‘Just mud, I think.’
‘Good.’ Dick thought: ‘If we don’t get out of here soon we might get serious radiation sickness.’ He wondered how much of the water he had swallowed before he came round.
As if by thought transference, Pentecue said: ‘Do you think we’re in much danger here? From gamma rays, or whatever it is?’ Dick hadn’t described the frog, but Pentecue was no fool. ‘I gather your frog was a mutation case.’
‘Yes, no doubt. Well, I’ve been trying to work out the likely dose-rate. At a very rough guess I’d say we’re getting something like 20 roentgens an hour, which isn’t too bad, as long as we get out of here in reasonable time. I don’t know anything about the life-cycle of the frog, but the animal — if you could call it an animal — that I saw is probably a first generation from eggs that were contaminated for as long as they took to hatch; so of course they would have got a terrific dose.’ There was only a yard or so separating him from the naked mud now.
Pentecue said: ‘I once saw a film about an ant — or some insect, anyway — that was about six times the size of a man. But the point was, it didn’t really horrify you because it still looked like an ant. What did your frog look like?’
‘A nightmare. Listen! Can you hear something?’
They both listened intently for a moment. Pentecue let out an exclamation. ‘It’s a chopper!’ Then: ‘He’ll never find us in this gully.’
‘Yes he will! He’s got a searchlight. Look!’
*
‘They’re taking an awful long time,’ said Ed Springle. He was surprisingly calm now, no longer playing the part of the musical-comedy father-to-be.
‘This is one thing you can’t hurry!’ said Angela. She felt tired and anxious, thinking more of that poor boy in the helicopter than she was of the routine birth of a baby. Ed didn’t know, she guessed; and she certainly had no intention of telling him just now.
A nurse came out of the delivery room, and Ed half rose in his chair. But, to the surprise of both of them, she signalled to Angela. ‘Can I have a word with you, Mrs Seff?’
Ed was hurt and surprised, but he didn’t say anything. Angela gave him a reassuring smile, then followed the nurse through to an office adjoining the theatre. The door swung to behind them. ‘Would you wait here a moment, Mrs Self?’ she said, with a sort of forced brightness. ‘The obstetrician would like a word with you.’ The nurse was gone before Angela could say anything. She had to wait nearly ten minutes in that little room before the doctor appeared. When he did his expression puzzled her.
He came straight to the point. ‘You are a close friend of the Springles, Mrs Seff?’
‘Yes. But —’
‘Do you happen to know whether there has been anything … unusual … about their relatives — on either side?’
‘Not that I know of. Won’t you please come to the point?’
‘Mrs Seff, I’m telling you in advance, because I think the Springles are going to need their friends to help them to face up to things.’
Angela waited breathlessly. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m afraid the baby may be totally blind.’ He let her digest this, then went on: ‘We don’t know for certain yet, but I’m afraid —’
She cut in. ‘But the child is … normal … in every other respect?’
He smiled. ‘Oh yes! A very beautiful boy.’
Angela sat down abruptly. ‘Blindness is bad enough. But for a moment I thought you might have meant something even worse.’
‘Why, Mrs Seff?’
‘Well, my husband —’ The doctor seemed to be angry about something, and she found herself stumbling over the words. ‘My husband is a scientist. He sometimes talks about … mutation, or something. I don’t know.’
‘And Mr Springle? Is he also a scientist?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Has he been in contact with radiation?’ He was indeed grim.
‘I think he used to mine for uranium, way back when he lived in South Africa. Then he worked at Marsdowne.’
‘Oh, Marsdowne. Where all the trouble is.’ He handed her a cigarette, and saw her hands were trembling. So were his — with a suppressed rage. He lit the cigarette. ‘So of course he was exposed to radiation up there.’
‘I think he was, yes.’
‘And what about Mrs Springle? The mother? What about her?’
‘She never went to Marsdowne. Not the works, I mean. They sometimes stay up at Glennaverley, though.’
