unleashed a terrible and destructive power, and that
men must either live with it, or he destroyed by it. But two decades
were a pitifully short time to wipe away the accumulated mental debris,
the accumulated prejudices and suspicions which had been bred in men for
centuries. And we failed. For a while we thought we had succeeded. There
was the United Nations, the various conferences of the Foreign Ministers
at Washington, London, Paris, and Moscow. And after that the international
control commissions and the nations' agreement to disarm. But then came
the arguments over the veto power -- the differences over the extent
of inspection beyond national boundaries -- the finger-pointing, the
accusations of bad faith and subterfuge. And finally, the great blow --
the dissolution of the United Nations -- and separation.
"We might have succeeded, we could have succeeded with sincerity and
mutual trust, and an awareness of how much we had to succeed.
"But we failed. And now, the world faces the consequences."
A phone rang on the telecaster's desk. He picked up the receiver,
listened a moment, nodded, and hung up.
Then he looked directly at David and the other men on the Broadway street
corner and said simply:
"We take you now to the new Kremlin in Kirensk, Russia."
The television screen crackled, sputtered a little, faded, and finally
blacked out. The darkness smothered David and the others huddled with
him in an eerie, impenetrable blanket. They waited silently, shivering a
little, listening to the sharp wind whining up the deserted side streets.
And then the glow came to the screen again and a voice with a Russian
accent said:
"This is Kirensk, capital of the Union of Socialist Soviet Republics."
The screen showed a street in the Soviet capital in bright daylight. A
crowd of people lined the curb, waiting impassively. They seemed quiet
and well disciplined, not surging forward like American crowds. But
perhaps the line of Red soldiers guarding the approach had something to
do with their good behavior.
The invisible telecaster spoke briefly again:
"The crowd outside the new Kremlin awaits the coming of the American
envoy, Mr. Allison, to confer with the Soviet Foreign Minister, Bakhanov."
"Well, I'll be damned," commented the soldier named Frank. "Look at the
people in that crowd. They look just like we do." He giggled nervously.
"I swear to Christ, that big guy on the left with the fur hat looks just
like my uncle Phil out in Detroit."
"Sure they look the same as we do," said the sergeant acidly. "What'd
you expect 'era to have -- horns?" He profferred a word of wisdom. "Hell,
what's so tough about them? We can take 'em any time we want to, if you
ask me. They put their legs in their pants legs one at a time just like
we do, don't they?"
"Geez," a civilian said. "Look at their faces. What do you know?
They're just as scared as we are!"
The voice of the Russian telecaster came again:
"Now the American envoy is arriving."
An armored car came into view, bristling with Red Army men. It was
followed by a huge black limousine, and another armored car followed
the limousine. The camera moved with the procession. It stopped at a
big gate in front of a building set back behind a wall. Soldiers pushed
the onlookers away. A gray-faced man got out of the limousine, carrying
a brief case. The gate opened, and he walked between two lines of grim
Russian soldiers standing at attention. The gate closed behind him.
The Russian telecaster concluded:
"Thus the envoys of two great powers meet to confer in this great crisis.
We of the Soviet Union want no war, and neither does America, nor any
of the other countries of the world. Let us hope that the envoy of your
great country and mine come to an understanding on this historic occasion"
That was the trouble, thought David. Everyone hoped the
men must either live with it, or he destroyed by it. But two decades
were a pitifully short time to wipe away the accumulated mental debris,
the accumulated prejudices and suspicions which had been bred in men for
centuries. And we failed. For a while we thought we had succeeded. There
was the United Nations, the various conferences of the Foreign Ministers
at Washington, London, Paris, and Moscow. And after that the international
control commissions and the nations' agreement to disarm. But then came
the arguments over the veto power -- the differences over the extent
of inspection beyond national boundaries -- the finger-pointing, the
accusations of bad faith and subterfuge. And finally, the great blow --
the dissolution of the United Nations -- and separation.
"We might have succeeded, we could have succeeded with sincerity and
mutual trust, and an awareness of how much we had to succeed.
"But we failed. And now, the world faces the consequences."
A phone rang on the telecaster's desk. He picked up the receiver,
listened a moment, nodded, and hung up.
Then he looked directly at David and the other men on the Broadway street
corner and said simply:
"We take you now to the new Kremlin in Kirensk, Russia."
The television screen crackled, sputtered a little, faded, and finally
blacked out. The darkness smothered David and the others huddled with
him in an eerie, impenetrable blanket. They waited silently, shivering a
little, listening to the sharp wind whining up the deserted side streets.
And then the glow came to the screen again and a voice with a Russian
accent said:
"This is Kirensk, capital of the Union of Socialist Soviet Republics."
The screen showed a street in the Soviet capital in bright daylight. A
crowd of people lined the curb, waiting impassively. They seemed quiet
and well disciplined, not surging forward like American crowds. But
perhaps the line of Red soldiers guarding the approach had something to
do with their good behavior.
The invisible telecaster spoke briefly again:
"The crowd outside the new Kremlin awaits the coming of the American
envoy, Mr. Allison, to confer with the Soviet Foreign Minister, Bakhanov."
"Well, I'll be damned," commented the soldier named Frank. "Look at the
people in that crowd. They look just like we do." He giggled nervously.
"I swear to Christ, that big guy on the left with the fur hat looks just
like my uncle Phil out in Detroit."
"Sure they look the same as we do," said the sergeant acidly. "What'd
you expect 'era to have -- horns?" He profferred a word of wisdom. "Hell,
what's so tough about them? We can take 'em any time we want to, if you
ask me. They put their legs in their pants legs one at a time just like
we do, don't they?"
"Geez," a civilian said. "Look at their faces. What do you know?
They're just as scared as we are!"
The voice of the Russian telecaster came again:
"Now the American envoy is arriving."
An armored car came into view, bristling with Red Army men. It was
followed by a huge black limousine, and another armored car followed
the limousine. The camera moved with the procession. It stopped at a
big gate in front of a building set back behind a wall. Soldiers pushed
the onlookers away. A gray-faced man got out of the limousine, carrying
a brief case. The gate opened, and he walked between two lines of grim
Russian soldiers standing at attention. The gate closed behind him.
The Russian telecaster concluded:
"Thus the envoys of two great powers meet to confer in this great crisis.
We of the Soviet Union want no war, and neither does America, nor any
of the other countries of the world. Let us hope that the envoy of your
great country and mine come to an understanding on this historic occasion"
That was the trouble, thought David. Everyone hoped the
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