed, the crew had been briefed. He had done that first in a very preliminary way over the squadron intercom net,

Black liked the operation of the aircraft, the moving of levers, the pull of the yoke and the sense of control over tons of intricate machinery. There had, he acknowledged to himself, even been a thrill of power when thermonuclear bombs were added to the plane. It was some primordial sense of strength, some childish love of a powerful toy. But above this, and justifying it, was some superior notion of duty. For years Black had thought he was defending his country and he had been right, Again and again he had been assured that either the bombs would not be dropped or they would be dropped only after an aggression against the United

States had commenced. In either case Black would

have flown toward the enemy with all the skill and confidence and intelligence he possessed and without a qualm. And he had been assured that there was no third alternative: war by accident was impossible. It was here that Black was in torment. For he had known that it was possible and he had done nothing about it, Now he was being used as the instrument to right the balance. There was a kind of ironic justice in it that appealed to Black..,,

All was quiet readiness. He turned on the squadron intercom net, asked for and received a check-back signal from each member of the crew. He began speaking quietly and slowly.

"I may not have a chance to finish this, I don't know. But I have to say a few things. You have been briefed on the mission. But I want to add a few personal comments, I think you all know that I'm from New York. My family is down there now." The leader to the last, Black mocked himself. He had told them of his family only to make sure that no one held back, that all knew that he was making the biggest sacrifice and was willing to go ahead,

"I have one last simple order for you. That order is that no one else is in any way to have anything to do with the release, I have set this thing up so that I can handle it entirely by myself."

Black paused. He felt a dullness creep over part of his mind, or perhaps it was his soul or heart. It was an anesthetic sensation. His impressions and memories of New York and of his family were blunted, then almost extinguished. It was a relief. With part of his mind he realized that this was the way the human animal protects itself.

"To repeat. I will fly the plane and launch the bombs," Black said. "No other person will touch an

instrument during the release. You may look up or you may close your eyes. You are accomplices and I would be dishonest with you if I said otherwise. But the ultimate act is mine. I think it is worth it, for it is a chance, the only chance, for peace. Please confirm by stations."

He waited for the confirmations before resuming. As they came in he looked down for the last time at the great magnificent sweep of familiar landscape. It seemed more beautiful because of its utter innocence. The millions of people went about their tasks and pleasures unaware. It's better this way, Black thought.

Another voice broke in. it was the President's.

"Blackie, this is it. The bombs have just fallen on Moscow. Release four bombs according to our predetermined pattern. Report back in three minutes."

Black turned, looked at the men around him. Slowly they raised their eyes toward the heavens. He wheeled around into the final course, checked his sights, opened the control panel in front of him, moved his index finger steadily toward the button by the numeral 1, pressed it firmly for three seconds, removed his finger, moved it down to the button by the numeral 2, pressed it firmly for three seconds and straightened up. His left hand found its way to his side pocket. He knew now who the matador was, what the final sword would he like. The Dream was over. Carefully his hand felt out a small object nestled in his pocket. The hand jerked sharply. At the same instant his right hand grasped the left arm of the copilot beside him. Black slumped forward in his seat.