Only two nuclear weapons have been used in the course of warfare, both by the United States near the end of World War II. On 6 August 1945, a uranium gun-type device code-named "Little Boy" was detonated over the Japanese city of Hiroshima. Three days later, on 9 August, a plutonium implosion-type device code-named "Fat Man" was exploded over Nagasaki, Japan.
– Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia
The next day, hands on her hips, Jem turned to Kir with a scowl. “Is this your definition of ‘no problem at all’?”
Kir laughed. “I think it’s cute.”
“The baby’s flying.”
“It’s the effects of the yellow star. He’s now on a planet with lesser gravity compared to his home planet under a red star—”
“You don’t have to explain the science to me. I get the science. What I don’t get is how you’re okay with it.”
“The people of the planet are okay with it. Why shouldn’t you be?”
His question caught her off guard. She shrugged. “Because I have higher standards?”
Kir chuckled. “It’s going to be all right. He embodies the light of hope in the darkness of their depression. Everyone needs a lift now and again.”
“Warning,” SimOne announced. “Humans are embarking on global war.”
“Again?” Jem rushed over to the planet. “Give me a map, SimOne. What’s going on?”
The map of the world unfurled across the astral screen. “Countries are forming alliances and going to war,” the android reported.
“Didn’t we do this yesterday? Two global wars in two days?”
Kir stepped forward to stand by her. “I guess they needed something to take their mind off a bad situation.”
“Why couldn’t they try ice-cream or chocolate instead? What are we going to do?” Jem asked.
“Nothing. Let it play out.”
Jem ground her teeth. “We let it play out yesterday, and all they did was wreck their economy and drive themselves into a global funk.”
“In the grand scheme of things, that’s about thirty star revolutions. That’s less time than it takes us to blink if this simulation was running at a normal speed.”
“The reason we can’t run at a normal speed is because we can’t trust them to get it right.”
“We have to, Jem. We have to start trusting them to solve their own problems.”
“Warning. Thermonuclear device detonated at 34°23′53″N 132°28′32.9″E. Warning. Thermonuclear device detonated at 32°47′N 129°52′E.”
Jem stared wordlessly at the mushroom shaped cloud on the astral screen, and then jerked her gaze down to the wounded planet. The grievous injury could not be seen from space. The planet floated, shimmering blue and vibrant green, in the infinite darkness of space, but it had lost its innocence forever.
“Did you say ‘thermonuclear device’?” Kir asked, his voice quiet.
“Yes.”
“Casualties?”
SimOne’s voice was serene; she could have been giving a weather report. “At a minimum, two hundred thousand humans. More continue to suffer and die from the lingering effects of injuries or exposure to radiation.”
“Now do you agree that we need to do something?” Jem demanded.
“It would appear that the time for action has passed,” Kir said as he studied the data reported by the sensors. “The war is over. The thermonuclear warheads ended it. Our humans solved their problem.”
“By creating a bigger one.” Jem waved her hand at the approximate quadrant of space where a doomed planet had once rotated around a red star. “Did we learn nothing from Kryptos? They were destroyed by nuclear power. Their planet was turned to space debris because their planet’s core was destabilized by nuclear energy. Our humans have just turned that demon loose on their own planet.”
“There is nothing inherently wrong about nuclear energy,” Kir insisted, though his face was pale. “Fission and fusion energy power our cities and our spacecraft. Heck, they even power this laboratory.”
“Yes, but we know what the hell we’re doing. They don’t.”
“They just ended a global war. I’d say they knew exactly what the hell they’re doing.”
“They can’t possibly.”
“Why? They’re not that different from us, Jem. You built their genetic code using ours as a template. Their planet isn’t much larger than the size of our heads, and we can’t see individuals, but it doesn’t mean that they don’t have the same infinite capacity to imagine and create. Those humans down there have the same right to live, to dream, to die, as do we all. I think it’s time we finally admit it.”
