GRANT'S PET SHOP
by
Ron S. Nolan, Ph.D.
© 2008
Chapter 8
The Strategic Operations Room at Livermore was lined
by solid
concrete block walls covered with a cheap veneer of plastic mahogany.
The ceiling bristled with test tube brush shaped electronic bug
detectors. The recessed lighting fixtures were plugged with piercing
100 watt bulbs. Although the ten foot long conference table was
actually real, rich mohagany—as expensive as money can buy, no
one ever felt comfortable in the "ops" room.
As a carryover from Livermore's long association with
the University
of California at Berkeley, in front of every seat a new yellow legal
pad and ball point pen waited ready for the participants to take
notes. A paper shredder stood by ready for any waste. Behind the
legal pads, sipping their sixth or so daily dose of extremely black
steaming coffee, the top LLL division leaders fidgeted nervously. Many
of the head weaponry scientists and defense system strategists
incongruously were academicians drawn to Livermore in order to have
access to the center's one-of-a-kind, abhorrently expensive
equipment. They certainly never looked forward to sessions with
General Houston. But they were compelled to play the game because
the scramble for high energy research funding could be described only
as intense and neverending. Their theoretical work in atomic physics
was entirely dependent upon how the hawks in the Pentagon viewed the
long-term applicability of their research and General Houston was
universally regarded as the hawk of hawks. He also held the
government's purse strings.
Even though there were several senior staff at
Livermore who held
higher government service ratings than Eiger, the key administrators
admitted to one another in private that Eiger had somehow gained a
high degree of control over lab operations. The old timers resented
it deeply. The signs were evident, Eiger's section has the largest
operating budget and his lab was off limits to the rest of the staff.
Although to a member they each respected Eiger's genius in computer
science, no one could forget for a moment about his “timely
vaccine,” to a man they would have like to be rid of him
entirely. They referred to him as "Professor Ogre"—though
never directly to his face.
As Eiger followed the General into the room, chairs
rattled and
collided as the civilians hastily rose to their feet. A pen
clattered onto the table while a legal pad plopped to the floor. In
spite of the prominent displays of NO SMOKING signs, the General lit
an unusually large and foul smelling cigar and announced to the
standing group, "At ease, gentlemen. Please be seated won't
you?"
He began, "I love coming here to Livermore because
this is where
our nation's freedom and security lie in trust. You LLL scientists
have a great heritage. Not only did you invent the first nuclear
weapons, then the superbombs, America's benchmark of freedom, but you
are now creating sophisticated satellite weapons that will defend the
free world against attack."
Pausing to blow smoke at the ceiling, Houston warmed
to his subject.
"Most of you are now committed full time to the development and
deployment of Star Wars weaponry. SDI is a noble enterprise that
will result in a long sought after, fool proof system to defend this
continent. I'm certain that you and your families will sleep better
knowing that a blanket of extremely high powered lasers will be
patrolling the night sky—waiting for incoming warheads. And
they'll come some day too! Mark my words, in time they'll come." Sooner
than you think too, you bunch of eggheads.
With the noted exception of Eiger, the group
collectively squirmed.
Faces flushed red while questioning looks were discretely exchanged.
Livermore's director, Dr. Ernest Bradford, managed a feeble "Hear,
hear."
The scientists inwardly assumed that the General was
simply insane.
They stoically translated Houston's soliloquy into just so much noise
which it was even to Houston. Crazy yes, but a fool, no. The
General knew exactly what effect he was having on the men. He needed
to rock the boat to cover his increasing association with Eiger. It
was time to start the ANX ball rolling and this group of inquisitive
minds must be diverted away from his secret project before they
gained any inkling of the plan.
"You all have done a fine job here at Livermore, "
Houston
continued. "I am very happy to bring you good news from the
Administration. Your funding for SDI has been increased by 25% that
gentlemen is another seven hundred and fifty million dollars added to
your budget."
Houston abruptly sat down and added nonchalantly.
