The Complete Short Stories: The 1960s (Part 1) (The Brian Aldiss Collection)

by Brian Aldiss

  As the man talked, I stared out of the window. We moved with unconscionable slowness, though Northleech’s driver took short cuts when he could. Trafalgar Square was crowded, and not only with soap-box orators. A figure in a white cassock was holding a service on the steps of St Martin’s-in-the-Fields. Down the Strand, traffic was entirely at a standstill. We detoured round Covent Garden, to squeeze into a Fleet Street almost as crowded.

  In contrast to the sightseers round the Park, people here looked grave. Outside a Civil Defence recruitment booth, both men and women queued. The military was out in strength; a column of light tanks added to the traffic congestion. I thought of the other grey old capitals of Europe, members of the same dying yet grand order, all teetering on the brink of annihilation.

  Bawtrey shuffled up another piece of paper as we approached Ludgate Circus.

  ‘Dame reaffirms Sark’s neutrality,’ he read disgustedly, screwing it up. ‘And here’s one more in your line, Minister. Deputy Supreme Commander of NATO, General Gavin T. Schuller, was assassinated within the last twenty-five minutes by David Woolf, described as a member of the British Communist Party. Members of the Special Police shot Woolf before he could escape. Fighting is still –’

  He paused. Someone visible to us only as a torso tapped Bawtrey’s shoulder and handed him a fresh communiqué. He read it out slowly, squinting now and again at Northleech as he did so.

  ‘Here’s one for the general circuits. Sounds like big stuff. Seems they finally got through to Washington and Ottawa. This one’s datelined Washington and reads: “Mr Martin Mumford, President of the United States, will make a special address to the world at 1500 hours, British Summer Time, today.” That’s in about twenty-eight minutes’ time. “This address will transcend in importance any previous statement ever made by a US President.” Hm, some billing. “It is of the utmost importance that the largest possible audience in all countries sees and hears the President speak.” Sounds as if the Martians have stepped in, doesn’t it?’

  ‘That will be all, thank you, Bawtrey,’ Northleech said, obviously disapproving such facetiousness. As he switched off, the bearded man picked up his cup, swigged it and faded into nothing. The set folded neatly back into its compartment

  The traffic thinned; we accelerated along the last stretch of the way, and the Tower swung into sight ahead. The bright dress uniforms had gone. Light tanks had replaced the sentry-boxes. Everything was handled efficiently. Northleech produced a pass for the guard officer, which was okayed. Nevertheless, we and the driver had to climb out and be searched for fire-arms, while two plain-clothes men simultaneously examined our vehicle.

  They gave us clearance in about forty-five seconds, saluting us as we drove on under Byward Tower with a guard riding beside the driver.

  We drove over to the Queen’s House and climbed out. I followed Northleech inside. Another guard stationed by a wooden staircase was replacing the receiver on a handphone as we entered; the main gate had warned him we were about to arrive. He flicked over a switch normally concealed behind oak panelling.

  The wooden staircase hinged at the sixth step up, yawning open to reveal a flight of carpeted stone stairs descending underground. Motioning to me, Northleech started down them, his untidy white hair fluttering round his head in the warm updraught of air.

  I recognised that smell of canned air, sweet with disinfectant. It reminded me of the underground HQ of my department in Hyde Park during World War II. This was a much more elaborate and larger subterranean system. At the bottom of the stairs was a chain of three airlocks giving one on to each other, their indicators all at a neutral green. They opened on to a large circular space, well-lit but almost deserted. Here stood a magazine and paper stall, a tobacconist’s, and a café, all open. Piped music played softly. I noticed other stairs leading down into this foyer.

  Without hesitation, Northleech led over to a central block of lifts, a row of perhaps a dozen of varying sizes, each with an ancient male attendant waiting by the doors. We entered the nearest.

  ‘Level X,’ Northleech said crisply.

  Glancing at me with a sly humour, he remarked, ‘You see the government hasn’t been entirely unprepared for emergencies.’

