Kenton
Kenton
Benjamin Trayne
To his students, the instructor looked just a bit crazy. “This evening, I'm actually going to teach. It will be a lesson you may not recall for...very long.” The sociology professor smiled, an odd, convoluted smile. It was an early fall class at a university in Nevada.
His smile was the first any of his students had ever seen from him. Usually somber and always hopelessly unattractive, the balding, middle-aged man had an uncommonly high forehead, a pug nose, a receding chin and the scar from a harelip. His eyes looked like they were set too close-together and his eyebrows were practically non-existent. All of this was topped off with thick wire-rimmed bifocals that were grossly oversized for his face. The combination produced a countenance of unearthly appearance that bordered on the grotesque.
The professor's voice was medium in pitch, but nasally and cracked as he spoke. He continued, “I have a scenario to describe, upon which our discussion this evening will be based.”
Immediately a young woman in the front row raised a hand.
“Yes?” The professor was obviously annoyed by the early interruption.
“Dr. Richter, will there be a test on this?”
The professor actually smiled again, this time exposing tiny, yellowed teeth. “No,” he responded, simply. “Let's just listen, discuss, and learn.”
He began.
“Kenton was an electronics engineer, and a damned good one. In fact, Kenton was a genius. But like many people of his extensive talent and high intelligence, he was, in fact, a little different. Some would have said he was socially maladjusted, while others wouldn't have been that kind about it. To Kenton, he simply didn't fit in, and that was all.
If only people might have learned to 'live and let live'. If only they could simply have agreed to coexist. Of course, they didn't. Humanity has warred against itself since there were enough humans to carry it out.
Kenton's high level of expertise earned him a position working in tactical nuclear defense communications. His first day on the job, he was like a sixteen-year-old trying to drive a car for the first time. Like a kid, he couldn't believe he suddenly had so much capability at his fingertips. In fact, he was never supposed to have it. But Kenton only had to look to see an easy way through all of the fail-safes. Eventually, all of the key switches, lockouts, and code entry stations admitted an authorization to the same, single point. Once the signal had reached that point, a launch would still be prevented by the absence of triplicate confirming entries from another source. If those coded entries were in place, the strike would be initiated. Of course, a strike by the United States would bring about a rapid response. In all probability, if there were survivors, it would still be a very long time before there would be any more warring.
So Kenton set about wiring up his own little system. It certainly wasn't because he intended to use it. He simply did it, because he could. Essentially, the connections he made hop-scotched the lockouts and were capable of feeding an instruction to launch, directly to missile silos. At the other end, however, the confirmations needed to be in place for the system to actually be deployed. And to prevent tampering, the system had been hard-wired separately. There was no access to it via Kenton's system. But for Kenton, who understood intuitively the objective and therefore what would be used to accomplish it, it was just another puzzle to be solved. In the event that a strike had already occurred, there had to be a way to launch from a single location, since the confirmation codes might never be forthcoming. Ergo. It was nothing more than another lockout.
So, one day while carrying out his routine checks, Kenton ran a test of his system, and was able to confirm that he could indeed initiate a full-bore, full-scale nuclear strike, launching nearly everything that was ground-based. He wouldn't do it, of course. The result would be, to most, unthinkable.”
The professor strode from his lectern to the whiteboard at the front of the classroom.
“So let's assume that Kenton has had a bad week, and he comes to work heavily depressed. Remember that he's a social outcast. He realizes that his emotional condition, with the wrong stimulus, could be dangerous. He resolves to remove and to destroy his system to eliminate any possibility of having an accident with it. An appropriate cautionary move, is it not? But then, as he is preparing to remove the first of the twelve connections, a co-worker comes by and begins hurling insults and epithets at him. Instead of removing that first connection, Kenton throws a series of three switches, and initiates a nuclear holocaust.”
“Now let's examine Kenton's motivations. What could have driven him to carry out this project of his, to begin with?”
A young man spoke up. “You noted that he did it, just because he could.”
“True. But it's never that simple. Somewhere in his subconscious there had to have been something more. A system like he built, doesn't just fall together. And it had to be undetectable. Otherwise, if discovered, he might have been imprisoned for a very long time. Probably for life.”
One young man, a football player, was seated near the center of the classroom. He looked very concerned, his chin resting on a fist, and he was frowning. He said nothing. Dr. Richter was drawing a chart on the whiteboard.
“Let's investigate. On this side we have a list of human characteristics that are generally considered positives. On this side, are all of the stimuli that might have caused the subject to act, and to react as he did.”
“I don't understand.” Another young woman in the class, looking on, seemed incredulous. “None of the stimuli you've listed are positives. Nobody receives all negatives. Nobody is that unfortunate. Nobody is treated like that.”
Dr. Richter whirled. “Oh! But they are, missy! I can attest to that!” The professor's abrupt change in demeanor startled everyone. All could easily see that he was suddenly trembling with anger.
The big, quiet football player finally spoke in a soft baritone. He was in a more relaxed position now, sitting back in his chair, his fist now a hand, with one finger on his chin. “Your name is Kenton, isn't it, professor?”
“Yes!” Discovered, the professor merely straightened his glasses and glared at the class in general. Near-blinded with anger, he hadn't even seen which of them had spoken.
The same young man spoke again. "What have you done, Dr. Richter? What do you want to tell us?"
The professor was starting to calm a bit, but his voice quavered as he answered, “Nothing!”
