Terminal Compromise

"Yeah, well, one result of a nuclear blast is a terrific release of electromagnetic energy. Enough to blow out communications and power lines for miles. That's one reason that silos are hardened - to keep the communications lines open to permit the President or whoever's still alive to shoot back."

"Like I said," Tyrone shuddered, "pleasant thought." He stopped suddenly at turned to Scott. "So it was a baby nuke?"

"No, it was EMP-T," Scott said in such a way to annoy Ty.

"Electro Magnetic Pulse Transformer." The confusion on Tyrone's face was clear. "Ok, it's actually pretty simple. You know what interference sounds like on the radio or looks like on a TV?"

"Sure. My cell phone snaps, crackles and pops all of the time."

"Exactly. Noise is simply electromagnetic energy that interferes with the signal. Right?" Scott waited for Tyrone to respond that he understood so far.

"Good. Imagine a magnetic pulse so strong that it not only interferes with the signal, but overloads the electronics them- selves. Remember that electricity and magnetism are the same force taking different forms."

Tyrone shook his head and curled his mouth. "Right. I knew that all the time." Scott ignored him.

"The EMP-T bomb is an electromagnetic explosion, very very short, only a few milliseconds, but incredibly intense." Scott gestured to indicate the magnitude of the invisible explosion. "That was the bomb that went off at the Stock Exchange."

"How can you possibly know that?" Tyrone asked with a hint of professional derision. "That requires a big leap of faith..."

Scott leaned over to the side of the couch and picked up the two items he had retrieved from the Exchange.

"This," Scott said handing a piece of ceramic material to Ty, "is superconducting material. Real new. It can superconduct at room temperature. And this," he handed Tyrone a piece of red gla.s.s, "is a piece of a high energy ruby laser."

Tyrone turned the curios over and over in his hands. "So?" he asked.

"By driving the output of the laser into a High Energy Static Capacitive Tank, the energy can be discharged into the super coil. The instantaneous release of energy creates a magnetic field of millions of gauss." Scott snapped his fingers. "And that's more than enough to blow out computer and phone circuits as well as erase anything magnetic within a thousand yards."

Tyrone was now ignoring the football action. He stared alternate- ly at Scott and the curious gla.s.s and ceramic remnants. "You're bulls.h.i.+tting me, right? Sounds like science fiction."

"But the fact is that the Stock Exchange still isn't open. Their entire tape library is gone. Poof! Empty, thus the name EMP-T.

It empties computers. Whoever did this has a real bad temper.

Pure revenge. They wanted to destroy the information, and not the hardware itself. Otherwise the conventional blast would have been stronger. The Cemex was used to destroy the evidence of the EMP-T device."

"Where the h.e.l.l do these bombs come from."

"EMP-T technology was originally developed as part of a Top Secret DARPA project for the DoD with NSA guidance

"Then how do you know about it?"

"I did the doc.u.mentation for the first manuals on EMP-T. Nothing we got from the manufacturer was marked cla.s.sified and we didn't know or care."

"What was the Army going to do with them?" asked Tyrone, now with great interest.

"You know, I had forgotten all about this stuff until the other night, and then it all came back to me," Scott said mentally reminiscing. "At the time we thought it was a paranoid joke.

Another government folly. The EMP-T was supposed to be shot at the enemy to screw up his battlefield computers and radar and electronics before the ground troops or helo's went it. As I understand it, EMP-T bombs are made for planes, and can also be launched from Howitzers and tanks. According to the manufactur- er, they can't be detected and leave a similar signature to that of a conventional nuclear blast. If there is such a thing as a conventional nuke."

"Who else knows about this," Tyrone asked. "The police?"

"You think the NYPD would know what to look for?" Scott said snidely. "Their bomb squad went home after the plastic explosive was found."

"Right. Forget where I was."

"Think about it," Scott mused out loud. "A bomb that destroys all of the computers and memory but leaves the walls standing."

"Didn't that a.s.shole Carter want to build a nuke that would only kill people but leave the city intact for the marauding invaders?

Neutron bombs, weren't they?"

"There's obviously nothing immoral about nuking computers," Scott pontificated. "It was all part of Star Wars. Reagan's Strategic Defense included attacking enemy satellites with EMP-T bombs.

Get all of the benefits and none of the fallout from a nuke.

There's no accompanying radiation."

"How easy is it to put one of the empty-things together?" Tyrone missed another 49'er touchdown.

"Today?" Scott whistled. "The ones I saw were big, clumsy affairs from the 70's. With new ceramics, and such, I would a.s.sume they're a lot smaller as the Stock Exchange proves. A wild guess? I bet that EMP-T is a garage project for a couple of whiz kids, or if the government orders them, a couple hundred thou each." Scott laughed at the absurdity of compet.i.tive bid- ding for government projects. Everyone knew the government paid more for everything. They would do a lot better with a VISA card at K-Mart.

"I think I better take a look," Tyrone hinted.

"I thought you would, buddy. Thought you would." Scott replied.

They returned to the game 12 seconds before half time. The gun went off. Perfect timing. Scott hated football. The only reason in his mind for the existence of the Super Bowl was to drink beer with friends and watch the commercials.

"s.h.i.+t," declared Tyrone. "I missed the whole d.a.m.ned second quar- ter." He grabbed another beer to comfort his disappointment.

"Hey," Scott called to Tyrone. "During the next half, I want to ask you something."

Tyrone came back into the Music Room snickering. "What the h.e.l.l is that in your bathroom?"

"Isn't that great?" asked the enthused Scott. "It's an automatic toilet seat."

"Now just what the devil is an automatic toilet seat? It pulls it out and dries it off for you?" He believed that Scott was kid- ding with some of his half baked inventions. That Scott subject- ed any of his guests to their intermittent functioning was cruel and inhuman punishment according to Tyrone.

"You're married with girls. Aren't they always on your case about the toilet seat?"

"I've been married 26 years," Tyrone said with pride. "I con- quered toilet seats on our honeymoon. She let me know right then that she was boss and what the price of noncompliance was."

"Ouch, that's not fair," Scott said in sympathy. "I sleep-p.i.s.s."

He held his hands out in front. "That's the only side effect from too much acid. Sleep p.i.s.sing."

Tyrone scrunched his face in disgust.

Scott spoke rapidly and loudly. "So for those of us who forget to lower the seat after use, for those who forget to raise the seat; for those who forget to raise the lid, Auto-s.h.i.+t." Ty had tried to ignore him, but Scott's imitation of a hyperactive cable shopping network host demanded that one at least hear him out.

Ty's eyes teared.

"Make that woman in your life happy today. No more mess, fuss or or morning arguments. No more complaints from the neighbors or the health department. Auto-s.h.i.+t. The toilet that knows your needs. The seat for the rest of us. Available in 6 designer colors. Only $49.95, Mastercard, VISA, No COD. Operators are standing by."

Tyrone fell over on his side laughing. "You are crazy, man.

Sleep p.i.s.sing. And, if you don't know it, no one, I mean no one in his right mind has five trash compactors." Tyrone waved his hand at Scott. "Ask me what you were gonna ask me."

"Off the record, Ty," Scott started, "how're the feds viewing this mess?"