He put on his mask, went down by the ladder and back into the building. Walking along to his private suite he considered it inopportune to dwell too long on his past. In any case he always thought it extremely tedious to delve into his humble origins and early struggles, and his quick rise to power in Nihilon. It didn’t make him feel proud, or inspire him to nobler and higher things. When he wasn’t engrossed in the present he was thinking about the future, and so the past had no flavour for him. The past was of no value to a Nihilist. The past was out of date, an anachronism, an anchor on the true heart’s blood of pure chaos.
He changed his clothes, picked up a camera, revolver, and briefcase full of money, and left his Tungsten rooms forever, hoping, as he stepped into the elevator that would take him to the tunnel, that the technical staff would keep its promise and get the rocket up into the sky before the attack started.
As the dull sound of gunfire rumbled above he got into his Mangler and turned the headlights on, then set off slowly along the tunnel. He took off his mask, and mulled nostalgically on his past as he lightly gripped the wheel. These recollections were the only real sign that his days of power were over.
Chapter 36
The first regiment of a hundred sports cars moved slowly forward in a perfect line so as to present a terrifying spectacle to those Nihilists who would no doubt rush to defend the walls when they came close enough. Each Zap was separated from the next by ten metres, so that the advance was on a front of nearly a kilometre. At the same time a more conventional attack by three thousand men was launched against the northern wall, a mere diversion, however, to the great set-piece. He was annoyed by Mella anxiously gripping his hand as the cars departed, and by her continual sniffing and dabbing at her eyes with a small flowered handkerchief.
When Benjamin judged that the first line was at the five-hundred-metre picket-mark out from the trees, he fired a shot for the second regiment to advance. Three further shots in sharp order set three thousand-strong battalions flowing from the trees on either side, following behind the Zaps. These were supported by two hundred dynamiters who drew their equipment along on rudimentary trolleys. They were to destroy the rocket before it could be launched, though they had the firmest orders not to damage any of the control or computer machinery, so that it would be available for the new government should it decide to begin its own space-programme.
With nearly seven thousand men and two hundred sports cars launched at Tungsten, a force was in motion that no power on earth could stop. And yet, those mysterious walls worried him because they still gave no sign of life. The cars, travelling fast, needed only a few minutes to cross the three-kilometre no-man’s-land, so if there was to be opposition it must come soon.
The big advantage of staking everything on a Zap attack was that it would be over quickly. Benjamin had no taste for long-drawn-out battles. Yet he felt confident, and enjoyed the meaty exhalations from his cigar. In a few mere weeks he had ceased to be a dullish compiler of travel and history books, and a pilgrim in half-known lands. He now commanded an insurrectionary army the like of which Nihilon had never seen, nor was going to see again, and for a moment he dwelt on this promotion, until stopped by a look of alarm on what was visible of Richard’s face under the heavy binoculars.
The leading regiment was halfway across. As much as the nature of the ground allowed, it still kept its precise alignment, though at the expense of speed. Benjamin would have liked a bit of lost formation at this moment, if it meant them getting quickly to the enemy, for through his binoculars he saw white panels sliding out of the white wall, and gleaming barrels of artillery threatening his Zap Brigade with calamity.
When Mella began sobbing uncontrollably he wanted to throw her off the platform. Richard was swearing, unable to say anything intelligible, or take his eyes from the small gobs of white smoke rising to the noise of great earth-cracking explosions from a whole kilometre of that enigmatic wall in the distance. Fortress Tungsten had spoken at last.
The leading cars, at just over a kilometre range, began to explode, though the bravery of the Zap drivers was never in doubt. Nothing could stop them, except the far-off percussion of those deadly guns. Richard, glancing aside, as if he couldn’t bear to see it, noted that Benjamin’s usually florid face had turned pale and slack. The great charge of the Zaps had become a ride of death and destruction.
