"You know, I had forgotten all about this stuff until the other night, and then it all came back to me," Scott said mentally reminiscing. "At the time we thought it was a paranoid joke. Another government folly. The EMP-T was supposed to be shot at the enemy to screw up his battlefield computers and radar and electronics before the ground troops or helo's went it. As I understand it, EMP-T bombs are made for planes, and can also be launched from Howitzers and tanks. According to the manufactur- er, they can't be detected and leave a similar signature to that of a conventional nuclear blast. If there is such a thing as a conventional nuke." "Who else knows about this," Tyrone asked. "The police?" "You think the NYPD would know what to look for?" Scott said snidely. "Their bomb squad went home after the plastic explosive was found." "Right. Forget where I was." "Think about it," Scott mused out loud. "A bomb that destroys all of the computers and memory but leaves the walls standing." "Didn't that asshole Carter want to build a nuke that would only kill people but leave the city intact for the marauding invaders? Neutron bombs, weren't they?" "There's obviously nothing immoral about nuking computers," Scott pontificated. "It was all part of Star Wars. Reagan's Strategic Defense included attacking enemy satellites with EMP-T bombs. Get all of the benefits and none of the fallout from a nuke. There's no accompanying radiation." "How easy is it to put one of the empty-things together?" Tyrone missed another 49'er touchdown. "Today?" Scott whistled. "The ones I saw were big, clumsy affairs from the 70's. With new ceramics, and such, I would assume they're a lot smaller as the Stock Exchange proves. A wild guess? I bet that EMP-T is a garage project for a couple of whiz kids, or if the government orders them, a couple hundred thou each." Scott laughed at the absurdity of competitive bid- ding for government projects. Everyone knew the government paid more for everything. They would do a lot better with a VISA card at K-Mart. "I think I better take a look," Tyrone hinted. "I thought you would, buddy. Thought you would." Scott replied. They returned to the game 12 seconds before half time. The gun went off. Perfect timing. Scott hated football. The only reason in his mind for the existence of the Super Bowl was to drink beer with friends and watch the commercials. "Shit," declared Tyrone. "I missed the whole damned second quar- ter." He grabbed another beer to comfort his disappointment. "Hey," Scott called to Tyrone. "During the next half, I want to ask you something." Tyrone came back into the Music Room snickering. "What the hell is that in your bathroom?" "Isn't that great?" asked the enthused Scott. "It's an automatic toilet seat."