"No. I didn't say that. You did," I pointed out. "But I will tell you that that stuff about not liking the world these days is baloney. Or rationalization, if you want a nicer word. You're carrying a screaming load of guilt, Colonel, whether you're aware of it or not." "I don't know what you're talking about. Why don't you just beat it?" "No. And you know well enough. You fell all over yourself to tell me about the family you killed in your flying accident." I gave him ten seconds of silence, and then shot the question at him as hard as I could. "_What was their name?_" "How do I know? Sweeney or something. Anything. I don't remember." "Sure you do. Do you think that killing your own family is going to bring the Sweeneys back to life?" Gascoigne's mouth twisted, but he seemed to be entirely unaware of the grimace. "That's all hogwash," he said. "I never did hold with that psychological claptrap. It's you that's handing out the baloney, not me." "Then why are you being so vituperative about it? Hogwash, claptrap, baloney--you are working awfully hard to knock it down, for a man who doesn't believe in it." "Go away," he said sullenly. "I've got my orders. I'm obeying them." Stalemate. But there was no such thing as stalemate up here. Defeat was the word. * * * * * The tape traveled. I did not know what to do. The last bomb problem CIG had tackled had been one we had set up ourselves; we had arranged for a dud to be dropped in New York harbor, to test our own facilities for speed in determining the nature of the missile. The situation on board SV-1 was completely different-- Whoa. Was it? Maybe I'd hit something there. "Col. Gascoigne," I said slowly, "you might as well know now that it isn't going to work. Not even if you do get that bomb off." "Yes, I can. What's to stop me?" He hooked one thumb in his belt, just above the holster, so that his fingertips rested on the breech of the automatic. "Your bombs. They aren't alive." Gascoigne laughed harshly and waved at the controls. "Tell that to the counter in the bomb hold. Go ahead. There's a meter you can read, right there on the bombardier board." "Sure," I said. "The bombs are radioactive, all right. Have you ever checked their half-life?" It was a long shot. Gascoigne was a weapons man; if it were possible to check half-life on board the SV-1, he would have checked it. But I didn't think it was possible. "What would I do that for?" "You wouldn't, being a loyal airman. You believe what your superiors tell you. But I'm a civilian, Colonel. There's no element in those bombs that will either fuse or fission. The half-life is too long for tritium or for lithium^6, and it's too short for uranium^{235} or radio-thorium. The stuff is probably strontium^{90}--in short, nothing but a bluff." "By the time I finished checking that," Gascoigne said, "the bomb would be launched anyhow. And you haven't checked it, either. Try another tack."