  ‘Every man for himself,’ I replied.

  It was an express lift. I climbed out at the bottom feeling slightly sick. For a second we had been in free fall.

  Here was a maze of corridors, with many people moving fast with set faces. After some slight confusion and a word or two of barked argument, Northleech got us into an anteroom, where a smartly formidable secretary left us, returning in two minutes.

  While he was out of the room, Northleech said, ‘I know this man, this secretary. Obviously Menhennick is still in full control. We’ll have to watch our step until we see how the land lies. Agreed?’

  ‘It seems inevitable.’

  ‘Keep it that way. We don’t want trouble if it can be avoided.’

  ‘Spoken in character, Minister.’

  ‘Don’t be a bloody fool, Simon. You’re out of your depth and you know it.’

  The secretary, returning, said, ‘The PM’s with the Indian Premier and other Commonwealth gentlemen. You may go in, but don’t intrude.’

  We went in.

  We did not intrude.

  The room was impressive. Some fifty men were gathered there, many of them leading diplomats. Waiters with trays unobtrusively served drinks. On the surface it appeared incongruously peaceful. I recognised Mr Turdilal, the Indian Premier, at once. He stood on a raised platform with Minnie slightly behind him. Minnie looked worn and shrunken; his face reminded me of the ill look I had seen on the face of Sir Anthony Eden at the time of Suez.

  Turdilal seemed incongruously cheerful. He was in full spate as we entered, waving a relaxed right hand in time with his phrases.

  ‘… and furthermore, gentlemen, you need no reminding from me that India has always stood for the peace of the world. We are an old nation and we have always stood for peace. That is why we are standing now at this terribly black hour of international conflict solidly behind the British government and most of the other members of the Commonwealth for neutrality. We –’

  ‘What about the invasion of Indonesia?’ a voice called.

  Turdilal smiled a charming smile.

  ‘What about the invasion, indeed, my South American friend? Carnage added to carnage does not equal peace, my friend. We are not Gadarene swine, may I remind you. Your country is also on friendly terms with Indonesia, but you are not hurrying to bear arms on their behalf. No. You are wise. Instead you are stepping up armament production to sell to China, I guess.’

  Ugly murmurs greeted this, but Turdilal flowed on.

  ‘South America must remain neutral. And that is what I am saying also about Britain and the Commonwealth. Someone must rebuild out of the ashes. That is a harder task than creating the ashes. So I for one applaud Mr Menhennick’s stand against the pressure of power politics.’

  A hubbub arose as he finished, angry cries mingling with cheers and the odd handclap.

  Minnie came forward, clapped Turdilal weakly on the back, and held up his hand for silence. When it came, he rubbed the hand over his moustache and said, ‘Thank you for your support, gentlemen. I realise our country is in an invidious position, I realise it only too well. But we have been in an invidious position for a quarter of a century now, ever since the perfection of this deadly nuclear power and the emergence of the two great powers. Rest assured, I have done all in my power to keep our beloved country safe. Rest assured, I shall not stand down –’

  ‘Shame!’ I cried.

  ‘– until I feel the nation has no more need for me. …’

  ‘Go, in God’s name, go!’ I shouted.

  Two Ghana ministers looked angrily round and said, ‘Keep silence while he speaks,’ and a waiter pressed a large whisky into my hand.

  ‘I will say no more now,’ Minnie continued, looking at his watch. ‘In two minutes, the Ame
rican President, Mr Mumford, is speaking to the world via Telstar II. We can see it on the wall screen here. I do not know what he is to say, but doubtless it will be of grave import. Just at present our contacts with Washington are disturbed; however, I have been reliably informed that a very few hours ago the American continent was subjected to intense nuclear bombardment on both her seaboards.’

  A ripple of amusement that grew with the beginning of his last sentence was killed stone dead by the end of it. A terrible silence, a chill, settled over everyone present – myself, of course, included. Everyone present had their differences with the United States, yet in that moment friction died and love came uppermost. Many faces were full of shame. We all stood motionless.