‘I see. And did you hear the wireless a few minutes ago? When they announced the fact that contaminated milk had been in circulation?’
‘The milk?’
‘Yes, Mrs Seff. The milk. Apparently at certain periods the milk at Glennaverley contained a significant concentration of caesium-137. And the effect of radio-caesium is to spread uniformly throughout the body and subject it to gamma rays. Naturally the uterus would take its fair share. In my opinion we should consider ourselves lucky that the infant has a whole body. Nevertheless, the blindness is tragic enough — the more so because it needn’t have happened. I only wish people would stop mucking about with things they don’t understand.’ His lips were a thin, straight line as he tipped his head back slightly in an unconsciously defiant posture. ‘Perhaps this might serve as a warning to your scientists. They’ve started something they can’t stop, so they’d better learn how to control it.’
Angela stood up a little unsteadily. This was one of the few occasions in her life when she had actually felt tired. ‘I think I understand how you feel, doctor,’ she said. ‘But whatever you may feel about scientists, it isn’t going to help Mrs Springle now, is it?’
The man relaxed a little. ‘I’m sorry. I just had to yell at someone. It was unfair and futile and probably proves I’m a very bad doctor.’
Angela said: ‘I understand.’ He was opening the door for her, but she paused at the threshold, adding: ‘You know, their love is something really special. And that baby means everything to them. I don’t know how they’re going to take this.’
They were in the passage-way now, and Angela could see Ed through the glass doors. The doctor turned the light out in the little office and shut the door, smiling at her. ‘Then you don’t need to worry,’ he said. ‘If there’s plenty of love, it will carry them through. You go away now and come back in the morning.’ He rested an arm on her shoulder … ‘Things won’t seem so bad when the sun comes up.’
*
‘You’ve had too much to drink!’ said the girl to Manson.
He tried to laugh, but it was a rough, ugly sound. ‘Is that bad?’
‘It’s not good. Not with your type.’
He tried to paw her, but she pushed his arm away. She was pretty drunk, too, but not drunk enough to want to be messed around by this ham-handed creature. ‘And what’s ‘my type’?’ he asked, persisting with his attentions and apparently unaware of her distaste for him. She didn’t answer the question, so he thought another drink might help. She took it gracelessly, in the manner in which it was offered.
Eventually she said: ‘Get a girl tight, and then try to take her home, I suppose. That the routine?’
‘Well, it might be rather fun.’
She looked at him in absolute amazement. ‘Rather fun? Is that what you think?’ She spoke with exaggerated precision. ‘Whom for? Me? You? Whom?’
Her contempt for him was bitterly humiliating. ‘What’s wrong with me’ he said. ‘Aren’t you girls here to be … taken home?’
‘What’s wrong with you?’ She laughed cynically, a staccato monosyllable. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with you! I just know I don’t want to go home with you.’ She took a swig at the drink. ‘Isn’t that plain enough? Or do you want to be psycho-thingimijigged?’ She stubbed out a cigarette that was liberally tipped with lipstick. Manson didn’t say whether he wanted to be psycho-thingimijigged or not, so she said: ‘If I were you, I’d go home and sleep it off.’ She added, not unkindly, ‘I don’t know why you’re doing this, b
ut frankly you’re not very good at it. Thanks for the drink, anyway.’
Manson drove himself home, through deserted streets. He drove badly and drunkenly, but he didn’t hit anything. He drove across the bridge and down towards Kennington, where the trams used to go, and past the Marquess of Granby, where he took the right fork, skidding slightly on the wet road. And he drove towards Lewisham, up the hill and left into the familiar side street, and pulled up opposite the house he hated so much. A lorry came roaring down the hill, much too fast, with a great clattering and banging, but nothing else seemed alive, and there were no windows showing light in any of the houses.
