Tyrant.
The name the three of us agreed on for the first variant of the Progenitor virus I synthesised.
Tyrant, like Nero.
In my nightmares Rome burns, but its fire is fanned not by oil, but by an explosion. An explosion that wipes out everything around it. Everything volatilises and nothing of life remains. In my nightmares, Rome burns because of the H-bomb.
Since Potsdam, I have not been able to resolve the dilemma I face as a member of the Western élite, as a husband, as a father and as a scientist. As a member of the Western élite, I am supposed to be loyal to the Crown and what it stands for. But what it stands for is quite different for me than it is for someone outside my social class. For me the Crown represents wealth and the privilege of nobility, it represents my origin as a descendant of the Stuarts, and it represents order as the upholder of the status quo. However, as a member of the Western élite, I am also supposed to be loyal to an idea; to the idea of modernity and progress against communism. I am supposed to be a supporter of a faction that possesses nuclear weapons against another faction that also possesses nuclear weapons. I am supposed to accept that Rome will burn.
As a scientist, my ego begs for first-hand knowledge of the effects of such a self-destructive prodigy. If what happened in Japan was a foretaste, I have not stopped pondering what it would be like to contemplate the effect of a more modern one. If mutual destruction is assured, I would at least, as a scientist, grant myself the whim of wonder.
But the scientific egotist in me eventually gives way to the indomitable force of blood. As a husband, my self-imposed duty, and not by reason of any sacrament, is to share a life with my wife. Someone to love and to turn to when the darkness of obfuscation overwhelms me. As a father, my duty is to raise my child to the best of my ability, and also to ensure the perpetuation of my lineage.
I have often thought about being a grandfather, and anguished myself by fantasising about what kind of world my grandson will live in. Whether it will be a peaceful world or one tamed by ashes.
I do not wish ruin for my future grandchild.
I do not wish for their suffering.
My bet to prevent the great fire of Rome is the Progenitor virus.
Progenitor will ensure that the nuclear beast hides in its lair. It will wage war with minimal casualties and minimal destruction. This is the only thing I can think of to benefit my future grandchild, who will have to take this baton for his future and for the future of our lineage.
For once I am dead, it will be up to you, future grandchild, to save Rome or burn it to the ground.
Until then, I remain vigilant.
Edward Ashford
Chapter End Notes
Potsdam Conference (1945).