  Not a word was spoken until the big wall screen lit. The time was three o’clock.

  The Global Viewing sign came on, a spinning world with the illuminated orbits of the TV relay stations surrounding it. How long, I wondered, before they were shot down and TV shrank again into a petty national plaything instead of the transnational communication it had become?

  A voice said, ‘Here is the President of the United States of America, Mr Martin Wainwright Mumford.’

  He sat composedly at a desk bare of everything bar one sheet of paper. He wore a neat suit. Behind him hung the American flag. He looked young, determined, and under enormous strain. He launched into what he had to say without preliminaries; he spoke without rhetoric.

  ‘I invited everyone in the world to see and hear me because what I have to say is of personal importance to you all.

  ‘Only a few hours ago, the enemies of the United States launched their mightiest weapons upon us. Intercontinental ballistic missiles carrying nuclear warheads descended on all our major cities almost simultaneously. Their destructive forces when unleashed on their targets were so great that no nation could have survived the blow.

  ‘Happily, all those missiles were checked some miles up in the atmosphere.

  ‘The United States of America now possesses a sure defence against the hideous and hitherto all-conquering weapon of nuclear bombing.

  ‘This defence is of such a nature that it could only be given thorough trial under actual test conditions. We have had to undergo that test, and we have survived. Had the defence failed, I should not be here talking to you now.

  ‘The defence takes the form of a shield, which we call the geogravitic flux. In theory, this form of defence has been known for some time, but its consumption of energy seemed so vast as to render it impracticable. However, our scientists and technologists have perfected a way whereby the shield – which now covers all of North America, our Canadian allies as well as ourselves – the shield draws its power from the nuclear powers it destroys. The greater the force exerted against it, the more greatly the shield is able to resist.

  ‘You will see that we are in consequence impregnable. What is more, we shall remain impregnable for a long time. We have this new defence. Our enemies have new weapons. We were subjected not only to nuclear attack; we were bombarded by a type of anti-matter bomb infinitely more terrible than the nuclear bomb, which must now be regarded as old-fashioned. Our shield effectively repelled all comers.’

  Almost furtively, I glanced about me. Every face was fixed in fascination on that grave face looming on the screen. An immense pressure of triumph was building up as the President continued his address.

  ‘I confess that this nation – as yet – has no anti-matter bomb. We have been concentrating on methods of defence rather than offence. But we have literally at our finger-tips the mighty power of the atom. So far we have unleashed no retaliatory bombs in reply to the brutal attack of our enemies.

  ‘It is my hope that retaliation will not be necessary. America and Canada cannot be conquered; but we could bring our enemies to their knees two hours from now. We could destroy them utterly, as they well know. We do not desire to take this ultimate step. The collapse of the two vast Communist countries would involve the rest of the free world in decades of rehabilitation too costly to be visualised. So we are stepping forward, laying our cards on the table, and inviting our enemies to make peace with the Free World at once.

  ‘This is an unprecedented step to take. We live in unprecedented times; God grant us unprecedented courage to meet it.

  ‘Such a step would not have been possible had not our friends the British, and the other North Atlantic countries who look to them for leadership, decided to remain neutral. Had they not so decided, then beyond doubt they would have suffered the same terrible bombardment inflicted on us. Without the geogravitic shield, they would never have survived, and we should have been forced to carry out total war to avenge their destruction.

  ‘So I say again, we whole-heartedly and unreservedly offer a fresh chance to make peace. On behalf of my government and people, I invite the leaders of the Communist bloc to meet me personally on neutral ground in London. I give them forty-eight hours to make a just peace. After that time, if they have not shown themselves more than willing to build a lasting agreement – they know what the consequences will have to be.

  ‘They will be shown no mercy then, as they have shown us no mercy. But the United America offers them more than mercy now.’

  Mumford’s image disappeared. At once a subdued uproar broke out in the hall. Like many of the others, I was weeping with an un-British lack of restraint.

