4. The Hands of This God …
The room was pervaded with a deathly quiet. Nobody was moving a muscle. In the world that had died, a mechanism of hatred still survived … and now the hands of chance were about to pull its trigger.
“But the nuclear missiles will only be fired at an uninhabited Soviet Union,” said Dr. la Rochelle, the French representative, hesitantly. “What effect will that have in Antarctica?”
“Our country’s highest ranking officer will explain,” said Dr. Borodinov. “May I introduce Captain Nevski of the Soviet Union’s Department of Defense.”
With his short-cropped hair, Captain Nevski looked up and began to speak in precise, fluent English. “To tell you the truth,” Nevski said with fists clenched, “there exists in the Soviet Union a system exactly like ARS.”
“Why on earth!” exclaimed Professor Bjornsen. ”The Soviet Union never had anything like Silverland’s reactionary period.”
“A nuclear defense framework is like a game of chess,” Captain Nevski said. “Regardless of whether you desire it or not, once your enemy gains a new weapon, you have to acquire one as well to maintain parity. When the enemy rearranges its pawns and makes preparations against an attack, our pawns get reshuffled as well. For the two decades following the war, the Soviet Union and America had continued this game. You should all be well aware of that. The Soviet Union’s defense framework reflected the coming of Silverland’s reactionary period as though it were a mirror. We were also extremely watchful and were well aware of what was going on from the very start of ARS’s implementation.”
“They were awfully good at spying on one another during that fearful age,” Captain Barnes said, sighing.
“The politics of fear always call for a response. Silverland’s policies gave rise to countless ‘spies for peace’ in the Defense Department, the State Department, and even in the military.”
Major Carter nodded bitterly. “That’s exactly right. At no other time did such a large number of national defense secrets ever leak out overseas.”
“Between the enemy’s methods of attack and their allies’ methods of attack, our soldiers got used to the terror of their enemy overlapping with the terror of their allies. We judged that if ARS was first and foremost born out of a fear of chemical and biological weapon attacks, this actually meant that the Americans intended to use such attacks against us. Fear is always like two mirrors placed opposite one another. And also—being as there are members of the former American army present, I’m hesitant to bring this up, but—the US Army, in the post–World War II world, had a previous record of using poison gas and biological warfare.”
Major Carter looked like he wanted to say something, but he swallowed back his words.
“So that being the case, the Soviet Union developed a device exactly like America’s ARS,” said Australia’s representative King, “and there is a possibility that it is still alive as well.”
“That possibility exists,” Captain Nevsky said with a nod. “I’d say the odds are fifty-fifty. The Soviet Union’s premier was not enthusiastic about the adoption of a system that seemed so wrong. However, a part of the Politburo, along with the Ministry of Defense and the heads of the Red Army, recommended it. We built it in great haste, in exact accordance with the schematics we received from America. So exactly the same system exists and is perhaps still functioning even now.”
“When the Alaskan earthquake pulls the trigger, the uninhabited United States of America will strike, and then the uninhabited Soviet Union will strike back,” said Grane, the representative from New Zealand. “And what of Antarctica?”
“First of all, if the surviving American and Soviet missiles are launched at one another, a large amount—and most likely a fatal amount—of radioactive material will be scattered throughout the atmosphere. In the case of WA5PS bacteria, the seas and the ice have most likely provided a barrier to protect us, but as for radioactive clouds, we can’t rule out the danger that Antarctica will be contaminated due to atmospheric cycles. However, the real danger isn’t that.” Nevski, looking rather pale, swallowed before continuing. “You see, there is a high probability that several of the Soviet missiles are aimed at Antarctica.”
This time a shock went around the room as though everyone had been struck by lightning. Their eyes snapped wide open and their faces went as white as paper.
“Why would they do such a thing?” Professor Bjornsen cried as his face turned red. “Why would the Soviet Union betray the faith of the international community and involve Antarctica in a nuclear war?”
