This Is the Most Dangerous Object Ever Created

There has been conflict for as long as there have been people. While we might hope that in a millennium, we'll all have evolved into peaceful, hoverboard-riding people, killing one another over whatever arguments are hot this decade is inescapably going to be a fundamental aspect of our nature. The atomic bombs of the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki at the close of World War II were likely the most horrific acts of violence ever committed by humans against people. The codes for the weapons that unleashed this massive carnage were "little boy" and "fat man," respectively. They together claimed around two hundred thousand lives. It's common knowledge that these two bombs were crucial in bringing an end to World War II, but what may not be as well known is that they were almost a trio. While the world was still processing the extent of the destruction that a fat man and a small child had unleashed on Japan, another atomic weapon was being completed in Los Alamos, the home of the Manhattan Project. If Japan had not submitted to the allies on August 15, 1945, this third weapon was scheduled to be dropped on an unidentified Japanese city in just four days.

Tucked down in the middle of this nuclear explosion that never happened was a radioactive cable known as "Rufus." Don't worry if it seems a touch too adorable for a powerful nuclear weapon that can destroy a whole city—history has since given this 6.2 kg ball of plutonium a different name. This is the tale of the bomb known as the demon core, which murdered people even though it was never set off.

When Emperor Hirohito of Japan raised his white flag following the bombs of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, this chunk of plutonium that would come to be known as the Demon Core was no longer needed for its intended lethal purpose. However, this did not mean that it was unnecessary; on the contrary, since nuclear fission, the process that gives nuclear weapons their destructive power, was discovered less than ten years prior, the demon core was a piece of cutting-edge technology built on a completely unproven body of new science. The advancement of nuclear fission knowledge has significant ramifications for the whole human race.

Aside from the all too obvious drive to develop more powerful weapons, nuclear fission may also be used for less catastrophic purposes. Massive quantities of energy are released during the fission process, which happens when an atom's nucleus splits in two. A split atom releases energy as well as neutrons, some of which collide with other atoms to split them further and release even more energy and neutrons. A self-sustaining chain reaction that releases absolutely mind-boggling quantities of energy may be set off in the correct conditions. Approximately the same amount of energy may be produced by burning 4 billion kilos of coal as well as one kilogram of uranium.

The goal of Los Alamos' research on the demon core was to assist scientists better understand this amazing potential. An essential component of that study are the so-called criticality experiments, which are intended to pinpoint the precise circumstances under which a nuclear core would reach critical mass; the point at which a self-sustaining nuclear chain reaction occurs. The science was significant. To make sure your nuclear bombs detonate and your power plants don't, it's important to understand critical mass. However, the trials were also extremely risky since the only way to determine when the demon core would go supercritical was to push it to the brink of a catastrophic chain reaction. Although unintentionally starting such a reaction wouldn't always result in an explosion, it would release a deadly radiation wave. Famous physicist Richard Feynman once likened the Los Alamos critical mass tests to a story about a tikkalinga dragon. His message was quite clear: if you make a mistake, you will burn.

Although the Los Alamos scientists were fully aware of the risk, they were not circumspect individuals. Millions of lives were at stake as they had spent the preceding several years creating a weapon that might end the largest conflict in history on its own. Such risks create a sense of urgency, which makes it possible to compromise on things like safety protocols and best practices.

That haste should have subsided with the conclusion of the war, allowing for greater care, but, as Bruce Willis proved, old habits die hard. Now, when you envision scientists doing intricate research on very radioactive materials nowadays, you presumably picture hefty lead entrances painted in frightening symbols in yellow and black, as well as biohazard gear. Things were a little bit different in the 1940s. While moving the device's radioactive plutonium core, which would eventually power the device and be the first atomic bomb to explode on Earth, one could mistakenly believe that these guys were carrying a crate of booze into a dilapidated old truck in preparation for a party.

For example, after the war, Harry Daghlian was one of the scientists assigned to conduct criticality tests at Los Alamos. His approach was rather straightforward: he surrounded the center with a ring of bricks made of tungsten carbide that reflected neutrons. The result was to increase the rate of fission and push the core even closer to super criticality by deflecting escaping neutrons back towards it. The experiment was initially successful with each tungsten carbide block.

The core's fission was growing, according to Harry's lab instrument stack, but right before the core reached criticality, Harry Daghlian made a mistake and awakened the dragon. After determining that he had placed the maximum number of bricks made of tungsten carbide, Harry extended his hand to begin disassembling his neutron reflecting wall. Because he misaimed by one inch, he pushed the uppermost brick forward rather than up, causing it to fall right on top of the core and instantly becoming very critical.