Jem swallowed hard. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of their planet and then shook her head. Her voice trembled as she closed her astral workstation. “I need ice-cream and lots of chocolate.”
Save the earth. It's the only planet with chocolate. ~Author Unknown
“Hey, are you all right?” Kir’s voice broke through Jem’s brooding reverie and the blur of white noise in the cafeteria.
She sighed, rested her cheek against the heel of her hand, and looked up at him. “I don’t know.”
Without waiting for an invitation, he sat across from her. “It was quite a shock, huh?”
“Shock is learning that the little boy can fly. The nuclear war surpasses it entirely.” She spun her glass around in her hand. Guilt clawed at her. “I screwed up, didn’t I?” Her voice was scarcely a whisper. “Those kids…the two that I selected to lead our planet into the space age…one of them urged his country to develop nuclear weapons. He didn’t work on it, but he was the most respected scientist of his age, and the leaders listened to him. He did it. I did it through him.”
Kir reached out and grabbed her hand to still the repetitive motion. “You need to stop blaming yourself for what they do. You cheapen their lives, their free will.”
“Did they really have free will, or did they merely go down the path I wanted?”
“The thermonuclear weapon ended the war,” Kir pointed out.
“It’s likely to start another.” Jem’s voice caught, skidding close to the edge of a sob.
“You don’t know that it will.”
“And you don’t know that it won’t. They’ve turned it loose. They can’t ignore it now.”
“And they won’t. They’ll learn to control it and their tempers, because they have to. They’re going to grow up, Jem. They will, and we have to let them.”
“Six months ago we put the first people down on the planet, and now they’re developing nuclear weapons.”
“Kids grow up fast,” Kir said. He was briefly silent. “Did you want to see the aftermath?”
Not really. She shrugged. “I guess so.”
He unfolded his astral workstation, and the android’s astral image shimmered into view. “SimOne, we’re ready for the data transmission.”
“Executing.”
Kir’s dark gaze raced across the data churning into his workstation. He inhaled deeply before speaking. “Over one hundred million humans were mobilized for war. Casualties, including non-combat personnel, exceed seventy million.”
Jem squeezed her eyes shut. Seventy million? “Damn. This peace had better last. They’ve paid a high enough price for it.”
“No kidding.” Kir’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are these idiots doing?”
“What now?”
“They divided up the land among the victors, and paid no attention whatsoever to racial or ethnic boundaries. It’s in a pivotal area at the juncture of several continents. They’re calling it peace. Hah, it’s more like a peace to end all peace. I highly doubt their ability to make it work out.”
“Are you going to tell them?” Jem asked.
“No. They’re going to figure it out pretty soon. I give them fifty star revolutions, no more than sixty, before it collapses into war. No, wait. I take that back. It’s going to be sooner, way sooner.”
“What?” Jem’s eyes widened.
“There’s a new state.” Kir’s jaw tightened. “It’s not new, precisely. It was around a long time back, but it vanished, swallowed up by more powerful countries. It’s back now.”
“What do you mean ‘back now’? How does a state just show up?”
“I don’t know, but its people have genetic markers similar to those of a state that vanished more than twenty-five hundred star revolutions ago.”
Jem shook her head. “No state survives with its people dispossessed and scattered for twenty-five hundred star revolutions.”
“No kidding. They’re scoring big points for persistence.”
“Just blame it on the anomaly,” Jem said.
“Huh?”
Jem’s smile wobbled. “Standard operating procedure. Something we don’t understand? The anomaly did it. Is this state going to matter?”
Kir looked at the map. “Probably not. It’s just a small strip of land. Hopefully, its neighbors will look the other way and mind their own business.”
“Small state, big neighbors. I say it’ll learn, as you’re so fond of saying, and learn quick.”
Kir smiled faintly. “Did the ice-cream do any good?”
“A little. The chocolate fudge really helped.”
“Want another? I think I need one, too.”
She glanced at her empty cup. “Sure, why not.”