O’Toole never fully comprehended what exactly was meant by the expres­sion “quadratic prime.” However, he did understand, and was fascinated by, the fact that the string 41, 43,47, 53, 61, 71, 83,97, where each successive number was computed by increasing the difference from the previous num­ber by two, resulted in exactly forty consecutive prime numbers. The se­quence of primes ended only when the forty-first number in the string turned out to be a nonprime, namely 41 X 41 = 1681. This little known piece of information O’Toole had shared only one time in his life, with his wife Kathleen on her forty-first birthday, and he had received such a lacklus­ter response that he had never told anybody about it again,

But it was perfect for his secret code, particularly if he disguised it prop­erly. To build his fifty-digit number, General O’Toole first constructed a sequence of forty-one digits, each coming from the sum of the first two digits in the corresponding term in the special quadratic prime sequence beginning with 41. Thus “5” was the initial digit, representing 41, followed by “7” for 43, “1” for 47 (4 + 7 = 11 and then truncate), “8” for 53, etc. O’Toole next scattered the numbers of the two birthdates using an inverse Fibonacci sequence (34, 21,13,8, 5, 3, 2,1,1) to define the locations of the nine new integers in the original forty-one-digit string.

It was not easy to commit the sequence to memory, but the general did not want to write it down and carry it with him to the activation process. If his code were written down, then anyone could use it, with or without his permission, and his option to change his mind again would be precluded. Once he had rememorized the sequence, O’Toole destroyed all his computa­tions and went to the dining room to have breakfast with the rest of the cosmonauts.

“Here’s a copy of my code for you, Franceses, and one for you, Irina, and the final one goes to Hiro Yamanaka. Sorry, Janos,” Admiral Heilmann said with a big smile, “but I’m all out of bullets. Maybe General O’Toole will let you enter his code into one of the bombs.”

“It’s all right, Herr Admiral,” Janos said wryly. “Some privileges in life I can do without.”

Heilmann was making a big production out of activating the nuclear weapons, He had had his fifty-digit number printed out multiple times and had enjoyed explaining to the other cosmonauts how clever he had been in the conception of his code. Now, with uncharacteristic flair, he was allowing the rest of the crew to participate in the process.

Franceses loved it. It was definitely good television. It occurred to O’Toole that Francesca had probably suggested such a staging to Heilmann, but the general didn’t spend much time thinking about it. O’Toole was too busy being astonished by how calm he himself had become. After his long and agonizing soul-searching, he was apparently going to perform his duty with­out qualms.

Admiral Heilmann became confused during the entering of his code (he admitted that he was nervous) and temporarily lost track of where he was in his sequence. The system designers had foreseen this possibility and had installed two lights, one green and one red, right above the numerical key­boards on the side of the bomb. After every tenth digit one of the two lights would illuminate, indicating whether or not the previous decade of code was a successful match. The safety committee had expressed concern that this “extra” feature compromised the system (it would be easier to decrypt five ten-digit strings than one fifty-digit string), but repeated human engineering tests prior to launch had shown that the lights were necessary.

At the end of his second decade of digits, Heilmann was greeted by the flashing red light. “I’ve done something wrong,” he said, his embarrassment obvious.

“Louder,” shouted Francesca from where she was filming. She had neatly framed the ceremony so that both the weapons and the pods appeared in the picture.

“I’ve made a mistake,” Admiral Heilmann proclaimed. “All this noise has distracted me. I must wait thirty seconds before I can start again.”

After Heilmann had successfully completed his code, Dr. Brown entered the activation code on the second weapon. He seemed almost bored; cer­tainly he didn’t push the keyboard with anything approaching enthusiasm. Irina Turgenyev activated the third bomb. She made a short but passionate comment underscoring her belief that the destruction of Rama was abso­lutely essential

Neither Hiro Yamanaka nor Francesca said anything at all. Francesca, however, did impress the rest of the crew by doing her first thirty digits from memory. Considering that she had supposedly never seen Hermann’s code until an hour earlier, and had not been alone for more than two minutes since then, her feat was quite remarkable.

Next it was General O’Toole’s turn. Smiling comfortably, he walked easily up to the first weapon. The other cosmonauts applauded, both showing their respect for the general and acknowledging his struggle. He asked everyone please to be quiet, explaining that he had committed his whole sequence to memory. Then O’Toole entered the first decade of digits.

He stopped for a second as the green light flashed. In that instant an image flashed into his mind of one of the frescoes on the second floor of the shrine of St. Michael in Rome. A young man in a blue robe, his eyes uplifted to the heavens, was standing on the steps of the Victor Emmanuel Monu­ment, preaching to an appreciative multitude. General O’Toole beard a voice, loudly and distinctly. The voice said “No.”

The general spun around quickly. “Did anybody say anything?” he said, staring at the other cosmonauts. They shook their heads. Befuddled, O’Toole turned back to the bomb. He tried to remember the second decade of digits. But it was no good. His heart was racing at breakneck speed. His mind kept saying, over and over again, What was that voice? His resolve to perform his duty had vanished.

Michael O’Toole took a deep breath, turned around again, and walked across the huge bay. When he passed his stunned colleagues he heard Admi­ral Heilmann yell, “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to my room!” O’Toole said without breaking stride.

“Aren’t you going to activate the bombs?” Dr. Brown said behind him.

“No,” replied General O’Toole. “At least not yet”

General O’Toole stayed in his room the rest of the day. Admiral Heilmann dropped by about an hour after O’Toole’s failure to enter his code. After some meaningless small talk (Heilmann was terrible at that sort of thing), the admiral asked the all-important question.

“Are you ready to proceed with the activation?”

O’Toole shook his head. “I thought I was this morning, Otto, but…” There was no need for him to say anything more.

Heilmann rose from his chair. “I’ve given orders for Yamanaka to take the first two bullets to the passageway inside Rama. They’ll be there by dinner if you change your mind. The other three will be left in the bay for the time being.” He stared at his colleague for several seconds. “I hope you come to your senses before too much longer, Michael. We’re already in deep trouble at headquarters.”

When Francesca came in with her camera two hours later, it was clear from her choice of words that the attitude toward the general, at least among the remaining cosmonauts, was that O’Toole was suffering from acute ner­vous tension. He wasn’t being defiant. He wasn’t making a statement. None of the rest of the crew could have tolerated those alternatives, because they would all look bad by association. No, it was obvious that there was some­thing wrong with his nerves.

“I’ve told everyone not to bother you with calls,” Francesca said compas­sionately as she glanced around the room, her television mind already fram­ing the images of the coming interview. “The phones have been ringing like crazy, especially since I sent down the tape from this morning.” She walked over to his desk, checking the objects on its top. “Is this Michael of Siena?” Francesca asked, picking up the small statue.