“Wait, please,” Captain Nevski said, pain in his voice. “That ‘mirror principle’ I spoke of earlier applies here as well.”
“You’re saying America was up to something here?” shouted one of the NASA employees furiously. “That the Soviet Union was provoked by a station we built for space experiments? By the fact that we were experimenting with rockets for space exploration?”
“Before that station was turned over to NASA for experimental work,” said Captain Nevski, “the US Air Force, during the Silverland administration, walked all over the Antarctic Treaty trying to turn Antarctica into a secret missile base.”
“That’s outrageous!”
“No, it’s true,” one of the US Air Force officers who had been silent up until then put in suddenly. “In the ‘dark age,’ IRBMs were brought here. Silverland intended to deploy ICBMs as well. When the administration changed, and the soldiers who had been dispatched to Antarctica were removed en masse—before you were sent here—they had already gone back to the mainland.”
“The reason for this,” murmured Major Carter, “was that Silverland intended to turn this place into a secret base and ‘take care of the commies in Africa and South America.’ ”
“So, several years ago, when the launch devices were turned over to NASA jurisdiction and they brought in huge Centaur rockets big enough to put a lander on the moon, this was a completely unexpected development. Is it any wonder they were caught off guard and mistook them for ICBMs aimed at Soviet territory?”
“If this is true,” murmured Captain Barnes, “this earthquake in Alaska will automatically …”
Silence fell all around the room. Automatically—from an uninhabited America, missiles would be launched at the Soviet Union, and when the Soviet Union automatically fired missiles back, a few of them would automatically rain down on Antarctica, where the last handful of human beings were still struggling for survival. It was God’s—no, the Devil’s—ultimate trick shot.
“This is where Silverland would say ‘the hand of the Lord’ or something,” said the NASA employee.
“If Silverland were a jealous god …” Barnes said, “then he must have been jealous of everything that lived on after him. The vengeful hands of a man who filled the White House with anger and despair six years ago, though he died along with the rest of the world four years ago, are stretching out above our heads now.”
“And so,” said Admiral Conway, looking around at the other seats, “this thing is like a stupid nightmare, but we have to believe that there is some degree of probability that a great danger is closing in on Antarctica.”
Everyone’s faces were still half believing, half doubting—steeped in the nightmare.
“ARS is still active in the American homeland, and there’s a fifty-fifty chance the switch has been pulled. There’s also a fifty-fifty chance that the Soviet Union’s system is also operational. So if we say there’s a fifty percent chance that there are still several missiles aimed at Antarctica—taking into account factors such as damage to the missile launch system—we have to think that there’s still several percentage points’ worth of probability that Antarctica is exposed to a great danger. Gentlemen … what should we do? If the dead world takes aim and fires, humanity will, as it were, die a second time.”
RETURN TO THE NORTH
1.Operation Fireman
Although he was thinking of writing a will, there was n
o time to do so until just before departure. Yoshizumi had been too busy transitioning the research he was leaving behind and with the arranging of his documents, and until the very last minute there had simply been no time to spare. Now, when it was finally time to sit down and write it, he found he had nothing to say.
Yoshizumi unfolded the piece of writing paper and, after staring at it for about five minutes, slowly began to write.
“Yoshiko—listen to what everyone tells you and grow up to be a strong, wise girl.”
After writing that far, he laughed out loud, remembering that he had not yet even seen the ‘child of the South Pole’ named Yoshiko Antarctica—an infant less than a year old—nor had he had any particular interest in doing so until now. Of course, he had been single when he came to Antarctica and even afterward had not even once laid a finger on any of the women—or “mamas” as they were now called. Humans remained wishy-washy and irresponsible right up to the moments of their deaths. Or maybe they just had so many things to say that in the end all they could write were wishy-washy and irresponsible things.
As for the distribution of his possessions, Yoshizumi asked Tatsuno to handle it, wrote down simple instructions, and sealed them in an envelope. Then he got up and handed it to Captain Nakanishi, who was standing outside his room.
