World Peace and a Pony, Part 6 and Last.

At the D.C. office of Senator Bobby Smith, D-CA

"Mr. Smith?" said Bobby's intern from UCLA.

"Yeah, Steve?"

"Good luck in session."

"Thanks, and have a good Christmas. Are you headed back to Pasadena?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Well, I hope next semester goes well. And I'd be happy to write you a reference letter over the recess if you need it."

"Thanks, Mr. Smith. I'll call you."

And with that, Bobby left his office with a stack of notes, headed to meet in Congress for the last session of the year. This session, there was to be a vote on the Smith Treaty, a demilitarization bill that was the result of the biggest anti-war movement since Vietnam, a war that Bobby didn't ever know aside from school.

Things had changed drastically since Bobby wrote the letter to Santa. The United States was in an active arms race with Iran. There were literally missiles one click away from decimation of the entire Middle East should the President think it necessary.

Bobby, with the support of a few other senators, had drafted this radical and unpopular treaty calling for an immediate cease of production of long-range nuclear weapons, and gradual disarming of current nuclear weapons. The war-crazed Senate Majority Leader would have none of this peace talk, as he was completely convinced that Iran would not hesitate to fire at every major US city from San Diego to Seattle to Boston to Miami if the US budged an inch. He might have been right. But Bobby had an intercepted email conversation, telephone transcripts, and a carefully crafted closing speech that might prove that assumption wrong.

Cut to four hours later. The Senate was a zoo. The support of the treaty was at 38 votes and the opposition was at 41 votes, with 21 undecided.

After a long pause in the conversation, Bobby stepped forward to defend his treaty.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Senate." A long pause. "I drafted this treaty for one reason and one reason only. We, as a nation, as a people, as a population, could not withstand the devastation of a nuclear attack, an attack which we think is imminent.

"We have bombproof shelters, canned food, saran wrap and duct tape. We have drills in school, drills at home, and we have seen some truly terrifying machines of destruction take shape over the past few decades.

"We have made these preparations with the knowledge that if an attack is carried out on our shores, we will be able to live through it. We will at least live long enough to pull the trigger on our enemies, so they can suffer while we suffer and lay waste to each other's territories. We have hundreds of thousands of troops ready to be mobilized, we have the largest standing army on the face of the planet, we have a strong network of allies. Yet, if the unthinkable happened, what would we really be able to do?

"If we were to be bombed, then what good are our weapons? The only thing that they could do is devastate the other country. And no amount of damage dealt to our enemies can ever, ever undo the devastation of an attack on our own soil.

"This is why I have drafted the Treaty. It is not a total peace treaty, it is not a call to end all wars. It simply is a document that takes into account the multifaceted destruction of nuclear arms and concludes that the only rational protection against an attack is to get rid of nuclear arms.

"I am confident that if we sign this treaty, as several of our allies have vowed to, Iran and their allies will follow suit. That is what the intelligence suggests, and I am inclined to act on that intelligence.

"We do not have a ground war on our hands right now. We have a nuclear situation that is rapidly approaching its critical mass, and if no action is taken, it means nothing short of the end of the world.

"I was once told that war is an unfortunate reality that no one person can bring an end to. I have devoted my life to disproving that statement, but I realized in my career as a senator that this is true. There are two parties in any given conflict. But if neither one lays down their weapons, it will always be a conflict.

"This treaty is not a surrender, because even if we do not back down there is still no way to win. We can either stay in this game, forcing a stalemate until someone gets anxious and fires, or we can walk away from the board altogether.

"There is no way to guarantee the success of this treaty. We can guarantee its failure, but the cost of that is too high to risk. On that note, I think we ought to conclude this discussion and decide. It's the last night of this session. We will go home to our families for some time off. But I know I won't be resting easy. This problem doesn't go on recess. If we do not change our path, then we have no choice but to accept the consequences of our current actions."

The last sentence echoed through the hall for what seemed like hours.

It was too nerve-wracking for Bobby to bear. He clutched an old letter in his sweaty palm as the vote was counted. By a vote of 51-48, with one present, The Smith Treaty was signed by the United States Senate.

Within the next day, Russia had signed the treaty as well. Then came Pakistan, followed by Egypt and Germany.

Over two-thirds of the world's nuclear powers ratified the treaty within the next week. Iran, however, was still absent.

Day after day, the department of defense watched satellite imaging constantly, waiting for any sign of a launched warhead. It never came.

One day in January, while the nation was still waiting ill at ease, Iran's Prime Minister released the following statement:

After much debate, the Republican Parliament of Iran has voted in favor of ratifying the Smith Treaty in the hope that it will allow for the development of a strengthened international community. The Parliament would like to make it clear that it hoped to never use its warheads, but felt threatened by international pressures to conform to disagreeable standards. We appreciate the actions of the United States in easing the climate of violence that has swept up all nations in these past years.

Bobby read this and nearly fainted.

And at the North Pole, Nicholas S. Claus took out a letter from 2008, and felt the most proud he had for years. Where years before, old teardrops had bled the ink of the letter, new ones seemed to restore the hopefulness and strength to the brittle and bruised plea.