Richard was fixed by it, his limbs tightening at such an exciting game. It was too good to miss, no matter whose side he was on, and he couldn’t help but regard poor Benjamin, the architect of this rare spectacle, as the greatest Nihilist of them all. History should give him that title, if no other. At the same time a more ordinary thought struck Richard, telling him that they ought to get out of the country as soon as possible.
The plain was littered with smashed and burning cars from Regiment Number One, the flower of Nihilon’s motor industries, the pride of its export trade. Survivors from the cars were lying on the stony ground, firing at the elusive Tungsten gunners. The one car of the first regiment to reach the wall hit it at nearly two hundred kilometres an hour. It lashed itself into flames, enveloping an embrasure, which at least stopped one of the cannons.
The terrible precision guns of Tungsten turned their attention to the second regiment. Brigadier Kalamata had the sense to increase speed, hoping to escape the shelling, and the line broke into individual groups, in order to get through the burning and splintered wreckage of the first wave. Due to this zigzag manoeuvre, many of the cars collided, though few seriously enough to be stopped. Some, going too fast now instead of too slow, crashed into blazing wreckage but, due to skilful swerving, as well as the trained and rapid fire from the survivors of the first wave (some of whom, unhappily, were hit by cars of the second), and also because of the fires and palls of smoke, the aim of the Tungsten artillery was not half as deadly as it had been.
Even so, it was difficult to imagine many of the cars getting through to the wall. The fact that more did get there than was expected seemed due solely to Benjamin’s wisdom in separating the first regiment from the second by half a kilometre. If they had been sent together, both would have been annihilated. Forty Zaps of the second wave, therefore, arrived in some condition at the wall. Out of eight hundred carborne men who had set out, nearly two hundred survived to reach it. Unfortunately, ladders were now scarce.
Mella, recovering from a fainting fit, took Benjamin’s hand. This time he was glad of its warmth. ‘Come,’ she said, pulling him along. ‘Let us go to your magnificent Thundercloud car. We’re going into the battle.’
It seemed the only possible action, suicidal though it was, and causing him an unpleasant moment of panic when he left Richard in charge of the staff platform and followed her. He expected her to get into his car, but she pointed to her platform and said she would travel in that. But she wanted him to stay close in his Thundercloud so that they could, as it were, fight valiantly together.
Forty soldiers pulled at the ropes, and because all luggage had been taken down, and Edgar was sensibly hiding somewhere among the trees, they were able to set off at a good pace. Mella sat imperious, and brave indeed on her throne, as they drew her towards the cannons’ roar, other soldiers of her bodyguard spreading around in order to protect her. Benjamin preferred to keep well away from this interesting but conspicuous spectacle that presented such a wonderful target for the gunners of Tungsten – of which there were still far too many.
After the defeat of the Zaps, the defending guns attempted to beat back the three large infantry battalions which, as they passed through the wrecked sports cars, removed those ladders that were still intact. They then carried them forward as if they were invaluable and much-loved battle-standards.
Benjamin had no intention of driving his Thundercloud more than halfway across the field of war. He stopped before reaching the zone of the Zap graveyard, and stood on the roof to watch any further destruction that might take place before, as seemed inevitable, the remnants of his a
rmy surged back into retreat. He was determined not to let it catch up with him, but to make with all speed for Aspron, and from there pursue his way with the impetus of self-preservation to the frontier.
Mella’s great wagon, now far ahead, was close to the wall itself, and he expected to see it blown to pieces at any moment. Shells were exploding all around it, sending up great gouts of stony soil till it was lost in the smoke. Groups of wounded were crawling back, helped by those with perfect limbs who simply wanted to get out of danger, passing him with such openness that he changed his mind when he thought to kick them back into the shellfire.
He saw a few of his soldiers climbing the wall. Mella was in front of it, waving her arms. The artillery had stopped firing, and the number of his men this side of the wall was melting away as they climbed on to and over it.