Manson dragged himself out of the car and slammed the door, and that sound seemed very loud also. He found his keys and went up the steps and let himself in. He turned on the hall light, and went up the stairs he had never bothered to have carpeted because there was no one to carpet them for. And he went into the bedroom, which was a very lonely place. But it did contain a golf trophy, which stood, together with a few other personal items, on the bedside table. They included a photograph of his mother.
Manson sat down on the bed, and didn’t move for a while. Then he picked up the trophy, and examined it as if he had just received it and had never seen it before. He read the inscription and looked at the coat-of-arms above it. Then he turned the thing upside down and read the stamp that proved it was of sterling silver, and turned it the right way up again. After a while he replaced it, very carefully, on the table.
And then he broke down and cried like a baby, far into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SEVERAL days later Gatt walked briskly into the office. He seemed rather distracted.
‘Morning, Kate. Can I go in?’
‘Yes, Mr Gatt. He’s expecting you.’
He nodded and entered the inner office, found that the conference table had gone and the desk was in the usual place. The fan was still there though. It wasn’t working.
Gatt came straight to the point. ‘Robert, what’s all this about you resigning? Is it true?’
Hargreaves seemed more relaxed than he had ever known him. ‘Yes, Arlen. It’s true.’
Gatt said angrily: ‘Well, I’ve never heard such rubbish in all my life. They won’t find a better person to run this outfit, you know that. You shouldn’t have done it.’
Sir Robert smiled at him. ‘Pot calling the kettle black!’
‘Don’t be damn silly. I had to resign. I was in charge of the original investigation, and I missed up on too many things. And if I hadn’t resigned, they probably would have fired me. But you —’
Hargreaves cut him off with a gesture. ‘It’s no good, Arlen. I’ve made up my mind.’
‘They’ll never accept it.’
‘Oh yes, they will.’ He stood up easily, walked to the window and looked down on Whitehall. ‘Don’t you see that it’s necessary?’ He pointed down to the street. ‘You see all those people? A few days ago some of them were very frightened. Some of them still are. You see, nothing makes people more afraid than the unknown thing that they can’t understand. They’ve got to feel that the man at the top is someone they can trust: Well, they won’t be able to trust me any more. I’m no good to them now. I’m not a scientist; a scientist has a right to make a mistake. But it’s my job to take the responsibility.’
‘What about Jack? Don’t say he’s quitting, too!’
‘Like you, he’s tried. But also like you, he hasn’t succeeded.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t follow, Robert.’
‘Well, it’s quite simple really. The Commission has refused to accept either his or your resignation.’
‘The Commission is off its head.’
‘No, Gatt.’ Hargreaves turned round and pushed the cigarette-box across the table. ‘Have a cigarette and sit down.’ The Director sat back in his own chair and looked very comfortable. He didn’t look at all like a man who had just been forced to resign from office. ‘The Commission acted upon my recommendation. It’s true that the structure of this organisation will be altered somewhat: you will be working in much closer collaboration with the Atomic Energy Authority. But I pointed out — and they entirely agree — that you and Seff are the best possible people to carry out the most important job this Department has had so far. It will take a long time, because of the radiation hazard. But it’s got to be done.’
‘You mean, stripping down Project 3?’ Gatt raised his eyebrows. ‘I suppose,’ he added, looking thoughtfully over Hargreaves’ shoulder, ‘you wouldn’t be wondering whether Jack pressed the shut-down button in time to get the control rods down, would you?’ He shifted his gaze back to the Director. ‘Well, Robert, it might interest you to know that I have had the output meter very carefully examined by the instrument makers. You know what they found? The needle had shot across the dial and hit the pin so violently that the mechanism was appreciably buckled. That pointer didn’t creep up the dial, Robert. It happened instantaneously. So Jack Seff told nothing less than the truth; he had no warning, and could not have acted any differently.’
Hargreaves was smiling at him, ‘I think you and Jack will work together much better now,’ he said. ‘However, I could have saved you the trouble of having that meter checked.’
‘You mean, you knew?’
