_No weapon has ever been frightful enough to put a stop to
war--perhaps because we never before had any that thought for
themselves!_
[Illustration]
Taylor sat back in his chair reading the morning newspaper. The warm
kitchen and the smell of coffee blended with the comfort of not having
to go to work. This was his Rest Period, the first for a long time, and
he was glad of it. He folded the second section back, sighing with
contentment.
"What is it?" Mary said, from the stove.
"They pasted Moscow again last night." Taylor nodded his head in
approval. "Gave it a real pounding. One of those R-H bombs. It's about
time."
He nodded again, feeling the full comfort of the kitchen, the presence
of his plump, attractive wife, the breakfast dishes and coffee. This was
relaxation. And the war news was good, good and satisfying. He could
feel a justifiable glow at the news, a sense of pride and personal
accomplishment. After all, he was an integral part of the war program,
not just another factory worker lugging a cart of scrap, but a
technician, one of those who designed and planned the nerve-trunk of the
war.
"It says they have the new subs almost perfected. Wait until they get
_those_ going." He smacked his lips with anticipation. "When they start
shelling from underwater, the Soviets are sure going to be surprised."
"They're doing a wonderful job," Mary agreed vaguely. "Do you know what
we saw today? Our team is getting a leady to show to the school
children. I saw the leady, but only for a moment. It's good for the
children to see what their contributions are going for, don't you
think?"
She looked around at him.
"A leady," Taylor murmured. He put the newspaper slowly down. "Well,
make sure it's decontaminated properly. We don't want to take any
chances."
"Oh, they always bathe them when they're brought down from the surface,"
Mary said. "They wouldn't think of letting them down without the bath.
Would they?" She hesitated, thinking back. "Don, you know, it makes me
remember--"