He needed a few hundred more men to back them up, but he had used every one in the greatest gamble of his career. In the sweet mouth of success there was always one rotten tooth to foul its breath, he reflected, feeling himself suspended in time while events rolled on without any help from him at all. Then he saw that Mella’s bodyguard, in their ferocity and devotion, and as if now answering his plea, were paving a way for the dynamiters, who began to expend their precious cargo on blowing up whole sections of the wall. He could hardly believe it. Mella’s great throne-wagon was pulled inside.
He drove rapidly back to the trees, the noise of gunfire dying away. ‘Did you see that?’ Richard shouted from the platform. ‘They’re in. They got in.’
‘I know,’ he said, curbing his jubilance, ‘but how many?’
Richard shook his hand to congratulate him, as he stepped down from the ladder. ‘A report just came from the north wall to say they’d got some men in there as well.’ A deep roar spread through the earth, shaking the platform, the trees, their legs, and feet. ‘The rocket!’ Richard cried, turning to look at it.
Even that, Benjamin said to himself with joyful relief. They got that too. I’ve won on every point with my well-trained, dedicated army. Through field-glasses he saw the underpart of the rocket surrounded by smoke and fire. The rage of everyone is quenched at last, he surmised, as the great rolling roar went on and on, thinking to realize his fondest dream that the blackest Nihilists on earth were being smashed forever.
But when the immense head of the rocket was temporarily cleared of smoke and vapour, it began slowly to ascend, lifting its sharp red nose with infinite grace and vigour, up and up above the base, and driving straight into the sky.
Chapter 37
Honesty had won, they claimed, in control of the computers at last. Nihilism had conquered, they thought, watching the television screens and the vast wall of dials that recorded the rocket’s progress as it circled the earth in space. No one could gainsay either proposition. No one wanted to. The forces of honesty were happy that the war was over. The defeated Nihilists were glad they were no longer locked in a race against time, and imprisoned at Tungsten because of it. The scientist-in-chief had already agreed to work for the new government.
Seats of honour for the leaders of the conquering army enabled them to observe the screens and computers as if at a theatre. Luncheon trays were clipped to their chairs, and on the television screens, via complex lenses that beamed and zoomed from outside the space-ship, a door was seen to open, and one of the astronauts floated out, a man whose legs swayed and parted and swam, side by side by side with the space-ship, his face now and again visible through the perspex visor, features anxious as if he had been unwillingly sent to a race through the bleak universe.
Mella sat with her father, holding his two hands, and staring fervently at him. He did not know who she was, and called her by her mother’s name. This brought copious tears, and her great and unexpected joy at having found him alive gave way to despair now that his mind would never be clear as to her identity. He told them however that he had tampered with the rocket, so that when it circled in space the advertised carnal hook-up would not occur. But what he did not know was that while he had descended one side of the rocket, after his clumsy adjustments to its programming, a member of the base staff had gone up the other side and put everything right again. So Took could not understand why the spectacle was being enacted on the television screen.
Before Benjamin and his party entered the Grand Computer Hall, the cleaner-in-chief had taken away the old president’s sweeping brush and peeled off his white overall, put a tie around his neck and a watch on his wrist, a pen in his pocket and a pair of black leather shoes on his feet so that no one would think he had been ill-treated. This rude change into something that he had not been for so long and never expected to be again may have broken his frail sense of identity, and been the reason why he did not recognize his old civil-war lieutenant either, a fact which sorrowed Benjamin after his long search and twenty-five years of enquiries. But the mystery of President Took’s disappearance had now been solved, so there seemed little else for him to do in Nihilon, except perhaps find Jaquiline.
The man emerging from the rocket was seen to be Adam the poet, whose blank, half-drugged features locked in a space-suit world were trying to smile, as if he knew they were viewing him, and felt embarrassed at being naked from the waist down. Mella covered her eyes. Benjamin forced himself to look, but hated it, though he was unwilling to close the show because shooting at the screens and computers would interfere with the delicately-timed space-scheme and put the occupant of the rocket in serious danger. Being a member of the guidebook committee, Adam was still entitled to certain courtesies from the land of Nihilon.
