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Jackson is so proud of his grill work and he always is looking to find out what wine we brought. We should go." She spent the next hour in my arms on the couch. I felt like such a fool for worrying about the lack of sex, and felt like an even bigger ass for what I had done with Anne. As good as the sex was with her, I needed to end this as soon as possible. It wasn't worth my marriage to let my little head do the thinking for the big one. That evening we went to the party. A party is not an accurate description, because there were only four of us. Anne and Jackson were delighted to see Molly again, and there were no embarrassing moments with Anne and myself. Jackson loved the wine, as usual. He and I sat poolside enjoying one of Molly's red selections, a nice Cabernet from a relatively new vintner in the Napa area. She sure had a knack for finding the obscure, good wines. We had nearly finished our glasses when Jackson asked me if I would go inside to fetch the bottle. I said of. And it was through this combination of license and boredom that Lieutenant Stanislav Petrosian snuck a floppy disk into the heart of Mertvaya Ruka: the Dead Hand. Mertvaya Ruka was designed to succeed where a human might falter. If the Soviet High Command were obliterated in nuclear fire, its machine brain would whirr to life, awoken by sensors that detected the blast and the absence of any signals from the Kremlin. With only a single confirmation required from the humans who tended it, autonomously, inevitably, it would aim the hundreds of thermonuclear missiles under its command and launch them against the enemy, over the radioactive ruins of its dead masters, ensuring the death of tens of millions, even after the war had already been lost. That was the logic of MAD: mutually-assured destruction. The enemy would not strike first if they could not assure their own survival. Mertvaya Ruka made safety impossible. Even if a first strike decapitated the entire chain of command, the Dead.
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