“Just short of ten thousand units,” I replied. “I can look up the exact
figures in half a moment.” A unit would take care of a thousand men, at
normal dispersion. He knew the figure as well as I did, and I knew he was
stalling.
We had shifted almost imperceptibly from research to manufacture, entirely
on Mannings initiative and authority. Manning had never made a specific
report to the department about it, unless he had done so verbally to the
chief of staff.
“Never mind,” he answered to my suggestion, then added, “Did you see those
horses?”
“Yes,” I said briefly.
I did not want to talk about it. I like horses. We had requisitioned six
broken-down old nags, ready for the bone yard, and had used them
experimentally. We knew now what the dust would do. After they had died,
any part of their carcasses would register on a photographic plate and
tissue from the apices of their lungs and from the bronchia glowed with a
light of its own.
Manning stood at the window, staring out at the dreary Maryland winter for
a minute or two before replying, “John, I wish that radioactivity had never
been discovered. Do you realize what that devilish stuff amounts to?”
“Well,” I said, “it’s a weapon, about like poison gas—maybe more
efficient.”
“Rats!” he said, and for a moment I thought he was annoyed with me
personally. “That’s about like comparing a sixteen-inch gun with a bow and
arrow. We’ve got here the first weapon the world has ever seen against
which there is no defense, none whatsoever. It’s death itself, C. O. D.
“Have you seen Ridpath’s report?” he went on.
I had not. Ridpath had taken to delivering his reports by hand to Manning
personally.
“Well,” he said, “ever since we started production I’ve had all the talent
we could spare working on the problem of a defense against the dust.
Ridpath tells me and I agree with him that there is no means whatsoever to
combat the stuff, once it’s used.”
“How about armor,” I asked, “and protective clothing?”
“Sure, sure,” he agreed irritatedly, “provided you never take it off to
eat, or to drink or for any purpose whatever, until the radioaction has
ceased, or you are out of the danger zone. That is all right for laboratory
work; I’m talking about war.”
I considered the matter. “I still don’t see what you are fretting about,
Colonel. If the stuff is as good as you say it is, you’ve done just exactly
what you set out to do—develop a weapon which would give the United States
protection against aggression.”
He swung around. “John, there are times when I think you are downright
stupid!”
I said nothing. I knew him and I knew how to discount his moods. The fact
that he permitted me to see his feelings is the finest compliment I have
ever had.
“Look at it this way,” he went on more patiently; “this dust, as a weapon,
is not just simply sufficient to safe guard the United States, it amounts
to a loaded gun held at the head of every man, woman, and child on the
globe!”
“Well,” I answered, “what of that? It’s our secret, and we’ve got the upper
hand. The United States can put a stop to this war, and any other war. We
can declare a Pax Americana, and enforce it.”
“Hm-m-m—I wish it were that easy. But it won’t remain our secret; you can
count on that. It doesn’t matter how successfully we guard it; all that
anyone needs is the hint given by the dust itself and then it is just a
matter of time until some other nation develops a technique to produce it.
You can’t stop brains from working, John; the reinvention of the method is
a mathematical certainty, once they know what it is they are looking for.
And uranium is a common enough substance, widely distributed over the
globe—don’t forget that!
“It’s like this: Once the secret is out—and it will be out if we ever use
the stuff!—the whole world will be comparable to a room full of men, each
armed with a loaded .45. They can’t get out of the room and each one is