‘Of course! If I hadn’t I would probably have been forced to accept Seff’s resignation.’
Hargreaves got up from his seat. ‘My dear Arlen, don’t look at me like that! I’m no genius — it’s merely that I look for the simple things. Don’t you see? It was the alarm bells. If they had started ringing before Ed had got back to the control-room with the supper, he would have heard them, and would have known that something had gone wrong. Yet the first he knew about it was when he dropped the tray — after he had entered the control-room.’ He didn’t give Gatt any time to comment on this. ‘By the way, did you see in the papers this morning about Newlands Steel?’
‘Yes, something about fraud, wasn’t it?’
Hargreaves scooped him up in his slipstream and they made for the door. ‘Yes. I don’t think they’ll be turning out any more sheet-metal for quite a while. And no doubt the police will find out where they got that piece of cobalt, and what happened to it.’
Gatt opened the door. ‘I wonder what Mike Ganin will think about that?’
For a moment the Director’s attention seemed to have strayed. He was looking rather absently round the office — at the little battery of telephones and the big window overlooking Whitehall. And the fan. Then slowly he turned his back on it all and ushered Gatt out of the room. ‘What? Oh, Mike. The funny part is, he’ll probably feel sorry for them.’
*
At nine o’clock that evening Great Tom began his customary hundred-and-one single chimes. Undergraduates hurried through the gate of Christ Church Tower, hastened on their way by the great bell immediately above their heads.
The sound echoed and re-echoed along the High, and along the darkening road and the grazing fields to the place they called ‘The Wall’.
A car stood outside number 14, and everyone in that district know it as the doctor’s car. And inside the house Dr Fuller stood talking to the Cartwrights. He stood in his most characteristic pose, with his weight forward. His very bald head reflected back the light from the television screen.
‘Yes, I’ll stay for the news, if I may,’ he said, ‘though I’m really on borrowed time. Should be at the hospital, you know. Still, I thought you would like to know that Maureen’s anaemia is not chronic.’
Julia’s voice was far from steady, but she was glad the lights were switched off so that at least she could conceal tears of profound relief. As she spoke she gripped John’s hand very tightly, and she knew she would always love him. She said: ‘I can hardly believe it. It seems like a sort of miracle!’
Fuller showed no emotion, but she knew he was not unmoved by it. ‘Once the caesium is out of her system, her blood count will gradually return to normal. We can’t do anyt
hing about the strontium, of course — that will remain in the bone. But I don’t personally think there is enough of it there to do any harm. The anaemia was purely a temporary condition brought on by the gamma rays distributed throughout her body. As I say, these will disperse. And I think the news is coming on now.’
John crossed over to the set and turned up the sound. The television announcer presented his usual meaningless smile to an audience of millions, and began the news bulletin by saying that all dangerous foods had now been withdrawn and that the public were safe once more. He quoted from a speech that the Prime Minister had made in the House earlier in the day.
‘Let this be a warning to us for all time,’ the Prime Minister had said. ‘We live in the most exciting age, perhaps, that there has ever been. We are on intimate terms with the forces of nature themselves. We can put the atom to work, and make it serve us in our daily life, fight for us when our survival is at stake.
‘But let us see to it that it doesn’t turn upon us in anger, attacking our very blood and bones because we have in ignorance done things we cannot undo. And when we harness the atom — as we are doing increasingly as part of the inevitable progress of civilisation — to make our electricity, drive our ships across the seas, and to keep the heart-beat of this nation strong and sound, let us be certain that we do not imperil ourselves by failing to respect the mighty forces we have called upon for help.’
*
General Sir Horace Tripling lowered The Times for a moment when Sophie turned off the set. He had been listening — as he always did — without having to look at the ingratiating face of the news-man.
‘When does Dick get out of hospital?’
‘Next week. The pilot won’t be out for another month though.’
‘What about the radiation? Do they reckon they had a bad dose?’
Chain Reaction Page 22