The door of the rocket stayed open, and two more legs appeared, comely and well-shaped, white and long as they slid free, fleshy at the thighs. All eyes looked on at the emerging female body, her top half well ensconced in a transparent space-suit that showed her small taut breasts, and floating with arms and legs apart like a starfish, and all delicately attached – like the male specimen – to the mothership nearby. As they drifted to each other, the National Anthem of Nihilon began to computerize itself in the universe around them.
Benjamin stood up, a wild and raving man they’d never seen before. He unlatched two guns, spinning around as they followed the free-shifting figures (which now appeared on an even bigger screen, specially switched on) of Adam and Jaquiline set to engage in the primal rite. The music grew solemn as they approached. Jaquiline’s face came into enormous close-up, illuminated and beautiful, as if experiencing some cosmic dream which fed into her the secret of creation and of the world, and as if the limits of the universe were being made known to her.
A band of hair came over her mouth as Adam went forward, her eyes and legs opening at the same time. A switch of some earthbound computer enabled him to find his place well and, with legs closed, lock the perfect lock, and begin his rhythm, maintaining it in that place while all eyes were on them, and with the appropriate slow movement of the Nihilon Anthem playing through it.
Richard took Benjamin’s guns away and pulled him back to his seat, while all kept their eyes on the fascinating scene of their two colleagues and compatriots copulating in space. Adam’s face was shown with Jaquiline’s through the moments of orgasm, the camera moving from their faces to the wedding-ring on Jaquiline’s finger, and then to the joined and jewelled movement of their four legs, at which a roaring cheer of triumph ripped from the several hundred detached and scientific scientists in the great hall – who had not only got this project off the ground, as it were, but had coaxed it to the stars. Edgar put hands to his ears, and closed his eyes at this manifestation, as if the two sweethearts in space might hear such vulgarity and thus be wakened from their sublime dream.
As they slid apart, Jaquiline put out her arms, and there were tears under her eyes as the last great close-up moved across the screen, before she was sucked back into the space-ship. Adam’s face also showed grief, almost panic as his arms reached forward to go on holding what had so recently been completely his. And then he was retur
ned into the metal container, which went on to another circuit of the earth before scoring its way through the atmosphere, and floating by parachute on to the central plain of Nihilon, which would hold out its arms to receive them in safety and triumph.
Chapter 38
Benjamin’s Thundercloud Estate car, dented and scarred, windowless and without tyres, had been confiscated for the Museum of the Insurrection, to be repaired and set there in a conspicuous place. He was sad to part with such an old and powerful friend but, in the euphoria of victory and the good feeling of celebration, he relinquished it with a generous heart, and admitted to himself that Nihilon deserved it as a memento of his honourable strivings. The Benjamin Smith Brigade would never be forgotten.
Mella was crowned Queen of Nihilon. It was found better, after all, not to change the name either of the country or the capital city. Since the concept of honesty was foremost on the new government’s lips, there seemed no sense in confusing the minds or memories of ordinary citizens.
So Nihilon it remained, with Edgar as the consort of Queen Mella. Having nothing to go home for, and no wish to return at the moment, he entrusted his brief and meagre guidebook-notes to Richard, who promised to see that they arrived in fair copy at the office. Yet their last sight of Edgar, before leaving Nihilon City, in the garden of the temporary villa-palace on the outskirts, was of a lost man, who did not know what he wanted. Part of him desired the all-smothering attention that Mella poured out again now that her father had died, but under all this he sensed a craving for adventure straining to break free and do what it could with him. Adam reflected sadly as they said goodbye that Edgar was the sort of person who, having finally claimed to have made up his mind, seemed more lost to the world than ever.
Travels in Nihilon Page 27
