Young Writers Society

I felt it was my need to address certain issues which had been made about this story, mostly formatting and grammatical problems. Blame that one on the fact that it was the second post i made on this sight. And everyone makes mistakes, don't they? No amendments have been made to the narrative or dialogue.

One more criticism which was made was that certain readers did not realise that this is based on actual events, meaning the full significance of what was trying to be conveyed went unrealised. If the reader remains confused at the end of this story, I sugget typing the name "J. Robert Oppenheimer" into Wikipedia. It should become clearer after this.

Enjoy

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you

As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;

That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend

Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

John Donne, Holy Sonnet XIV

“No one is under any illusions; after this everything will be different.”

“But nothing is meant to remain the same, Robert; it is for Man alone to shape his destiny. It is up to him to usher in the new epoch of his development; his evolution.”

“Perhaps, Leslie; but at this cost?”

At this stage, neither man felt compelled to conform to any cordial formalities; at this stage they simply didn’t matter. Titles like “Doctor” or “General” are inconsequential - simple words incapable of standing up to the inconceivable energy about to be unleashed. And after all, by breakfast, there may be no one left to utter such words again.

Dawn spilled across the desert, and with it came the shrill, blustering enunciation of thunder. The frightening event was smothered across their expressions, their spines still chilled by the riotous boom echoing in the heavens. And as he looked out the rectangular window, General Groves saw the gods careening through the skies, their chariots rumbling as lightening grumbled and diminished in significance. At 4:45 a.m, a technician entered the room, stating that the crucial weather report was favorable. "They have, at last seceded to Man’s will" he thought, knowing that the time of the gods to relinquish their dominion over the world had now come.

A clock on the wall read 4:51 a.m and underneath it, the date: July 16th. "How many hours has it been now since I’ve slept?" Robert wondered as he tapped his fingers on the desk, where he sat facing the man opposite. "Shall I ever sleep again?" As Groves struck a match and lit a cigar, Robert’s gaze was transfixed by the flame, and in its searing light he found Prometheus dancing. Encapsulated in the flame, Robert found a stream of thoughts which seemed to have been leading up to this very point in history: his tenure at Cavendish Laboratory, graduating from the University of Göttingen, an entire lifetime culminating in this instant. His memories - innumerable images, now without time or space - blurred into a singular cohesive mass, expanding outwards only to envelop his thoughts, annihilating everything but this moment. And as he tried to recall a lifetime's worth of achievements, Robert realized, in that singular moment, that it had all be in vain. The match fell to the ground, its flame extinguished under Groves heel. As he stared, Robert couldn’t help but smirk at the vulgar display of power, a pompous imitation of control.

“They’ll remember you for this, for what you are about to achieve here today.” Groves dragged deeply on his cigar, clouds of smoke and carcinogenic ash billowing around his head.

“Of that, I have no doubt.” replied Robert. “All I can wonder of now, however, is the manner in which history shall record my name: in glory or disgrace.”

A look of bemusement washed across Groves face. “I don’t know if I’ll ever understand you, Robert. You’ve spent so many years working on this project, countless hours striving towards the enhancement and progression of all mankind, why you’re possibly the only person who can’t see the genius behind the work you’re doing.”

Robert’s face maintained a complexion marred by anguish, a frown suspended by perturbed hindsight. “I once thought,” Robert began, “that in Science, man could find a way to understand, and eventually control, the force of Nature. In his endeavors Man strove to become more than he was… it is only now that I understand this to be the dream of an idealist. Somewhere along the line I lost my respect for that force, and I can now only pray that this mistake has not led us towards a cul-de-sac, culminating in mankind’s demise… it strikes me as quiet befitting that this path leads to the Jornada del Muerto… if you can appreciate that kind of irony, General, then surely you can understand the perils inherent in this double edged sword we now wield… whether we like it or not, my fear is that it is now too late to yield its terrible power.”

Groves looked on in fascination. “But isn’t upheaval inherent in the nature of scientific discovery? The world did not transform from a flat body to a spherical one overnight, such a development was too grand in its magnitude simply to be accepted at face value.”

“Yes, but when the world gained its third dimension, the transformation didn’t threaten to wipe out the planet in the process… who can honestly say what manner of repercussions this experiment will have on mankind’s development, or its history, or economics… indeed every aspect of his future. I don’t know if I have authority to claim responsibility for such actions… perhaps no one has that power.”

Groves could not help but look at his friend with fascination; while listening to his words he could not comprehend their deeper meaning. “You know,” said Groves, “Fermi offered a wager on whether or not the blast would end up igniting the atmosphere. Kistiakowsky's wagered a month pay that it wouldn’t work at all.”

“I know,” replied Robert, “I bet him ten dollars that it would.” A somber smile crawled across his face.

The door opened slowly and a soldier entered the room, saluting the general. “Sir, the other technicians are leaving for the bunkers now.”

“Very good… well then Robert, I‘ll see you on the other side.” After shaking hands, the pair left the room and entered the dull July morning with General Groves taking his transport back to the base camp.

And as he considered the brilliant, neon horizon of the new morning, Oppenheimer’s eyes perceived the field of Kurukshetra, and in its timeless folly he heard Vishnu in the sky, chanting his persistent mantra to Arjuna, reminding him never to neglect the interminable, destiny meant only for him; his duty.