Read Online David's Sling by Marc Stiegler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marc Stiegler
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single children, he had learned early how to talk with adults, though he had never quite learned how to play with other children his own age. Also like many single children, he believed his parents' beliefs even more fiercely than his parents did. He loved his homeland. He disliked Americans. And he hated Germans.
So when his time had come to serve in the army, to protect the children of Russia and of the whole Soviet Union from her enemies, he had accepted the duty proudly.
He stepped out of his office, quickly marched down the hallway of the Military Meteorology building, and pushed through the massive door into the streets of Novosibirsk. Bitter wind swept around him. He clenched his teeth against the cold and headed for the officers' quarters.
The gunmetal sky showed no hint of sun. Would the climatic effects of a nuclear war even be noticed here? He could imagine that the sunbathers along the Black Sea would be most affected, though he knew better.
Certainly, radioactive fallout from a war would affect all the people he cared about. That included his childhood friend Anna, and her three children, living so close to the strategic targets in Sevastopol.
He remembered the day his parents had brought Anna to stay. Her mother, Ivan knew, was always drunk, and her father was . . . different. He remembered how helpless Anna had been, yet how hopeful, despite her helplessness. Ivan's parents loved her as they loved all children—almost as much as they loved Ivan himself. And though Ivan never did learn how to be friends with his peers, he had learned from his parents the love of children.
How wasted their efforts would prove if Ivan let some damn fool—either American or Russian—initiate a nuclear exchange. Though Ivan loved his country's children, he worried that Russia's leaders might not share that feeling.
He thought again of the sunny skies predicted for today. How could men be so foolish as to think they could know the impact of a nuclear war on the fragile atmosphere! The work of climatology contained too much magic and too little science for categorical assertions.
Within that guaranteed uncertainty lurked the great danger. Ivan knew he could make the outcome of his re-analysis match any result they wanted him to report.
With too-crisp clarity, he saw why they had chosen him for this job. He was bright, ambitious, patriotic, and impressionable. And he had a knack for technology—a knack that compensated for his loner's attitude. He had the credentials, and presumably, the malleability to give them what they wanted.
He felt like a scientist in the days before the telescope, instructed by the Church to prove that the Sun circled the Earth. The truth could not be changed. But without instruments, truth could be distorted whenever convenient for the leaders—or when necessary for the followers.
Still, none of these games of distortion could change the truth. And in the nuclear age, distorting the truth about nuclear war endangered all the children, including the adult children playing the game.
Ivan squeezed his eyes closed. Another gust of wind slapped his face. His nostrils flared as he inhaled; the deep breath of sharp, chilled air helped him make his decision.
He would gather the best scientists he could find. They would study the consequences of nuclear war again. If the earlier analysis had been provably hysterical, wonderful. But the new Major Vorontsov would introduce no bias to force the decision.
Ivan tramped onward against the last gusts of Siberian winter, unswerving in his purpose.
Kira stepped from the elevator into the antiseptic beauty of the Oeschlager Art Museum. She forced herself to slow down as her high heels clicked across the slippery marble floor. She turned, to step into the quiet elegance of the displays. Soon she was surrounded by works that cost thousands of hours of loving labor to construct. She needed these moments, in this museum, to remember why she had come to
So when his time had come to serve in the army, to protect the children of Russia and of the whole Soviet Union from her enemies, he had accepted the duty proudly.
He stepped out of his office, quickly marched down the hallway of the Military Meteorology building, and pushed through the massive door into the streets of Novosibirsk. Bitter wind swept around him. He clenched his teeth against the cold and headed for the officers' quarters.
The gunmetal sky showed no hint of sun. Would the climatic effects of a nuclear war even be noticed here? He could imagine that the sunbathers along the Black Sea would be most affected, though he knew better.
Certainly, radioactive fallout from a war would affect all the people he cared about. That included his childhood friend Anna, and her three children, living so close to the strategic targets in Sevastopol.
He remembered the day his parents had brought Anna to stay. Her mother, Ivan knew, was always drunk, and her father was . . . different. He remembered how helpless Anna had been, yet how hopeful, despite her helplessness. Ivan's parents loved her as they loved all children—almost as much as they loved Ivan himself. And though Ivan never did learn how to be friends with his peers, he had learned from his parents the love of children.
How wasted their efforts would prove if Ivan let some damn fool—either American or Russian—initiate a nuclear exchange. Though Ivan loved his country's children, he worried that Russia's leaders might not share that feeling.
He thought again of the sunny skies predicted for today. How could men be so foolish as to think they could know the impact of a nuclear war on the fragile atmosphere! The work of climatology contained too much magic and too little science for categorical assertions.
Within that guaranteed uncertainty lurked the great danger. Ivan knew he could make the outcome of his re-analysis match any result they wanted him to report.
With too-crisp clarity, he saw why they had chosen him for this job. He was bright, ambitious, patriotic, and impressionable. And he had a knack for technology—a knack that compensated for his loner's attitude. He had the credentials, and presumably, the malleability to give them what they wanted.
He felt like a scientist in the days before the telescope, instructed by the Church to prove that the Sun circled the Earth. The truth could not be changed. But without instruments, truth could be distorted whenever convenient for the leaders—or when necessary for the followers.
Still, none of these games of distortion could change the truth. And in the nuclear age, distorting the truth about nuclear war endangered all the children, including the adult children playing the game.
Ivan squeezed his eyes closed. Another gust of wind slapped his face. His nostrils flared as he inhaled; the deep breath of sharp, chilled air helped him make his decision.
He would gather the best scientists he could find. They would study the consequences of nuclear war again. If the earlier analysis had been provably hysterical, wonderful. But the new Major Vorontsov would introduce no bias to force the decision.
Ivan tramped onward against the last gusts of Siberian winter, unswerving in his purpose.
Kira stepped from the elevator into the antiseptic beauty of the Oeschlager Art Museum. She forced herself to slow down as her high heels clicked across the slippery marble floor. She turned, to step into the quiet elegance of the displays. Soon she was surrounded by works that cost thousands of hours of loving labor to construct. She needed these moments, in this museum, to remember why she had come to
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