The young man stood, stepped behind his own chair and leaned forward, his hands on his student desk. His eyes were now transfixed on the professor's face. “I have a certain ability, Dr. Richter. My mother explained to me when I was yet a child, certain of our family members have the gift of discernment. In fact, it isn't possible to lie to me. I know, without doubt, that you were, in fact, in your subject's shoes. I'm quite sure of it.”
“Well, I'm truly impressed!” The professor's words dripped with haughty sarcasm.
“So tell us what you've done.”
“I'll tell you nothing!! You'll find out like all the rest!”
“Come now! Professor! If you didn't want to tell someone, you never would have attempted to launch this 'discussion'.”
There was an elongated moment of silence. The mood in the room had become extremely tense. Every student, save for the one addressing Dr. Richter, was on the edge of his seat.
The professor drew a long breath, exhaled and visibly calmed. “You know, you're right. Jon, isn't it?”
“That's correct,” said Jon.
“There's nothing that could be done to change it anyway, Jon. As it is said, the die has been cast.”
Jon replied, “Explain, please.”
Another male student had become alarmed and couldn't bear the suspense. “C'mon, Jon, he's no electronics engineer! He's a sociologist! This is bullshit! I'm dropping this fucking course!”
“Au contraire!” The professor seemed to have himself under control again. “I hold seven doctorates, each in a different field. Seven! I speak twelve languages and have written nine scholarly books. And I was, in fact, an electronics engineer in the eighties.” He then changed direction unexpectedly. “Here,” he said, “let me show you.”
The professor erased the whiteboard and began to draw schematic diagrams. The circuits were hastily sketched, but clearly reflected extensive understanding of solid-state electronics. “Not to bore you with the 'hows', the construct shown here will completely fool and effectively bypass any of the comparatively primitive lockouts installed in the nineteen-sixties!”
“So. You didn't initiate a launch in the eighties. Why not?” Jon was now seated on the front edge of his desk, his arms folded, watching the professor.
“Because I wasn't sure it would be necessary!” The professor turned and glared at Jon. “At that time, there were some hopeful signs. I decided to give it a little time. I wanted to see progress. I really did!”
“But now?” Jon was sure something was up, and it was about to go down.
“That's right. Now.” The professor paused for maximum effect. “Tonight...is the last night of the world.” Several gasps were to be heard from around the classroom.
“Well, you're on a roll, doctor, please tell us how that's going to occur.” As Jon spoke, three students got up from different points in the classroom, and exited.
“Well,” the professor replied, checking his watch, “in about six minutes, a thirty-year timer will finally time out. At that point, approximately sixteen hundred weapons will be launched in close order. The response should be on its way in under another twelve minutes. But that won't kill everyone. The nuclear winter that will initiate within about a week, will. That phenomenon has been grossly underestimated. Temperatures will be, not much higher than those encountered in outer space. Hundreds of degrees below zero. For years.”
More students rose and left.
“Six minutes!” Jon was incredulous. “You won't even have time to save yourself!”
Dr. Richter checked his watch. “Four and a half. What would be the point of that?” He tipped his head to one side while shaking it in the negative. “Life on this planet is finished! It's over! Done!”
“Kenton Richter!” A female adult student stood up in the rear of the classroom. “You are nothing but a crazy old bastard! You will be dealt with! I'll be in the administrative offices in the morning, to file a formal complaint!”
“Go ahead,” he replied. “If you can make it there, you'll find they won't be having office hours.”
“You know,” he mused, “The United States actually had an opportunity to buy the Soviets' weapons. We could have disarmed them, and then disarmed ourselves. But no. We could even have afforded to unilaterally disarm, which would have stopped the progression, softened hostilities. But, no, again. We might have spent half the money wasted on building these mighty weapons to obliterate our enemies, and instead, used it to cure every disease known to mankind. Then we might have created a new destiny, there might have actually been hope for the species. But...no-no-no. All people know how to do, is hate. And lie. And cheat. And steal. And rape. And enslave. Humans are the worst creatures in existence. If I could have destroyed all of humanity and spared the rest of nature, I surely would have. Perhaps, if the cockroaches actually do survive, their evolved society will be better. Surely it couldn't be worse.”
“Let me tell you what's going to happen to you, first!” Jon's face now reflected a sincere anger. He stood, extending a straightened arm to point at the professor. “You will have robbed me, and everyone on an entire planet, of their futures! At the first sign of an ICBM leaving a missile silo, over there in the northeastern sky, I will make you pay for it, in ways you never could have imagined. It will be an advance payment, collected for my mother, and my father, and my little sister. And for my older sister and her husband, and their little boy. And when I'm finished with you...” Jon paused, and produced a folding knife from his jeans pocket. “...I will gut you like a pig!”
From the back of the room, another male student sang out, “Class dismissed!” and headed for the door. The entire classroom began to empty into the hallway, save for one sociology professor and one very large, very angry young man, who was now beginning to move toward him.
Outside, a crowd was already beginning to gather on the sidewalk. The bright, fiery yellow-orange trail of a missile exhaust arced into darkened skies to the northeast. Within seconds, another began to rise, a bit further behind it. Then, another, and another. A deep rumble began to grow and build until it thundered between the campus buildings, shaking the ground and rattling windows.
A nineteen-year-old girl and her boyfriend, both from Dr. Richter's class, now stood and watched the huge rockets rise. She looked up at him with an innocent face and said, simply, “Hold me?” He did.
From two floors up and through an open window, piercing, tormented screams came, once, and again, and again, and again. Over the thunder of rising weapons of mass destruction, no one noticed.