world came to me in my penthouse where I dined with Raymond and reported that some terrorist organization, I never knew which, had laid hands on a nuclear bomb, affixed it to a cruise missile, and let fly. Preliminary reports showed it angling towards the western area of the United States but, because of a baffling device built into the missile, no one was sure quite where it was heading. It might have been Los Angeles, Las Vegas, or even Haven.
Wasting no time, I rushed to an elevator, dragging Raymond behind. He began a breathless question, panting from fear and exertion, but I waved him to silence and waited. Seconds later the elevator doors opened onto a subbasement facility known only to me and a handful of the city’s designers. Raymond’s eye flashed with confusion, darting occasionally to me, asking unspoken questions.
He followed as I rushed to a large console, checked a few dials and displays, and pressed an unmarked button with a quick thrust.
Then I led Raymond up and out of the building, to explain to him and the others what I’d done.
*
When designing the city, I’d taken great pains that it should exist for a long time. It seemed to me pointless to go to such effort to produce a transitory result. I instructed a handful of researchers, then, to develop a means of protecting the city against disaster, natural or man-made. What they gave me, in the final days of the city’s construction, was the Screen.
It was a simple thing, really, an idea so obvious that once stated, one wondered why it had not been used before. At least that is what they told me. To me, it was as hermitic and confused as any of the things such researchers discovered. But the Screen would work, they assured me, and that was all that mattered.
The Screen was designed to stop any threat from damaging the city. Earthquakes would be stilled at the city’s edge, tornadoes quieted before ever passing over. And, yes, missiles of any type would never reach the ground. But there was a price. There always is.
Once the Screen was activated, it could not be shut off. Not without suffering whatever disaster had prompted its use. The Screen, it was explained to me, had the affect of accelerating everything inside it, so that from inside the outside world would seem to have stopped entirely. It had something to do with relativistic effects, they told me, but I cared nothing for their explanations; I wanted only results.
*
I told the citizens about the Screen, and about the threat facing the city. I explained that, because of the baffling device on the missile, we had no sure proof that we were its target, but that it seemed completely likely. I informed the citizens, then, that it was in our own best interest that the Screen remain on. We had nothing to worry, I said. We have the means of replenishing our energy supply, and restocking our food stores. We are self-sufficient, and have no need of the outside world. Do not panic, I asked, please.
At first, people remained calm. Stunned, perhaps is a better word. They went about their days, numb, as though nothing had happened. I had the foolish pride to believe that my words had dispelled their fears, and that life would go on as normal. But they were like a city asleep. And eventually the city woke.
The thefts were first. Hoarding—of food, clothing, “valuables.” Then came the beatings. Then came the murders.
A certain segment of the population found their bottled existence stifling, and could only think to vent their frustrations through aggression and violence. Dozens of people died with every passing day.
The city was thrown into a panic. I appeared before the citizens again, telling then to remain calm, to stay within their homes, the doors locked. This will pass, I explained, you have no need to fear.
So we stayed indoors, locked away as in cages, while outside in the streets the animals roamed free.
And outside the city, seen faintly through my high tower windows, the world
Wasting no time, I rushed to an elevator, dragging Raymond behind. He began a breathless question, panting from fear and exertion, but I waved him to silence and waited. Seconds later the elevator doors opened onto a subbasement facility known only to me and a handful of the city’s designers. Raymond’s eye flashed with confusion, darting occasionally to me, asking unspoken questions.
He followed as I rushed to a large console, checked a few dials and displays, and pressed an unmarked button with a quick thrust.
Then I led Raymond up and out of the building, to explain to him and the others what I’d done.
*
When designing the city, I’d taken great pains that it should exist for a long time. It seemed to me pointless to go to such effort to produce a transitory result. I instructed a handful of researchers, then, to develop a means of protecting the city against disaster, natural or man-made. What they gave me, in the final days of the city’s construction, was the Screen.
It was a simple thing, really, an idea so obvious that once stated, one wondered why it had not been used before. At least that is what they told me. To me, it was as hermitic and confused as any of the things such researchers discovered. But the Screen would work, they assured me, and that was all that mattered.
The Screen was designed to stop any threat from damaging the city. Earthquakes would be stilled at the city’s edge, tornadoes quieted before ever passing over. And, yes, missiles of any type would never reach the ground. But there was a price. There always is.
Once the Screen was activated, it could not be shut off. Not without suffering whatever disaster had prompted its use. The Screen, it was explained to me, had the affect of accelerating everything inside it, so that from inside the outside world would seem to have stopped entirely. It had something to do with relativistic effects, they told me, but I cared nothing for their explanations; I wanted only results.
*
I told the citizens about the Screen, and about the threat facing the city. I explained that, because of the baffling device on the missile, we had no sure proof that we were its target, but that it seemed completely likely. I informed the citizens, then, that it was in our own best interest that the Screen remain on. We had nothing to worry, I said. We have the means of replenishing our energy supply, and restocking our food stores. We are self-sufficient, and have no need of the outside world. Do not panic, I asked, please.
At first, people remained calm. Stunned, perhaps is a better word. They went about their days, numb, as though nothing had happened. I had the foolish pride to believe that my words had dispelled their fears, and that life would go on as normal. But they were like a city asleep. And eventually the city woke.
The thefts were first. Hoarding—of food, clothing, “valuables.” Then came the beatings. Then came the murders.
A certain segment of the population found their bottled existence stifling, and could only think to vent their frustrations through aggression and violence. Dozens of people died with every passing day.
The city was thrown into a panic. I appeared before the citizens again, telling then to remain calm, to stay within their homes, the doors locked. This will pass, I explained, you have no need to fear.
So we stayed indoors, locked away as in cages, while outside in the streets the animals roamed free.
And outside the city, seen faintly through my high tower windows, the world
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