cooperated so well. Just a little more and we’ll let you go.”
“When? When do you let me go?”
“After the bomb goes off. Soon after that.”
Would they? Would they let me go then? Of course not. How could Green Death extort ransom for an imaginary second bomb if I were free to give out their names and the location of their hideout? And Beatrice almost certainly had cancer now. There was plutonium dust all over my fingers. Would she be likely to free me, after she started coughing up bloody gray broccoli?”
“Come on,” Peter said again. “Let’s finish the bomb.”
We levered out the fused PuO 2 hemisphere with crowbars and chipped off the glassy sand stuck to it. It was lumpy, but it would do. I got one of the steel mixing bowls and tried the fit. Not too bad. Peter got the sand ready for the second batch.
I brought over the other six kilos of plutonium pellets and stood off to the side while Peter melted it down. I was thinking hard.
The main thing was to keep them from setting this bomb off when Sybil and the babies were around. One option would be to just slap those two plutonium chunks together here and now. Boom.
But there had to be a better idea. Maybe I could rig the bomb up wrong…fix it so it wouldn’t go off? Unfortunately it was just about too late for that. I hadn’t told them about using a tamper and an initiator…a jacket of uranium to keep the neutrons in, and a central source of neutrons to get the reaction rolling…but the bomb would probably work without them. We had an awful lot of plutonium.
Even if I didn’t help any more, Peter would probably be able to put a working bomb together in the next couple of hours. Maybe I should kill him? I picked up a crowbar and stepped towards him. He had his back to me and would never…
A shrill bell went off. Peter whirled around, holding the torch towards me. The door rumbled open and a gun-barrel poked in. We were being watched.
I tried to look nonchalant. “Just…getting ready to help lift the slug out.”
Peter’s voice was hard. “Sit down over there.” He gestured with his torch. “Sit down where I can watch you. Don’t try anything else. Already you have become expendable.”
I circled around him and sat down on the floor. The bomb was going to get put together whether I helped or not. Which left only one alternative. Boom.
I waited blankly until Peter was ready. I helped him lift out the second plutonium hemisphere. We nestled the two gray metal slugs into two mixing bowls, fixing them in place with epoxy. Peter carved two Styrofoam disks out of the sides of the ice-chest and glued one to the top of each hemisphere’s flat surface. While I monitored with the Geiger counter, he eased the two mixing bowls together…tilting them up till they joined to make a plutonium-filled steel sphere.
The chatter of the counter was nervous, but not hysterical. It sounded like a platoon of paratroopers getting ready to jump. Peter smeared a thick bead of epoxy along the crack where the lips of the two mixing bowls met. And then it was done…the core of the Green Death atomic bomb, a steel sphere the size of a soccer ball. All we had to do now was pack it in a symmetric charge of plastic explosive, wire blasting caps all over the explosive’s outer surface, and hook a timer up to the wires. Then put the whole thing in a trunk and leave it somewhere. I giggled.
“I want you out of here, Alwin. Now. I can finish alone. I don’t want you messing with the explosives.”
Beatrice heard this and slid the door open. “Leave the suit in there, Bitter.”
“No way.”
BRATTA-TAT. A flock of bullets winged by. Without even thinking, I ran over and snatched up the bomb core. I held it up high over my head.
“Cut the shit or I drop this. The Styrofoam’ll give way.” I wasn’t fully sure that was true, but it sounded convincing.
A moment of silence. Our air-filters rattled. Peter was too close. I sidled off from him, moving towards
“When? When do you let me go?”
“After the bomb goes off. Soon after that.”
Would they? Would they let me go then? Of course not. How could Green Death extort ransom for an imaginary second bomb if I were free to give out their names and the location of their hideout? And Beatrice almost certainly had cancer now. There was plutonium dust all over my fingers. Would she be likely to free me, after she started coughing up bloody gray broccoli?”
“Come on,” Peter said again. “Let’s finish the bomb.”
We levered out the fused PuO 2 hemisphere with crowbars and chipped off the glassy sand stuck to it. It was lumpy, but it would do. I got one of the steel mixing bowls and tried the fit. Not too bad. Peter got the sand ready for the second batch.
I brought over the other six kilos of plutonium pellets and stood off to the side while Peter melted it down. I was thinking hard.
The main thing was to keep them from setting this bomb off when Sybil and the babies were around. One option would be to just slap those two plutonium chunks together here and now. Boom.
But there had to be a better idea. Maybe I could rig the bomb up wrong…fix it so it wouldn’t go off? Unfortunately it was just about too late for that. I hadn’t told them about using a tamper and an initiator…a jacket of uranium to keep the neutrons in, and a central source of neutrons to get the reaction rolling…but the bomb would probably work without them. We had an awful lot of plutonium.
Even if I didn’t help any more, Peter would probably be able to put a working bomb together in the next couple of hours. Maybe I should kill him? I picked up a crowbar and stepped towards him. He had his back to me and would never…
A shrill bell went off. Peter whirled around, holding the torch towards me. The door rumbled open and a gun-barrel poked in. We were being watched.
I tried to look nonchalant. “Just…getting ready to help lift the slug out.”
Peter’s voice was hard. “Sit down over there.” He gestured with his torch. “Sit down where I can watch you. Don’t try anything else. Already you have become expendable.”
I circled around him and sat down on the floor. The bomb was going to get put together whether I helped or not. Which left only one alternative. Boom.
I waited blankly until Peter was ready. I helped him lift out the second plutonium hemisphere. We nestled the two gray metal slugs into two mixing bowls, fixing them in place with epoxy. Peter carved two Styrofoam disks out of the sides of the ice-chest and glued one to the top of each hemisphere’s flat surface. While I monitored with the Geiger counter, he eased the two mixing bowls together…tilting them up till they joined to make a plutonium-filled steel sphere.
The chatter of the counter was nervous, but not hysterical. It sounded like a platoon of paratroopers getting ready to jump. Peter smeared a thick bead of epoxy along the crack where the lips of the two mixing bowls met. And then it was done…the core of the Green Death atomic bomb, a steel sphere the size of a soccer ball. All we had to do now was pack it in a symmetric charge of plastic explosive, wire blasting caps all over the explosive’s outer surface, and hook a timer up to the wires. Then put the whole thing in a trunk and leave it somewhere. I giggled.
“I want you out of here, Alwin. Now. I can finish alone. I don’t want you messing with the explosives.”
Beatrice heard this and slid the door open. “Leave the suit in there, Bitter.”
“No way.”
BRATTA-TAT. A flock of bullets winged by. Without even thinking, I ran over and snatched up the bomb core. I held it up high over my head.
“Cut the shit or I drop this. The Styrofoam’ll give way.” I wasn’t fully sure that was true, but it sounded convincing.
A moment of silence. Our air-filters rattled. Peter was too close. I sidled off from him, moving towards
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