Страница 69 из 221
Air from the bomb room rushed into the lock through the spill valve. Dahlquist felt his space suit settle on his body as the pressure in the lock began to equal the pressure in the suit. He quit straining and let the guard raise the handle. It did not matter; thirteen tons of air pressure now held the door closed.
He latched open the i
Before him in the room, one for each projectile rocket, were the atom bombs, spaced in rows far enough apart to defeat any faint possibility of spontaneous chain reaction. They were the deadliest things in the known universe, but they were his babies. He had placed himself between them and anyone who would misuse them.
But, now that he was here, he had no plan to use his temporary advantage.
The speaker on the wall sputtered into life. "Hey! Lieutenant! What goes on here? You gone crazy?" Dahlquist did not answer. Let Lopez stay confused-it would take him that much longer to make up his mind what to do. And Joh
Joh
Don't kid yourself, John Ezra! Towers could get in. Some high explosive against the outer door-then the air would whoosh out, our boy Joh
He decided to stay in his space suit; explosive decompression didn't appeal to him. Come to think about it, death from old age was his choice.
Or they could drill a hole, let out the air, and open, the door without wrecking the lock. Or Towers might even have a new airlock built outside the old. Not likely, Joh
Fifteen minutes - In fifteen minutes the bombs might fall back into the hands of the conspirators; in fifteen minutes he must make the bombs unusable.
An atom bomb is just two or more pieces of fissionable metal, such as plutonium. Separated, they are no more explosive than a pound of butter; slapped together, they explode. The complications lie in the gadgets and circuits and gun used to slap them together in the exact way and at the exact time and place required.
These circuits, the bomb's "brain," are easily destroyed - but the bomb itself is hard to destroy because of its very simplicity. Joh
The only tools at hand were simple ones used in handling the bombs. Aside from a Geiger counter, the speaker on the walkie-talkie circuit, a television rig to the base, and the bombs themselves, the room was bare. A bomb to be worked on was taken elsewhere-not through fear of explosion, but to reduce radiation exposure for perso
The slippery, poisonous neutrons which plutonium gives off had to escape, or a chain reaction - explosion! - would result. The room was bathed in an invisible, almost undetectable rain of neutrons. The place was unhealthy; regulations called for staying in it as short a time as possible.
The Geiger counter clicked off the "background" radiation, cosmic rays, the trace of radioactivity in the Moon's crust, and secondary radioactivity set up all through the room by neutrons. Free neutrons have the nasty trait of infecting what they strike, making it radioactive, whether it be concrete wall or human body. In time the room would have to be abandoned.
Dahlquist twisted a knob on the Geiger counter; the instrument stopped clicking. He had used a suppressor circuit to cut out noise of "background" radiation at the level then present. It reminded him uncomfortably of the danger of staying here. He took out the radiation exposure film all radiation perso
Off came the cumbersome space suit; what he needed was speed. Do the job and surrender-better to be a prisoner than to linger in a place as "hot" as this.
He grabbed a ball hammer from the tool rack and got busy, pausing only to switch off the television pick-up. The first bomb bothered him. He started to smash the covet plate of the "brain," then stopped, filled with reluctance. All his life he had prized fine apparatus.
He nerved himself and swung; glass tinkled, metal creaked. His mood changed; he began to feel a shameful pleasure in destruction. He pushed on with enthusiasm, swinging, smashing, destroying!
So intent was he that he did not at first hear his name called. "Dahlquist! Answer me! Are you there?"
He wiped sweat and looked at the TV screen. Towers' perturbed features stared out.
Joh
"I certainly did! What's the meaning of this?"
"I'm sorry, Colonel."
Towers' expression relaxed a little. "Turn on your pick-up, Joh
"The pick-up is on," Joh
Towers hesitated, then said firmly, "I'm going to assume that you are sick and send you to the Medical Officer. But I want you to come out of there, right away. That's an order, Joh
Joh
"I meant you to stay in your quarters."
"Yes, sir. But I thought I ought to stand watch on the bombs, in case I decided you were wrong."
"It's not for you to decide, Joh
"Yes, sir." This was wasting time; the old fox might have a squad on the way now. "But I swore to keep the peace, too. Could you come out here and talk it over with me? I don't want to do the wrong thing."
Towers smiled. "A good idea, Joh
"There," said Joh
He stopped almost at once; it dawned on him that wrecking the "brains" was not enough. There were no spare "brains," but there was a well-stocked electronics shop. Morgan could jury-rig control circuits for bombs. Why, he could himself - not a neat job, but one that would work. Damnation! He would have to wreck the bombs themselves - and in the next ten minutes.
But a bomb was solid chunks of metal, encased in a heavy tamper, all tied in with a big steel gun. It couldn't be done - not in ten minutes.
Damn!
Of course, there was one way. He knew the control circuits; he also knew how to beat them. Take this bomb: if he took out the safety bar, unhooked the proximity circuit, shorted the delay circuit, and cut in the arming circuit by hand - then unscrewed that and reached in there, he could, with just a long, stiff wire, set the bomb off.