“The future is then,” Oppy said. “The war is now. The Japanese would use the bomb if they had it. They wouldn’t hesitate. They started this war. Our cause is just. It is written in the Bhagavad Gita that ‘There is a war that opens the gates of heaven. Happy are the warriors whose fate it is to fight such a war. Not to fight for righteousness is to abandon duty and honor.’ We scientists are soldiers, no more. We are on this mesa by an accident of history, because our nation has been attacked. We have no special competence in political or social or military affairs. We are not the people elected or trained to make those decisions. We are not an elite divinely chosen, simply because we are physicists, to govern mankind.”

“Stop.”

Closed to within an inch, the Dragon’s two bowls nearly made a single gray moon, almost hiding an inner, brighter moon. There was a faint rise in the Geiger’s pitch, a touch more hysteria in the red lights.

“Still ninety percent,” Harvey said happily. It was just what he had predicted.

“Yes?” Oppy asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Ask Joe. This is why I wanted Joe along, because he is the only man you know who has actually fought. Speaking for the men who will be on the boats that will hit Japan in a few months’ time, Joe, what would you say to Harvey?”

You sly son-of-a-bitch, Joe thought. He took his hand from the button and found his thumb had cramped. He’d listened to the ticking of atomic particles, but what had filled the hangar were words, a web of them spreading and connecting from roof to floor. And all preamble to ensnare Harvey so that Joe could strike the final blow.

“Tell me, Joe,” Harvey said.

“Speaking for the boys in the boats,” Joe said, “I’d say you were a phony, I’d say you were lower than a Jap. I’d say you were actually a traitor.”

Harvey swallowed. The Geiger amplified electrons at the anode, ions at the cathode. Neutrons danced to the beat of lights.

“On the other hand …” Joe moved closer to the Dragon. “Speaking as a friend, I don’t think you should care what anyone says.” He leaned across the Dragon’s near-moon and nearly buried core. “If you really think the bomb is that bad, then—”

Ticking soared into whine. Stylus flew from graph paper. The six scaler lights were solid red, flashing so fast that no intervals could be seen. The hydraulic piston dropped, carrying the bottom bowl with it, shaking the concrete pad of the floor. The silvery core lurched up to the lip of the bowl’s hollow, made an indolent circuit, then dropped heavily back into place. The whine plummeted. Red lights flashed again with a slow, regular pulse.