fear of retaliation but because the aggressor faced the same risk as the recipient. No one stood to win. Both would ultimately lose.
In the last ten years a new factor had emerged. The evidence was no longer in dispute that the earth's environment was undergoing a radical change. Even the most cautious scientists were agreed that man's activities had altered the natural dynamic forces that powered the biosphere.
Although the cause of this was a complex interaction of many diverse factors, it was clear that the principal effect was a substantial reduction in the amount of oxygen produced by photosynthesis in the oceans. The most up-to-date estimates showed that between 60 and 75 percent of phytoplankton growth had been killed off. Taking the most conservative figure, this meant that the oceans were at present supplying only 40 percent of their previous oxygen yield. Added to that, the equatorial forests, which had once supplied one quarter of the earth's oxygen requirement, were now virtually defunct. Their total contribution could be measured in fractions of a percent.
The conclusions were inescapable. The remaining 40 percent supplied by the oceans was insufficient to meet current rates of consumption. Mankind was existing on the stock of oxygen presently in the atmosphere, which wasn't being replenished quickly enough.
'Our studies have shown that there isn't an adequate supply to continue to support the present world population of six billion people,' Madden concluded, his voice quiet and unemotional in the softly purring stateroom. 'Someday the oxygen will run out. That day is soon.'
Colonel Burdovsky had been leaning back in the chair and smoking his cigar like an aristocrat. Now he turned his head sideways so that the two Americans could see the fleshy pouch that sagged from his chin to where it was trapped by the high collar of his tunic. The fleshy pouch shook as he spoke for some time with the scientists. Madden's Russian was scant and he only managed to pick out the odd word--
The rest passed him by; not that it mattered.
'Can I get you a glass of water, sir?' Major Jones asked him, reaching out. Madden shook his head. Major Jones took one of the tumblers and began to peel off the plastic wrapper.
'What do you think you're doing?'
'Getting myself some water, sir.'
A muscle rippled in Madden's lean cheek. 'Not unless they drink first,' he said through clenched teeth.
Major Jones blinked and swallowed and replaced the partly unwrapped tumbler on the tray.
Colonel Burdovsky turned back. 'Our findings are in accordance with yours,' he said complacently.
Like hell they are, thought Madden.
'But there is a question I should like to ask. You say in your study that DELFI predicts twenty to twenty-five years before this effect takes place--before the oxygen is finished. Yes?'
'The most accurate forecast we've been able to obtain with existing data is 2028 to 2033. That's assuming the deterioration in the climate doesn't get any worse than what we've allowed for.' Madden added deliberately, 'If it does, the prediction could be ten years out--on the wrong side.'
'Ten years!' Colonel Burdovsky removed his cigar and stared. 'You say a possible miscalculation of
'We've had to make certain assumptions as to the rate of decline, but there's no guarantee that the rate will stay as plotted. It could become more acute--in other words speed up--or it could level out.'
Madden was enjoying the expressions on the faces of the Russians. They had to put on the paltry show of being abreast, or even one step ahead, of their great rival. Yet he doubted whether they had an inkling of the real situation. It was rather pathetic. Take Burdovsky, for instance. No matter how much he tried to hide his feelings, acting out the charade of the man of authority and decision, the tiny eyes under the puffy lids were restless, shifting, furtive. Human beings were so predictable--more so than the climate. They could be manipulated with ease because they were at the mercy of the supreme traitor: emotion. Madden had proved it time and time again, to his own intense satisfaction.
He said glibly, 'Major Jones has the detailed projections if you'd care to see them, gentlemen.' Amused at the alacrity with which Lieuten-ant-Colonel Salazkin leaned across to take the file.
'We shall examine these later,' said Burdovsky, nodding to himself. 'No doubt they will be similar to the figures we have obtained.'
'No doubt,' Madden said without a flicker.
'Good. Now we are nearer to the ball, yes?'
'Yes.'
'Which is, Colonel . . . ?'
'Which is, Colonel, our mutual problem. Some of our major American cities, especially in the southern states, are already experiencing severe depletion problems. As are other cities around the world in the tropical regions.'
'That is hardly
'No?' Madden said. 'Major Jones.'
'In the region surrounding Lake Balkhash in Kazakhskaya you've had to evacuate two million people,' said Major Jones crisply. 'In 1995 there were fifty thousand deaths attributed to atmospheric pollution. By 2002 an area of forty-six thousand square miles had been designated as unfit for human habitation and emergency plans were introduced for mass evacuation of the area.'
Burdovsky's chins were quivering and the other Russians were sitting as if turned to salt.
'Contamination in the Nizmennost region due to the indiscriminate use of chemicals reached crisis point in 2005. Evacuation was carried out over a three-month period beginning in September of that year, and since then all freshwater lakes in the region have remained biologically dead. There has been total decimation of all flora and marine life.
The atmospheric oxygen count is four percent below normal and fall-
# _
ing.
'It's your problem too, Colonel,' Madden said, studying his fingernails. 'Even discounting these local and relatively minor effects, which in themselves are unimportant, we know that oxygen depletion in the equatorial belt is widening, spreading north and south. In ten years, fifteen at the most, both our countries will be largely inside the depletion belt.'
Colonel Burdovsky sucked on his cigar and blew smoke down at the blotter. 'This rests on the assumption that DELFI is correct, does it not?' He raised his eyes to catch Madden's nod. 'So tell me, what precisely is our 'mutual' problem, Colonel Madden?'
'Too many people using up too much oxygen.'
A vee of furrows appeared on Burdovsky's broad forehead. His consternation transformed itself into a smirk. 'So what are you proposing?' he asked with droll humor. 'That we exterminate half the world's population?'
'Not half,' Madden softly corrected him. 'Three quarters.'
Burdovsky's hand twitched and a neat cylinder of gray ash fell to the table and disintegrated in a powdery explosion on the glass surface.
'Four and a half billion as a guesstimate,' Madden went on, as if discussing a golf handicap. 'We calculate that the biosphere can comfortably support about one and a half billion human beings. The combined populations of the USSR and the United States total three quarters of a billion--which leaves room for a further three-quarters- billion spread around the rest of the globe.' As though stating a fact that was self-evident and hardly needed mentioning, he added, 'Of course China will have to go. It already has a population of one and a quarter billion and they're breeding like lice. In ten years, at current rates of growth, China will constitute one third of the total world population.'
Major Ivolgin was staring at Madden with bulging eyes. 'Is this meant to be taken as a serious proposal by your government?' he asked.
'Serious, yes. But not from our government. The plan has been formulated by the Coordinated Executive of Advanced Strategic Projects, which is the military/scientific wing of the Pentagon and responsible solely and directly to the Joint Chiefs of Staff.'