"Congratulations. I
am certain that the nation's taxpayers will get more than their
money’s worth. Oh and by the way I am extremely pleased to
announce that Professor Eiger has consented to accept a major
assignment in this new expanded program...and will be,
ahem...starting tomorrow, initiating a new top secret and extremely
sensitive counter defensive project—code named Nimbus IV." If you
guessed it is computer-based, you're exactly right. What
else is there with Eiger anyway? Ha! Ha!" "Since this
will be a major component of the SDI Smart Weapons System, I want you
all to cooperate with Professor Eiger to the fullest extent possible.
Our country needs SDI as soon as possible and I thank you for your
determined efforts in advance. Any questions, gentlemen?"
The startled audience stared at the General and looked
from side to
side at one another. An embarrassing silence followed.
Dr. Bradford was stunned and felt searing hot
angina-like
palpitations in his chest. Why didn't I know about this?"
he raged silently. What an insult to my positio my career here is
definitely at an end. What will I tell my wife? And what will I do
now? I'm still young—at my peak! Bradford slumped forward
and was silent.
Eiger averted his gaze to beneath the table and
studied his worn
Weejuns. Without thinking, he wiped a flood of perspiration from his
forehead.
The General wound up, "Of course this is a surprise to
you all
and I am sure to Dr. Bradford especially. But please keep in mind
that we are all on the same team and everyone has to do their part. If
we don't do our jobs the best that we know how, those fuckhead
Russians will be sleeping with our wives and daughters. Professor
Eiger will brief you on an as need-to-know basis starting tomorrow."
The General unexpectedly stood followed by the sudden
raking of
chairs as the group, caught off guard, scrambled to achieve a
facsimile of military attention.
Houston concluded, "One more thing. You probably are
already
aware that security clearances base-wide are being reviewed as a
precautionary measure. As usual your friends and neighbors will be
calling you to report that some man in a dark suit has been asking
personal questions about you...wondering if you are a commie—or
if you even know a commie. You know the procedure. We have all been
there many times before."
Relighting his cigar and glancing toward Eiger, the
General remarked.
"By the way...are any of you geniuses commies—or around
here should I say faggots? We'll soon find out won't we? Ha! Ha!"
The room reverberated with Houston's booming laughter
as he abruptly
turned on his heel and marched out the door. Eiger's face surged
with heat. After moving to Livermore he had slipped several times in
his vow to remain celibate. The temptation had been too much with
San Francisco less than an hour away—a city where gays were not
only tolerated but major players in the local establishment. Eiger
had finally come out of the closet. At least he had been careful. There
was only his one friend, his only friend, Matt.
As the General bustled past the main gate with Eiger
in tow, Houston
said, "Don't worry Professor. I know that it will take you at
least a week to start the new program. I just wanted to make old
Bradford shit. I thought he was going to have a coronary. Ha! Ha! By
the way, I want my own personal entrance into your building. I
will supply the contractors and security. Commander Cummings will be
in touch to make the arrangements. Hang in there old boy. You look
kind'a feverish or something...maybe you need to get some ass tonight
to clear your head. Getting laid isn't such a bad idea either...I
might try it myself. Ha! Ha!."
Within moments the Huey lifted off in a roar and the
General was
gone. But his presence was never felt more strongly at Livermore
Laboratories.
Strapped in the helicopter five thousand feet over
Oakland on a
heading for Moffet Field, the General radio telephoned Mary in
Manhattan. "I should be back by midnight, darlin'. Boy do I
feel good...already got a hard one saved up for ya gal." Before
she could even reply, Houston severed the connection.
In her penthouse apartment looking down at the river
below—not
exactly lounging in silk pajamas and eating cherries drenched in
chocolate, but close, Mary sighed and looked at the lifeless
receiver. She said, "Oh brother."
Eiger sweating and trembling in spite of the chill in
the lab, called
Mat and made a date for eight o'clock at the Ram Bar on Sutter
Street.
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