Perhaps it was the extra mug of synthbeer the recruiters gave Melvin.  Perhaps it was the chance to leave the massive cube called a cityment that he had spent his entire life in.  Perhaps it was the promise of adventure in the army.  Most likely, Melvin enlisted because he was unable to say no to anyone in authority.  Whatever the reason, Melvin found himself on a hoverbus en route to a basic training camp within an hour of putting his name on a piece of paper.

Regimentation did not bother Melvin.  He had already been living in an environment where every moment of his day was planned by the cityment leaders.  What he did find disturbing was the alien feeling of sun on his skin.  Like everything else in his life, however, he adjusted to this the first day, then did not ever think about it again.

Life in the camp was a series of evaluations.  One by one, the recruits would be sent to a specialized training facility.  Except Melvin.  The day finally came when the last of his fellow recruits, having failed every test to that point, finally showed aptitude in the mop and broom practical exam.  Melvin continued his daily routine, blissfully incapable of realizing his level of incompetence.

One day, about a week after his solitary life in the barracks began, Melvin was called to the commander’s office.

“Sit down”, private, said the colonel.  “I have been looking at your record.  You have failed every diagnostic test the army has devised.  You are totally lacking in imagination, initiative and intelligence.  You have no introspective ability and cannot plan past your next meal.  In short, you are exactly what the army needs.”

Had the colonel spoken a word that was not true, Melvin would have been enraged.  Since the colonel had nailed his man, Melvin had no more reaction than if the colonel had said, “Private, you are wearing black socks”.

“Tomorrow you will start your training,” continued the officer.  “We have thousands of soldiers in hundreds of occupational specialties.  They range all the way from communications to intelligence to planning to procurement..well, you get the idea,” he said to Melvin, who predictably did not get the idea.

“What we do not have is a combat soldier, one to actually do the fighting.  That will be you.  Our military might is invested in a single machine.  One so powerful that no nation on earth would contemplate attacking us.  There is a problem with it.  Once activated, it must be unstoppable.  There must be no recall, no changing of minds, if it is to be an effective deterrent.  If it is started from the outside, it is possible that a way could be devised by an enemy to turn it off.  If it is started from the inside, a rogue operator could disable it before escaping.  Therefore, the man who starts it must be someone totally unable to even contemplate disobeying orders, who does not even understand that starting it will be his death sentence.  You fit the bill perfectly, private.”

Melvin then started his intensive training.  He was introduced to a simulator for the army’s weapon.  It consisted of a chair with a panel in front of it.  On the panel was a single red button.  The sole action required of him was to wait until he had been sealed into the machine, then push the button when he was given the code words “push the button”.

Over the next few years, Melvin was assigned to numerous bases.  His tasks were few, mainly showing up at the mess hall for meals.  Once a year, he was transported to the simulator to rehearse his vital role in the next war. 

Inevitably, the dreaded day arrived.  Melvin was awakened from a deep sleep and loaded onto a ramrocket for his short flight to his rendezvous with history.  A general accompanied Melvin to the entrance to his craft.  They entered the cramped quarters that would be Melvin’s very temporary quarters. 

“I’m proud of you, private,” said the high ranking officer.  “I envy you and I salute you.  I have one more thing for you.  After you activate the weapon, take this capsule.  It will grant you a merciful end, since there is no way you can ever exit your assignment.  Goodbye and give them hell, soldier!”

Melvin heard the clanging of numerous hatches, closed and sealed forever.  A few minutes later, he heard the fateful command, “push the button”.  He complied and deep within the massive framework, relays were tripped, circuits closed, motors engaged.  Then a cooling fan that had been incorrectly wired allowed an overheated wire to melt which led to a small fire in a critical panel and the unstoppable weapon stopped, becoming the world’s most dangerous junkpile.

Melvin knew nothing about this, of course.  Sealed in the most high tech mausoleum in history, he tried to remember what the general had told him before he left, and realized he had something in his hand.  It was the capsule.  He put it in his mouth and swallowed it.  For probably the first, and certainly the last, time in his life, Melvin wondered about something.

“How odd,” he thought.  “The capsule was green, but it tasted like chocolate.  Why did they make chocolate green?”