Dr. Nakanishi took it, blinking eyes that were lost in wrinkles behind his old glasses. He sighed. “Isn’t there some other way?”
“No, not really,” said Yoshizumi. “Thank you, Doctor, for helping me out all these years.”
“Don’t start talking like that on me!” the old doctor said sharply, even though his voice was choked up. “The plan is for you to return alive, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but …” Yoshizumi stopped.
Tatsuno appeared at the other end of the corridor and came up to stand in front of Yoshizumi. Deliberately looking away from him, he said, “The snowmobile’s leaving.”
“Yeah,” said Yoshizumi. “Hey, Tatsuno?”
“What?” Tatsuno turned his back away. “You’re a fool. Yoshizumi, there’s no reason a guy like you had to volunteer for anything.”
“But I did, and then I ‘won’ the lottery,” said Yoshizumi. “It can’t be helped. I’d rather consider myself lucky. Because I definitely wanted to go.”
“You’re a fool,” Tatsuno repeated. “A bloody fool.”
“Don’t say that. If I didn’t go, it would just mean some other guy would have to. And I think it’ll be the same no matter who goes.”
“You’re a fool …” Tatsuno left murmuring those words. “How could you volunteer?”
It was a wonderfully clear Antarctic morning. The Central Antarctic Meteorological Observatory was predicting twenty-four hours or more of beautiful weather for the whole region of Enderby Land. May was already more than halfway over, and once again, it was time to bid the sun farewell with the arrival of the long, dark winter.
Yoshizumi stepped outside the dome of Showa Station. The black silhouettes of all of the station’s personnel stood lined up on the ice outside, waiting to see him off. In the white predawn light, he looked into the faces of each of the station personnel, clapped each one on the shoulder, and shook hands with them. Hardly any of them said anything. A “see you later …” or a “take care of yourself ” was the most that any of them managed. There were some among them who said nothing as they gripped his hand, though tears welled up in their eyes. At last, he came once again to Captain Nakanishi. As though he were seeing off his own son, that older man, that great scholar of Antarctica, had tears running freely down his cheeks. “You come back,” said Dr. Nakanishi. “Make it so we can laugh someday about acting as if this were a funeral.”
“I certainly intend to,” Yoshizumi said. “Unlike Moscow, the approach coming in to Washington is easy. And by going up the Potomac River, we can get very close to the White House.”
On the ice field, the engine of the snowmobile started up. It was already looking pretty worn out, with spots of rust visible here and there, yet it was a remarkably sturdy machine, and its performance had not suffered a whit. Yoshizumi turned back to everyone once more, waved his hand, and began walking off toward the snowmobile.
Just then, the red light of the sun peeked up over the distant horizon of the ice plain. For an instant, the ice plain blazed pale pink like the wings of a crested ibis, throwing the long, long shadow of the waiting, watching captain across the ice. When Yoshizumi climbed onto the snowmobile, he waved his hand again. With the roar of the caterpillar treads, the snowmobile began to move, the sunlight glinting on its back. It was made of light alloys, so it steadily picked up speed. When it exceeded forty kilometers per hour, wide skids made of the same alloys emerged on both sides of the caterpillar treads. Both had heaters attached, and the vehicle began sledding along with brushwheels.
The white, bubble-like domes of Showa Station grew distant, and the Japanese flag that fluttered in the blue sky grew smaller and smaller, and by the time they reached Mount Tyôtô it could no longer be seen at all. The snowmobile, traveling at sixty kilometers per hour, dexterously dodged pressure rings and crevasses as it headed for the Prince Harald Coast.
