But now, now, with Stormbee … They can take the nuclear weapons out of there, and still have a completely secure defense against a conventional invasion. The cities and their populations won’t have to go up with the invaders; nothing will be needed but a precise, limited, one could even say humane, response. If you invade us, your invading force will be picked off, by unstoppable robot snipers. Swift, surgical destruction for any invading force; and the war wiped out with it. War—major wars of invasion, anyway—made impossible! My God! It’s quite a thought! A weapon that will make antagonists talk—without the horrific threat of mutual assured destruction. In fact, with weapons like these, it really makes perfect sense to dismantle all the megatonnage, to get rid of the nuclear horror.… Can it really be true? Have we reached that point in history where technology finally will make war obsolete, and nuclear weapons unnecessary?

Yes, it seems it can be true: he has seen the leading edge of that truth, just barely seen it as it swooped down over the white sands of the desert like a Mach 7 mirage, a peripheral vision, that very day. It actually looks as if his work, the sweat of his brow, might help to lift from the world the hundred-year-long nightmare threat of nuclear annihilation. Might even help to lift the thousand-year-long threat of major, catastrophic war. It’s … well, it’s work you can take pride in.

And hurtling back over the surface of the desert, McPherson suddenly feels that pride more strongly than he ever has in his entire life, something like a radiant glow, a sun in his chest. It really is something.

Chapter 11

11

In his dream Jim walks over a hillside covered with ruins. Below the hill spreads a black lake. The ruins are nothing but low stone walls, and the land is empty. Jim wanders among the walls searching for something, but as always he can’t quite remember what it is he seeks. He comes across a piece of violet glass from a stained-glass window, but he knows that isn’t what he is after. Something like a ghost bulges out of the top of the hill to tell him everything—

He wakes in his little apartment in Foothill, the sun beaming through the window. He groans, rolls onto the floor. Hangover here. What were they lidding last night? Groggily he looks around. His room is a mess, bedding and clothing scattered everywhere, as if a rainbow collapsed and landed in his bedroom.