`So you think that the sun and moon and stars we're seeing is some sort of generated image from 40,000 years ago?' Prescott queried.
`That's my analysis, Mr Chairman. The sun's power wasn't significantly different 40,000 years ago from what it is today. An hour ago I measured it at 500 Watts per square metre. High for the morning at this time of year but that's due to the lack of clouds. It's pushing the relative humidity up to eighty per cent which is making it feel muggy.'
`Brought on my tomatoes a week in the last two days,' said Gavin Hobson, a market grower and a staunch advocate of organic growing.
`The Wall is definitely not the product of human technology,' Harding continued. `Of that there is no doubt. That leaves extra-terrestrial technology. It would seem that the claims of those that they saw an object in the sky last Tuesday may have been accurate afterall. The ufologists who scoured the area on Wednesday and Thursday looking for this so-called Silent Vulcan didn't find anything because they didn't investigate Pentworth Lake which is the geographic centre of the Wall. An excellent choice of hiding place for a flying saucer, spacecraft, Silent Vulcan -- call it what you will. We can send probes to the planets and submersibles to the greatest depths of the oceans, but we do not have the instruments to probe very deep swamps.' He paused. `I took some readings first thing this morning with a small gravimeter. There's a definite anomaly in the centre of the lake.'
`How deep, councillor?' asked Prescott.
`Unfortunately my gravimeter doesn't give range.'
`What's more to the point, where are the buggers from?' Baldock demanded.
The scientist glanced uneasily at Prescott. `That would take us into the realms of supposition which is hardly the purpose of this meeting.'
Prescott saw how all eyes were turned eagerly to the speaker. `Go ahead, Councillor Harding,' he said. `Five minutes.'
Nice control, thought Malone. Judging the mood of others well. A latent hunger for power bludgeoning its way out of the boorish nature of Asquith Prescott and asserting itself in a surprising degree of political acumen. The creep had started crawling with his broadcast. At the beginning of the meeting he had been learning to walk; now he was striding. If the pattern continued, he would soon be trampling. He castigated himself for misjudging Prescott so.
`We know enough about the solar system to rule out all the planets,' said Harding. `That leaves our galaxy -- the Milky Way. Our nearest star is Proxima Centauri. A type M red dwarf flare star whose light takes 4.3 years to reach us -- just over one parsec. For the sake of argument let us assume that Centauri has a planetary system and that's where our visitors are from. We know that they can't be from anywhere nearer, and the probability is that they're from somewhere a good deal further away. Certain characteristics of the Wall -- we now know from a check on the sewers and an old lead mine that it's actually a sphere -- indicate that our visitors are not in possession of the sort of super-advanced technology as favoured by most science-fiction writers. It is advanced enough -- but from what I've observed, I doubt if they're much more than 300 years ahead of us.'
`My God -- it's enough.'
Harding smiled at the observation. `Certainly enough to give us serious problems. I'm going to make another supposition and give our visitors' spacecraft a capability of one fifth of the speed of light -- around 60,000 kilometres per second. Allowing for periods of acceleration and deceleration, the journey from Centauri to Earth would take them about 22 years. A round trip of 44 years. An awesome time-span but within the realms of possibility for a survey expedition by a determined people with inquiring minds.' He paused. `The scientist in me rebels at all this stretching of a theory but I've started it so I'll continue. I believe that our visitors had problems with their spacecraft when they went into orbit around the earth. Rather than remain in orbit and risk detection and possible destruction by us, they searched for a haven. Where better than a deep swamp? And as an added safeguard, they threw up an enclosing protective sphere around themselves. They then broadcast for help -- they certainly generated a lot of broadband radio noise around 100 megaHertz on Thursday and Friday which led to the drowning of two Radio Communications Agency investigators. The visitors' SOS is now on its way to Centauri and will reach it in four years and four months. Assuming that HQ can launch a rescue mission right away, we can expect to be reluctant hosts to our visitors for the next 27 years. On the other hand, they may be from the heart of our galaxy in which case they, and us, will have to wait many thousands of years.'
