"You said there were several committees, didn't you?" Pat questioned him. "Have you any idea what other plans were made?"
"There are many lines of attack open," the Chief replied. "The Departments of Agriculture of our countries have been working on B.W. for some time, as it concerns plants and animals. If we could ruin Russian crops or kill their animals it might force them to capitulate from starvation. The weather experts are studying ways of doing the same thing by droughts, storms and so on. And of course the physicists think of such things as causing radioactive clouds over Siberia. The trouble is, we don't want to make the Reds suspicious too soon, or give them an excuse for starting all-out atomic warfare, or even so-called conventional war. Our people are close to extinction now, with only ten million breeding males. It seems like a lot but unless they are protected, we are finished."
"What's to be done about this sterility problem?" Polly spoke up.
"There's bound to be a lot of discussion and some bitter arguments on that," Hallam smiled at her. "There are about thirty million women of childbearing age in the United States and Canada, of whom roughly twenty million might be from sweet sixteen to a very desirable thirty or so," he grinned at the girls as he talked and they laughed.
"O.K. that's us," Polly said, "the or-so gals."
Hallam continued, "And only ten million more or less desirable but presumably still potent males from say eighteen to fifty or so." He saw Pat's mischievous smile and added, "Yes, that's me." He went back to his thesis. "Only five million of these would be of compatible age to marry the younger women, assuming nobody is married right now. If we could forget age differences, it means one man to every three women of childbearing age. The problem is much more complicated, as you can imagine, since many of these fertile men are already married and many more women, who could bear children, are married to sterile males. If we were Muslims or old-time Mormons, it might be possible to start harems of fertile people but with our present customs that's impossible."
"Rough on the sterile males," I said smugly, "but mighty nice for the rest. What are we going to do—wear a badge or something?" I stopped in sudden realization; Harry had had the flu. He sat there silently, his face impassive. The only thing to do was to carry on.
"Get that smirk off your face," Pat ordered. "You aren't a free agent any more."
"Sometimes I envy you real bachelors, Chief," I said, and sighed deeply in mock despair.