  Next to the hall was a canteen. As I was eating there a few minutes later, Northleech approached, talking to a secretary. By his manner, I saw he bubbled with excitement. No doubt he was, in his own phrase, being guided by necessity. He broke off his conversation to speak to me.

  ‘Look here, Sir Simon, this wonderful gesture of Mumford’s has put a different complexion on matters. I will see to it personally that the warrant for your arrest is cancelled straightaway.’

  ‘Thank you. Then I can get back to East Lincoln to see how my wife is. Though I shall have to tender my resignation to the Dean.’

  ‘Understandable, quite. Well, that must remain your worry; I can’t interfere there, naturally.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Though the Dean may not accept it. His anti-American views were always too clear. Since you’ll no doubt return there as something of a hero, he may feel that by keeping you on he will gain popularity for himself. I’m sure I should feel like that, in his boots.’

  I looked down at my plate to conceal my distaste.

  ‘I’m sure you would,’ I said. ‘But I’m sick of appeasement in all its forms. A new breeze is blowing from now on, and I’m coming back into politics.’

  A spark of anger fired in the old boy. He rapped on my table, making my spoon rattle against the plate.

  ‘Before you do that, you’d better learn to distinguish between negotiation and appeasement.’

  ‘I can already. You’re a great appeaser, Minister; Mumford is a great negotiator. The difference is in the position from which you talk: a position of weakness or a position of strength. Mumford’s is one of strength, yours and Minnie’s one of weakness – and chiefly moral weakness.’

  He cleared his throat. His wattle had turned a dusky red. In a low voice he said, ‘Stop kicking a man when he’s down. You saw for yourself how shaken poor old Alfred Menhennick was. He can’t resign quickly enough.’

  There had never been better news. I only wished Jean – and David Woolf – could have shared it with me. Then, sobering my excitement, came the thought that we would have to turn out all of Minnie’s sympathisers before the peace contingent arrived from America. When I spoke, the secretary flinched at the poison in my voice.

  ‘Your own position is none too happy, Edgar. Mumford may have granted Britain a face-saver for general consumption, but you well know how Washington must really be feeling about us. Aren’t we revealed, every one of us, as a set of cowardly turncoats – not only to the US but to the world? You might alleviate the situation slightly by resigning with Minnie, as quickly and publicly as possible – or perferably
by falling on your sword.’

  He gripped the back of his chair.

  ‘I remember this sort of holier-than-thou cant from you in the Sixth Form,’ he said. ‘I’m a politician, not a Roman. I’ve no time for your sort of dramatics. It’s true the world, and the Americans in particular, are going to need a lot of explanations, but I’m not going to quit now – I’m going to give them those explanations. Now more than ever the country needs experienced leaders.’

  Only for a moment did his face grow ugly; then he smiled with his mouth alone. The secretary aped the gesture of ill-omen.

  Conversation Piece

  Mister, this may be a funny place to say such a thing, but I’ve always held that if a man can’t get on with society, that’s his fault, not society’s, and I still stick to that – and I’m a man who’s seen our society from top as well as bottom.

  No, you’ve always got to blame yourself. Not but what troubles don’t come up and hit you unexpectedly. Yet even those troubles can have their roots in some flaw in your own character, timidity or concupiscence or whatever; we don’t do any good by hiding the fact. I could give you an instance.

  It was last Christmas Day – Christmas 2061, only a month back, though as far as I’m concerned it might be a century ago – that Randy Kellylarge was charged with murder.

  Nowadays, in our finely adjusted society, murder’s the rarest of crimes, and you might think Kellylarge would be an exceptional man. Well, I never met him, but I’ve concluded that far from being remarkable he was just a weakling, and that what’s more he deserved all he got.

  Of course, as far as the actual murder was concerned, as the marrijudicator admitted afterwards, while deducting twenty whole points from Kellylarge’s Ability A card, there was provocation. Heck, here you and I stand in this lousy queue; I may as well tell you about it.