The silence that followed was broken by David Weir. `But surely, Bob, they wouldn't send a survey mission without some sort of backup?'
`Why not?' Harding countered. `None of the Apollo manned missions to the moon had a backup Saturn rocket standing by. And there never has been a second shuttle at the ready in case a flight gets into trouble. Once you have a working technology, the temptation is to get on and use it within the parameters of acceptable risk otherwise nothing would ever be done for the first time. It may be that this mission by our visitors is the culmination of many years of sending unmanned probes. We've certainly had enough sightings of UFOs over the last half century. If they've learned anything about us, one can hardly blame them for surrounding themselves with a protective sphere having made a forced landing.'
`Load of bollocks,' Dan Baldock muttered.
Prescott regarded him icily. `I beg your pardon, councillor?'
`I said, a load of bollocks.'
`It would be appreciated if you could moderate your language.'
`All right then -- a load of crap.' He glared at Bob Harding. `How do you know the little buggers aren't from Mars? If they are, they could be gone next week.'
`The evidence from unmanned landers and orbital probes indicates that there is no life on Mars,' said Harding. `The same goes for all the planets in the solar sys--'
`What about in Mars? Maybe they went underground hundreds of years ago? Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.' Malone was impressed. Baldock's comment demonstrated a capacity for logical thought, and it had caught Harding wrong-footed. The scientist had opened his mouth to speak and changed his mind. Malone guessed that Dan Baldock's often scored good points -- that one was a lulu.
`There would be evidence on the surface of Mars,' Harding ventured at length, knowing that he sounded lame.
The pig farmer snorted. `We see what they want us to see -- like that weird countryside beyond the Wall.'
Harding turned to Prescott. `Mr Chairman -- it's a safe assumption that if there is intelligent life on Mars, they would have made contact with us years ago. Mars is in our own backyard and there hasn't been as much as a whisper of response over the years to the Americans' SETI broadcasts. I hardly think that we would've been ignored.'
`Those buggers in the plague swamp have ignored us,' Baldock retorted.
`That's true,' Prescott commented.
`It's called Pentworth Lake,' reminded Ellen, eyeing Baldock who merely grinned back at her.
`Mr Chairman. May I speak please?' asked Malone.
`Go ahead, Mr Malone,' said Prescott.
All eyes swivelled around to the police officer.
`They haven't ignored us,' said Malone. `I was jogging home late on Friday night when a strange machine followed me. It was like a mechanical crab -- very hard to see as if it were made of glass -- but I definitely saw it quite clearly at one point.'
David felt Ellen suddenly stiffen. He looked inquiring at her but she was staring fixedly at Malone.
`This is extraordinary!' Harding exclaimed. `But how can you be sure it came from our visitors?'
`I tried to catch it, and the thing turned into an electric helicopter and vanished. It went straight up. I thought it was some sort of kids' toy at first, but no toy can do that. It looked heavy and would've needed a lot more power than we know how to pack into a battery.'
`You never reported it,' Harvey Evans observed.
`I'm reporting it now, Mr Evans.' Malone looked around the t
able, his brooding, wide-set eyes settling briefly on everyone in turn. He continued, `It was some hours before the Wall appeared. I didn't altogether believe it myself and doubted if anyone else would. As luck would have it, I found out the following morning that Miss Catherine Price of Hill House had also seen it through her telescope when it was following me. She called it a spyder. An apt name. I got a distinct impression that it was spying on me.'
`I've seen it, too, Mr Chairman,' said Ellen abruptly.
There was a stir of surprise.
`Go ahead, Councillor Duncan.'
`It was after I'd seen you and Inspector Evans by the lake on Saturday morning. It was only a glimpse. I thought I'd imagined it at the time. Also Vikki Taylor who works for me on Saturday mornings has seen it. She told me that she'd seen a crab-like thing after school on Friday afternoon. Just very briefly.'
Dr Millicent Vaughan regarded Ellen with interest.
