“That would be no problem,” was all Clifford had to say. He made the destruction of the military might of half the world sound like a simple matter of pest control.
“Easy, huh?” Sherman could not contain a thin smile as he gazed with a strange mixture of fascination and admiration at the young man, barely half his own age, who was casually accepting the challenge to take on virtually single-handed a thousand million fanatics equipped with every device of devilment that the armorers of modern warfare could provide.
“I wasn’t meaning to be flippant,” Clifford answered with sincerity. “I know what the machine is capable of, and what you ask is well within its limits. Have I ever failed to deliver anything once I’ve promised it?”
“No, you never have, and I don’t think you ever would. You’re not the kind of person who would promise something he didn’t mean to deliver in the first place. So—I can carry on from here on the assumption that it’s feasible?”
“You can.”
Sherman caught the curious inflexion of the scientist’s voice.
“You agree to being instrumental in the execution of a strategic plan along the lines I’ve just indicated,” he stated, just to be sure.
“I didn’t say that,” Clifford replied quietly. “I said you could carry on and assume it’s feasible.”
Sherman looked at him with a suddenly puzzled frown as, for a few seconds, he backtracked mentally over the most recent part of the conversation. He was suddenly a trifle suspicious.
“Let’s make certain we understand one another, Dr. Clifford. Exactly what is it that you are promising to deliver?”
“What I’ve always promised—an end to the power deadlock that is destroying this world.”
“And exactly how do you see that being achieved?”
A long time seemed to pass while Clifford returned an unblinking stare. “I can’t be any more frank than I am being right now,” he said, in barely more than a whisper that seemed to add to its firmness.
The eyes of the two men met and in a brief moment an indefinable understanding flowed between them that could not have been expressed in a thousand words. Sherman gazed into the unwavering stare of absolute composure, instinctively seeking to divine the purpose that the extraordinary mind behind was unable to disclose. He became acutely conscious that only a quirk of fate gave him the right to question and command a brain that could comprehend and harness the workings of mysterious realms of time and space that no man before had even suspected to exist. Could he presume to be the infallible arbiter of its deepest workings? For a long time his instincts grappled with the objectiveness and caution demanded by his office.
“I could rule that we don’t use it at all,” he said eventually.
“Then you would have won your gamble of a year ago, without collecting any winnings.”
Another long silence ensued. The sound of the clock on the mantle above the fireplace and the subdued hum of the air conditioner became noticeable for the first time. The noise of a low-flying vehicle came from the darkness outside the window.
“Let me ask you a hypothetical question,” the President said. “If you had a free hand to use the J-bomb in any way that you pleased and you set out to achieve the objective that you have specified by whatever means you consider it requires, would the situation that you visualize involve any unnecessary loss of life to any citizen of this country or of its allies, or the acceptance of any casualties that could be avoided by other means?”
“No.”
“Would it entail any form of indiscriminate use against the civilian populations of hostile belligerents?”
“No.”
Sherman took a deep breath and set his glass down on a small side table.
“If the people who elected me could hear what I’m going to say next, they’d probably kick me out of office without a second thought,” he said. “I am not going to demand an explanation of what has been implied. I’m going to forget that we even said it.”
Clifford remained expressionless and said nothing. The President thought to himself for a while before resuming.