Skyfall

36

GET 25:03

“Where is Prometheus now?” Bandin asked.

Dillwater flipped through the pages of computation and made a check mark against the GET of 25:03. Then he rose and went to the Mercator map of the world that hung on the wall of the conference room, the eyes of the tired men following him as he moved. With precise motions he checked the latitude and longitude and moved the magnetized red circle that showed Prometheus's position from moment to moment. It was now in mid-ocean.

“That's better,” Grodzinski said. “Hit the water there and it would be all right.”

“But it will be over land again in a few minutes,” Banner-man pointed out. “What then? That thing is still a threat to the whole world. I wish to hell the Soviet aim had been better and they'd taken it out.”

“General, there are still five human beings aboard,” Dillwater said stiffly.

“And they'll be aboard whenever it hits and they'll buy it then. I'm a humanitarian, Simon, just like you. But I'm also a realist. A soldier who isn't doesn't win battles. Like it or not we have a big explosion coming up in the near future. If those solar flares do the job they can impact at any moment like right now, even while we're talking here. And if the Sunspots don't do their job the thing will still go bang in a couple more hours. Or have there been any changes in the first estimate?”

Dillwater shook his head. “None that matter. Closer measurements have brought the time forward a few minutes if anything.”

“Then there we are. The people aboard are dead, any way we look at it. Now what about the bomb that they're riding? I suggest we take it out with one of our missiles while it's over the ocean and that is that.”

“Are you insane?” Bandin shouted. “Do you want me to go down in history as the President who atom-bombed his own people?”

“A lesser instead of a greater tragedy,” the General insisted.

“I think you will find that the President is right,” Dr. Schlocter broke in. “Public opinion is a force that we cannot discount. There are already reports coming in of fallout from the Soviet missile, which was none too clean as none of their bombs are, and the world press and politicians are up in arms. By morning they will be in full cry — and the American press will be running in front of the pack. Atomic fallout is not popular. We have banned atmosphere testing for years. If we reverse our policy now and authorize this destruction I doubt if our party will get four votes in the next election.”

“Less,” Bandin said. “We'd be insane to vote for ourselves. So the bomb is out, forget it, Bannerman. As much as we would like to do it or need to do it we are not going to do it.”

“What about TNT or nitro?” Grodzinski asked. “I handled them in the coal mines when I was a kid. They ought to break that thing up into little pieces.”

“They would,” Dillwater told him. “But there is the little matter of their delivery to the satellite. Admittedly they already have a full tank of hydrogen and possibly enough oxygen to cause a chemical explosion if the two could be combined. But it would be difficult, and also out of the question. Any chemical explosion at that altitude would liberate most of the U-235 to fall back to earth. If spread out this could be a bigger disaster than it might be localized in one area. A chemical explosion is out.”

“Then what the hell do we do?” President Bandin asked, looking around the table. “Just sit here and beat our meat until it comes down and hope it doesn't hit anything important? Is that the best we can come up with?”

Apparently it was because only silence followed his question. Simon Dillwater watched and waited, seeing if anyone could come up with a suggestion. No one did. Eventually he knew that what he had to do, had to be done. He rose to his feet and held out a thin, orange-bound folder. The dark letters SECRET were stamped on its cover. All eyes were on him now.

“Since there seems to be no other solution to this trying problem I feel I should inform you gentlemen of the existence of this contingency program. I do not advise that it be adopted, nor do I say that it should not be. I just bring it to your attention. This is a program titled HOOPSNAKE. As you know, many different programs are worked out before all missions that cover many possible contingencies, accidents in space, mishaps that might occur. Most are realistic, some very farfetched. HOOPSNAKE is in the latter category, worked out by some engineers whom I feel were a bit on the morbid side. I learned of its existence by accident, read it — and classified it and had it filed — “

“Come on, Dillwater, what the hell is it?” Bandin's patience had worn thin.

“I beg your indulgence, Mr. President, but I wanted to make all of the details clear. What HOOPSNAKE is, is an outline of a technique by which a self-induced nuclear explosion could vaporize Prometheus. It would destroy the ship and, of course, the radioactive fuel.”

“I don't get it,” Grpdzinski said.

“It sounds quite simple,” General Bannerman answered. “You mean they can jury-rig the atomic motor to blow the whole thing up?”

“Not quite like that, but that is basically the idea. I have been assured if the procedures are done correctly that a nuclear explosion will follow. I must bring to your attention the fact that these procedures must be done by someone aboard the craft. In other words the people who must arrange the explosion must be blown up by it. No means of remote control, even if that were possible, could be set up easily and simply for the desired effect.”

“You're asking them to commit suicide to save the world?” Bandin said.

“I am asking them nothing, sir. I am just outlining a program which I have here. The implementation of it, thank God, is not my decision.”

“They're dead anyway,” Bannerman said calmly. “I say we send them the details now so they can get to work. It's the only chance we have.”

“Perhaps they might be asked first if they want to,” Oillwater said.

“We've no time for that kind of luxury,” Bannerman answered. “Major Winter is an officer, as is Major Kalinina. They can take orders. They should be told at once what must be done. I am sure that they'll be proud to seize this opportunity to avert a catastrophe here on Earth. We have no time for argument if this plan is to be implemented, Mr. President, I ask for your decision now.”

“I should talk to Polyarni, have them talk to Kalinina---”

“He didn't talk to us when he threw that bird at the ship — and we backed him on his half-ass story. He'll back us on this one. We are waiting, Mr. President.”

“Anyone else have anything to say?” Bandin asked, an edge of desperation in his voice; he had risen to his high station by avoiding decisions — not making them. “All right. We can't order them, not yet, but we can explain to them about HOOPSNAKE. Give them the details. If they jump the right way, make the right decisions, we won't have to order them. That's a last resort, Bannerman. Find out how they feel before we make them do it. Honey and vinegar, you know. They're good people, I have faith in them. They will die anyway and this way they can make their deaths meaningful by saving the lives of possibly thousands of their countrymen. That's a great thing to do. Contact them about HOOPSNAKE now.”

“Hoopsnake,” Grodzinski said brightly. “I just got that. The snake that swallows its tail and eats itself up and vanishes.”

“Shut up,” Bannerman said tiredly.