Daghlian responded right quickly, snatching the misplaced block and throwing it aside. Although he moved quickly, it was insufficient since his body had already been hit by an intense burst of ionizing radiation that had destroyed his DNA. Acute radiation illness takes time to manifest its devastating cell-level damage; it does not kill you quickly. Flu-like symptoms, nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea are usually the first to appear. It's odd because at this stage, patients seem to pull together and show very few symptoms for a few hours or even weeks, but that's simply the quiet before the storm.

The precise course of events is contingent upon the radiation dosage absorbed; nonetheless, symptoms may comprise bewilderment, convulsions, tremors, blistering skin, hemorrhage, fever, and organ failure. Over the next twenty-five days, Harry Daghlian suffered his own horrible concoction of these symptoms, until at last he passed away. By doing this, he made history's first nuclear criticality accident death. Nine months later, as part of Operation Crossroads—the US's first post-nuclear war weapons testing, set to take place at Bikini Atoll in the middle of the Pacific Ocean—the demon core was ready for a new job.

The scientists at Los Alamos were eager to get as much information as they could from the demon core while they still had the opportunity, knowing that it would shortly disappear forever. More criticality trials were thus necessary. One might think that witnessing a colleague suffer a terrible death while performing one of these experiments would have sparked some very significant safety improvements at Los Alamos, but they didn't bother with any of that. Leading many of the criticality tests leading up to Operation Crossroads was Canadian physicist Louis Slotin, who was regarded as the world's foremost authority in teasing the dragon's tail.

Known for being a bit of a renegade among his Los Alamos coworkers, Slotin typically showed up for work wearing his signature blue denim and cowboy boots. He liked to be a little showy; therefore he especially liked to tell the dragon's story in front of others. Yes, that was incorrect in the first place. For the last criticality experiment before the demon core was carried off to the Pacific, seven more scientists attended; unlike Daghlian, who had surrounded the core with blocks made of tungsten carbide, Slotin housed it in two hemispheres of beryllium that reflected neutrons. The experiment ought to have been reasonably safe in principle.

The core would never become supercritical as long as there was always space between the two hemispheres. This is because enough neutrons could escape from the system. In order to do this, spacers were often used during the experiment to physically stop the beryllium hemispheres from colliding. However, Slotin's system didn't require gaps since he had created a screwdriver, a cutting-edge substitute of his own. Yes, as absurd as it may sound, all that separated Louis Slotten from the radioactive breath of the demon when he touched the dragon's tail was the slightest sound—that of a flathead screwdriver casually placed between the beryllium reflectors.

Slotin had conducted the experiment in this identical manner hundreds of times prior, despite the danger, but on May 21, 1946, precisely nine months to the day after Harry Daghlian had awakened the dragon, Slotin's screwdriver slipped. For a brief moment, the beryllium hemispheres came together to completely enclose the demon core, setting off a nuclear chain reaction inside. The demon core belched four times for a massive explosion of radiation, accompanied by a wave of heat and a burst of dazzling blue light. Louis Slotten responded quickly, separating the top hemisphere from the core, just as Harry Daghlian had done nine months before, but it was once more much too late.

The thought of what must have been going through Slotin's mind during those panicked moments is kind of horrifying. Not too many months had passed since he saw the horrific deaths of a colleague and friend in a similar incident, despite being one of the world's foremost authorities in the management of plutonium. Not only did he know precisely what he had done, but he also knew exactly what was going to happen next. In the instant aftermath of the event, Slotin spoke just four words: "Well, that does it," according to one of the other scientists there.

It is believed that Slotin was exposed to radiation at a dose that would have killed him four times over. Although Harry Daghlian had fought for over a month to survive, Louis Slotin passed away in just nine days, so in some respects it was a godsend. Regarding the other seven scientists present in the room at the time, their individual radiation doses were determined by their position when the event occurred.

Although you may think that anyone unfortunate enough to have been in the area was a walking dead man, radioactive emissions are controlled by the inverse square law, which means that the radiation strength rapidly decreases with distance from the source. After the event, no one except for Slotin had severe radiation illness; nonetheless, at least two of those there passed away from radiation-related causes years later. The demon core was ultimately just melted down and reintegrated into the US nuclear arsenal since the criticality accident that killed Slotin rendered it too radioactive to be utilized in the intended operation Crossroads.

This implies that it's quite likely that components of this deadly core are still hidden within other nuclear bombs in the US arsenal. When you consider it, there's a tragic irony to this already depressing tale: at the end of World War II, tree bombs were prepared to be dropped on Japan; the first one killed 140,000 people in Hiroshima, the second killed 80,000 in Nagasaki, and the third one killed two cautious scientists at Los Alamos, earning it the moniker "the demon core."