Level 7

Aesthetically the picture was quite pleasing. Red blobs and blue and yellow spots, some on the red blobs and some outside them. But the colour was still restricted to Zone A. The other zones remained white, like a continent waiting for an explorer to map it.

I wondered what impression the news would make on P. Also on other people who would meet me in the lounge and ask me about it all. I thought about this, that and the other—like during a concert, when one’s thoughts wander far away from the music.

At 10.10 came the next order from the loudspeaker: “Push Button B1, push Button B2, push Button B3, push Button C1!”

We pushed four times. Now all the map was unevenly spotted with points in three colours.

Five minutes later the blue and yellow spots in Zone A started to change into circular blots. The blue ones were particularly big: these indicated the destruction resulting from the blast and heat of multi-megaton bombs which were bursting in the air to cause very widespread damage. Areas ranging from hundreds to thousands of square miles were being wiped out.

It was obvious from the screen that this bombing was proving much more effective than the first lot. Perhaps the enemy was running short of interceptors, or else our A2 and A3 missiles were fitted with some anti-interceptor device which the A1 rockets did not possess. Whatever the explanation, the blue and golden circles were steadily obliterating Zone A, and soon the red circles looked almost insignificant. There were very few of them which were not surrounded by circles of yellow or blue. The blue was steadily spreading over the zone, with smaller golden and red blobs superimposed like stars in a night sky.

At 10.40 the dots on Zone B started their metamorphosis into circles. This time the process was different, for red, blue and yellow circles appeared simultaneously. They were all there competing for space.

The coloured ‘exploration’ progressed into the heart of Zone B almost unchecked. Apparently there were no more obstacles in the way of our missiles. The ‘terra incognita’ of the map was rapidly becoming nicely tinted. It looked as though the final picture would be much like that in Zone A, with blue covering most of the ground and yellow and red superimposed on it in smaller areas.

The spots started to spread in Zone C at 10.55. This time there were only red ones, so the process could be seen more clearly.

But there appeared to be some trouble, for a large number of the spots disappeared, meaning that the missiles had not found their marks. Either the enemy had some defensive counter-measures in Zone C, or else our rockets were simply failing to reach there. Perhaps it was the greater range that was the difficulty. Certainly something had gone wrong.

At 11.00 hours we received another order, from a different voice this time: “Press Button C2, press Button C3!”

We pushed and waited again.

There were only three buttons left unpushed—the supposedly most dangerous ones, which controlled the batteries of ‘rigged’ bombs. Their radioactivity would make the areas they hit uninhabitable not ‘just in the immediate future but for years to come. Perhaps for generations.

It had always been doubted whether these bombs would be used at all, for in all probability their effect would not be limited to the territory directly hit but would also spread to neighbouring countries. And there were no grounds for annihilating neutrals. Even more to the point, these bombs might endanger our own existence. No country wants a suicidal war!

“Or does it?” I began to ask myself; but the thought was quickly banished from my mind by the loudspeaker (in its original voice) : “Attention! Push Button A4, push Button B4, push Button C4!”

I glanced at the clock—11.15 hours—and pressed the three buttons. Then I looked up at the map, and was puzzled to find that no black marks had appeared. I pushed the buttons again. Nothing happened.

Then the loudspeaker—it was voice number two again—practically shouted: “Officer X-117! Push Buttons A4! B4! C4!”

I turned and looked at X-117. He was sitting in his chair staring at the buttons, while his arms hung limply as if someone had severed the nerves. He did not stir, but there were some sounds coming from his lips.

They were hardly audible, but after a while I could make out what he was saying: “No! Anything but those! Not Buttons 4! I can’t kill my mother! No, not those…”

The Operations Room door suddenly swung open and two men—from the medical department, I think—dragged X-117 from the room. His arms were still hanging limply, and as he staggered out of the doorway he went on repeating: “No! Not Buttons 4….”

I had no time to reflect on what had happened. X-107 entered the room and quietly took X-117’s place at the 96

other table. X-137 came in behind him—apparently to replace me if necessary.

The loudspeaker sounded again (by now the time was 11.20): “Push Button A4, push Button B4, push Button C4!”

This time it went without a hitch.