"How do you figure that, Hugh?"
"Well, wars have always been hardest on the best young men. This time the boys in service are as safe or safer than civilians. And of civilians those who used their heads and made preparations stand a far better chance. Not every case, but on the average, and that will improve the breed. When it's over, things will be tough, and that will improve the breed still more. For years the surest way of surviving has been to be utterly worthless and breed a lot of worthless kids. All that will change."
She nodded thoughtfully. "That's standard genetics. But it seems cruel."
"It is cruel. But no government yet has been able to repeal natural laws, though they keep trying."
She shivered in spite of the heat. "I suppose you're right. No, I know you're right. But I could face it more cheerfully if I thought there was going to be any country left. Killing the poorest third is good genetics... but there is nothing good about killing them all."
"Mmm, yes. I hate to think about it. But I did think about it. Barbara, I didn't stockpile oxygen just against radiation and fire storm. I had in mind worse things."
"Worse? How?"
"All the taik about the horrors of World War Three has been about atomic weapons-fallout, hundred-megaton bombs, neutron bombs. The disarmament talks and the pacifist parades have all been about the Bomb, the Bomb, the Bomb-as if A-weapons were the only thing that could kill. This may not be just an A-weapons war; more likely it is an ABC war-atomic, biological, and chemical." He hooked a thumb at the tanks. "That's why I stocked that bottled breathing. Against nerve gas. Aerosols. Viruses. God knows what. The communists won't smash this country if they can kill us without destroying our wealth. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that bombs had been used only on military targets like the antimissile base here, but that New York and Detroit and such received nerve gas. Or a twenty-four plague with eighty percent mortality. The horrid possibilities are endless. The air outside could be loaded with death that a counter won't detect and a filter can't stop." He smiled grimly. "Sorry. You had better go back to bed."
"I'm miserable anyway and don't want to be alone. May I stay?"
"Certainly. I'm happier with you present no matter how gloomy I sound."
"What you've been saying isn't nearly as gloomy as the thoughts I have alone. I wish we knew what was going on outside!" She added, "I wish we had a periscope."
"We do have."
"Huh? Where?"
"Did have. Sorry. That pipe over there. I tried to raise it but it won't budge. However- Barbie, I tromped on Duke for demanding that I break out our spare radio before the attack was over. But maybe it's over. What do you think?"
"Me? How would I know?"
"You know as much as I do. That first missile was intended to take out the MAMMA base; they wouldn't bother with us otherwise. If they are spotting from orbiting spaceships, then that second one was another try at the same target. The timing fits, time of flight from Kamchatka is about half an hour and the second hit about forty-five minutes after the first. That one was probably a bull's-eye-and they know it, because more than an hour has passed and no third missile. That means they are through with us. Logical?"
"Sounds logical to me."
"It's crumby logic, my dear. Not enough data. Perhaps both missiles failed to knock out MAMMA, and MAMMA is now knocking out anything they throw. Perhaps the Russkis have run out of missiles. Perhaps the third round will be delivered by bomber. We don't know. But I'm itching to find out. Twist my arm."
"I would certainly like to hear some news."
"We'll try. If it's good news, we'll wake the others." Hugh Farnham dug into a corner, came out with a box, unpacked a radio. "Doesn't have a scratch. Let's try it without an antenna.
"Nothing but static," he announced shortly. "Not surprised. Although it's mate could pull in local stations without an aerial. Now we'll hook to the fixed antenna. Wait here."
He returned shortly. "No soap. Stands to reason that there isn't anything left of the fixed antenna. So we'll try the emergency one."
Hugh took a wrench and removed a cap from an inch pipe that stuck down through the ceiling. He tested the opening with a radiation counter. "A little more count." He got two steel rods, each five feet long; with one he probed the pipe. "Doesn't go up as far as it should. The top of this pipe was buried just belowground. Trouble." He screwed the second rod into the first.
"Now comes the touchy part. Stand back, there may be debris-hot both ways-spilling down."
"It'll get on you."
"On my hands, maybe. I'll scrub afterwards. You can go over me with a Geiger counter." He tapped with a sledge on the bottom of the joined rods. Up they went about eighteen inches. "Something solid. I'll have to bang it."
Many blows later the rod was seated into the pipe. "It felt," he said, as he stopped to scrub his hands, "as if we passed into open air the last foot or so. But it should have stuck out five feet above ground. Rubble, I suppose. What's left of our home. Want to use the counter on me?"
"Hugh, you say that as casually as 'What's left of yesterday's milk."
He shrugged. "Barbie girl, I was broke when I joined the Navy, I've been flat busted since; I will not waste tears over a roof and some plumbing. Getting any count?"
"You're clean."
"Check the floor under the pipe."
There were hot spots on the floor; Hugh wiped them with damp Kleenex, disposed of it in a metal waste can. She checked his hands afterwards, and the spots on the floor.
"Well, that used up a gallon of water; this radio had better work." He clipped the antenna lead to the rod, switched it on.
Ten minutes later they admitted that they were getting nothing. Noise-static all over the dial-but no signal. He sighed. "I'm not surprised. I don't know what ionization does to radio waves, but that must be a sorcerer's brew of hot isotopes over our heads. I had hoped we could get Salt Lake City."
"Not Denver?"
"No. Denver had an ICBM base. I'll leave the gain up; maybe we'll hear something."
"Don't you want to save the battery?"
"Not really. Let's sit down and recite limericks." He looked at the integrating counter, whistled softly, then checked the thermometer. "I'll give our sleeping beauties a little more relief from the heat. How well are you standing it, Barbie?"
"Truthfully, I had forgotten it. The sweat pours off and that's that."
"Me, too."
"Well, don't use more oxygen on my account. How many bottles are left?"
"Not many."
"How many?"
"Less than half. Don't fret. I'll bet you five hundred thousand dollars-fifty cents in the new currency-that you can't recite a limerick I don't know."
"Clean, or dirty?"
"Are there clean ones?"
"Okay. 'A playful young fellow named Scott-'" The limerick session was a flop. Hugh accused her of having a clean mind. She answered, "Not really, Hugh. But my mind isn't working."
"I'm not at my sharpest. Another drink?"
"Yes. With water, please, I sweat so; I'm dry. Hugh?"
"Yes, Barbie?"
"We're going to die. Aren't we?"
"Yes."
"I thought so. Before morning?"
"Oh, no! I feel sure we can live till noon. If we want to."
"I see. Hugh, would you mind if I moved over by you? Would you put your arm around me? Or is it too hot?"
"Any time I'm too hot to put my arm around a girl I'll know I'm dead and in hell."