WAR GAME
BY BRYCE WALTON
The playing of war games should not be forbidden;
but rather viewed as a natural outlet for emotional
tensions.—DR. L. M. STOLTZ, STANFORD UNIVERSITY
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, February 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The Minister of Peace asked the United States President if he had heardfrom the Secretary of State. "Yes," the President said. "I heard fromMr. Thompson only a few minutes ago."
"How's their final conference coming, Mr. President?"
"Inevitably. Operation Push Button within the hour."
The Minister of Peace blinked out the window at Washington, D.C. "Sothey're going to blow up the world?"
"Inevitably."
"Shall we watch it?" asked the Minister of Peace.
The President nodded, spoke to master control through the intercombox on his desk, and switched on the TV screen. They had a specialpipe-line into the United Nations Cellar. They sat back, had martinis,and watched the interior of the Cellar come to life on the screen.
Three thousand miles from New Washington, under a natural camouflage oftundra and wintry hills, the U.N. Cellar was thought by its occupantsto be thoroughly resistant to any offensive weapons. It was three milesunderground, protected by lead, concrete and steel. Its location wasknown only to the U.N. Security Division that was supposed to bestrictly neutral in international affairs, or so the Cellar occupantsassumed. The engineers and workmen who had planned and constructed theCellar were supposed to have been brain-washed and therefore had nomemory of the great project. An occasional caribou drifted over theCellar with the North Wind, and wolves that always follow the caribou.
In his suite, Chandler Thompson, Secretary of State, prepared himselffor the global diplomacy game's final hand in which it is never soimportant what hand you play, as the way you play it. After years ofnegotiation, full agreement on Operation Push Button had been attained,and Thompson took some pride in having played a leading role in theingenious idea.
Morten, his valet, finished shaving Thompson's pale face, helped himdress in striped trousers, cut-away, and white gardenia.
"Thank you, Morten," said the Secretary of State.
"You seem calm enough, sir. Frankly, I'm ill at ease."
"You may leave the Cellar if you wish," Thompson said, skimming throughhis notes. "You've served graciously. I appreciate it. But it is yourprivilege to return to your family outside now. I might remind you thatyour chance of survival if you remain here is practically 100 percent."
"It isn't that, sir. It just seems incredible that so many must die."He felt of his wallet, the pictures of his family in it.
"It's hardly a matter of principle," Thompson said. "Nor a questionof ideology. It's simply a question of firmness and realisticpracticality, and getting the job done once and for all. That has beenmy stand from the beginning and naturally it cannot be changed."
"But billions of people dying—"
"Death before dishonor, Morten."
"Yes, sir." Morten knew that in every suite in the Cellar everydiplomat was saying practically the same thing. Thompson looked upfrom his neat notes. "People, Morten, have been properly prepared forviolent death. Indeed there has been a feeling of security in numbers.The Ministry of Education working with the War Department has done such