It took ten hours to reach Blade Station, where the Belgian team lived. From there, they took a plane to the Soviet station on the Princess Astrid Coast, and at the Soviet station a Tupolev-600 jet transport plane designed for use in the Antarctic environment was awaiting their arrival. So as not to miss the good weather, they made a single hop across the Weddell Sea to Joinville Island at the tip of the Palmer Peninsula, and finally arrived at the submarine base. The black forms of Nereid and T-232 were visible on Hope Bay, which was already covered in drift ice. At the station there, which had been jointly administered by Argentina and Chile, the members of “Operation Fireman” were assembled. On the side of the peninsula facing the frozen Weddell Sea, the Larsen Ice Shelf shone whitely as it expanded outward, already displaying the winter face of Antarctica. In the cloud-swathed north, King George I Island lay across the Straits of Bransfield, and one thousand kilometers away, separated from them by the Drake Passage, was Cape Horn at the tip of South America.
The Argentine station was a spacious structure made of steel-reinforced concrete. A number of members of the Supreme Council, as well as all the members of the planning committee, were already gathered there. Yoshizumi went to his assigned quarters, followed by gazes that looked at him as if he were already dead. In the midst of his room, devoid of decoration like a barracks for soldiers, there was a stove burning, a wooden desk, and a wooden bench placed side by side.
When he entered, Major Carter, whom he knew only by sight, and Captain Nevski, were sitting in opposite corners of the room.
“Hey there,” said the young Captain Nevski. “We meet again. I never dreamed your name would turn up when we drew lots.”
Yoshizumi returned a neutral smile.
Another man whose face Yoshizumi didn’t recognize—a big man with a thick mustache who was whittling a piece of wood with a knife—turned to look at him, smirked, and raised a hand in greeting.
“I’m Marius,” the big man said. “I’m with the crew headed for Moscow.”
Yoshizumi went to stand in front of the stove, pulled off his gloves, and rubbed his numbed fingers.
“Yoshizumi, is it true there’s an earthquake coming?” Carter asked as he sat puffing on his pipe.
“It’s coming,” Yoshizumi said in a small voice. “And perhaps even sooner than my predictions.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
It was due to his anxiety about exactly that that he had volunteered for Operation Fireman. He was confident in his calculations, but even so, it had been impossible to conduct land-based observations, so a part of the work was somewhat slapdash. When he had checked his precise calculations one more time, he had learned that the margin of error was broader than he had thought. Naturally, he had reported this to operations headquarters, but when he thought of a nu
mber of men being irresistibly driven to their deaths by his calculations, he had been unable to stop himself and had volunteered for the operation.
In the end, there was only one plan that the Supreme Council had been able to come up with. There was only one way to ensure the survival of Antarctica, and that was to turn off the switch on that madman’s machine known as ARS.
Apparently, the Supreme Council had at first been loath to take at face value what it had been told about ARS, thinking it too fantastic to possibly be true. This was because such a system could have only come to be as the result of an unbelievably childish way of thinking. But when they took a step back and thought about what the world they had once lived in had been like—push-button warfare, nuclear missiles that could destroy an enemy nation in half an hour, a hotline set up between the Kremlin and the White House—they had realized probably all of it had rested on pretty childlike thinking, and so they became ready to believe in the existence of a system designed for posthumous revenge.
In this way, though the Antarcticans were constantly telling themselves that the whole idea was ridiculous, there was still that slight possibility … And so they felt compelled to send suicide teams to Washington and Moscow because if the ARS was active, there would only be one way to avert the destruction of Antarctica. Because Major Carter and Captain Nevski knew the locations of their respective switches, it was of course decided that they should go. Then, in order to provide one assistant for each of them, volunteers had been solicited from all across Antarctica. Four thousand men had applied. They had ended up drawing lots, and Yoshizumi and one other man had pulled the short straws. At the time that the names of the firemen had been decided, an elderly scholar from the French expedition had angrily wept, holding nothing back as he publicly decried, “What do you think you’re doing? What a stupid reason for these fine men to have to die! How sad that anyone should have to be destroyed for something so absurd!”
Virus: The Day of Resurrection Page 34