Harding started firing eager questions but Prescott cut him short. `I think it would be best, councillor, if I ask Mr Malone to collect full statements from all the witnesses and report back otherwise we'll be here all day. If you've finished, Councillor Harding. Next item on the agenda is drinking water.' Gerald Young, the sanitation engineer, reported that most people on mains supply would have at least another three days supply of water in their domestic tanks provided they had heeded the chairman's warning about economy. He and a colleague had examined the town's concrete water tower, disused since 1965. It was structurally sound but needed cleaning and lining with sheet polythene. Filling could be accomplished by running a diesel pump from the original artesian well. The water table was high. The work would take ten volunteers one day. Prescott gave permission for a diesel pump to be run for no more than ten hours in the first instance.
Sanitation: the chairman would include an appeal in his evening broadcast for those with cesspits and septic tanks to share their facilities. There was evidence that this was already happening.
Food: the town had an estimated ten days supply in shops and larders. A census would be organized to determine exactly how much EU grain was held in farm silos and what the main crop vegetable storage situation was. Thanks to the Bodian Brethren, much frozen food had been saved and the sentinels had undertaken milk deliveries and to step-up bread production. Permission was granted for Pentworth House to run its generator for their milking machines.
`I've actually arranged to send Father Adrian Roscoe several of my Guernseys because we can't cope,' Prescott concluded. `His acreage is under grazed. Detective-Sergeant Malone -- unless Inspector Evans has objections, I would be most grateful if you would be so kind as to draft all the points we've covered for inclusion in my broadcast this evening.'
`No objections, Mr Chairman,' said Evans uneasily.
Prescott beamed at Malone with eyes that said: Shafted, eh, Mr Malone? `Excellent -- we've got through everything. No more points? I declare the meeting clo--'
`One point please, Mr Chairman.'
Prescott looked inquiringly at Ellen.
`I move that the venue of the next meeting be back at the council chamber. It difficult for many of us to get here. The town hall would be much more convenient.'
`Well,' said Prescott expansively. `The only reason for holding it in private is that I thought the town hall might be inundated. I didn't wish to overstretch Inspector Evans' limited resources. But, as we've all seen this morning, public co-operation has been remarkable. So yes -- we'll hold the next meeting in the chamber as normal. Thank you ladies and gentlemen. The meeting is closed.'
People started to rise and sat again when Prescott continued speaking. `Inspector Evans is staying for lunch. In the communal spirit we're encouraging, you're all invited to stay on.'
Everyone professed to having much to do.
`I'm going to open my shop,' said Ellen. `Business as usual.'
`That's the spirit, Ellen,' said Prescott, beaming. `We won't let the buggers get us down, eh?'
Ellen and David said their goodbyes outside in the bright sunlight and boarded David's black-lacquered pony-drawn trap -- lovingly restored by Charlie Crittenden's boys during the winter. `Patronizing bastard,' she muttered as they turned onto the road and set off at a smart pace.
`I'm astonished at the change in him,' said David. `He exuded confidence.'
`Power,' said Ellen savagely. `That's all he's interested in. Did you see the way his eyes lit up when Bob Harding talked about us being trapped for thousands of years? He sees himself as the founder of a new dynasty.'
David laughed and touched the pony's flank with the whip. It increased its pace. `Thirty square miles? Some dynasty.'
`Big enough for a city-state.'
`Ellen -- listen. Okay -- so he's a power-grubbing little toad. But what do his motives matter so long as he does a good job? And on this morning's showing, he's certainly doing that. He's got people co-operating with him, eating out of his hand. That's what we need.' He gestured at the road ahead. It was deserted apart from a cyclist in the distance. `Not a car in sight. When did we last see that on the A285 on a fine day?'
He breathed deeply. The air smelt good and the pony seemed keen to go faster. `This beats driving. Don't have to concentrate and you can see over hedges. Hey -- you know what, m'dear? This is rather fun. Tell me about this mechanical crab you saw.’
Chapter 45.
HARDING HAD PUT ON A PAIR of rusty cycle clips and was studying the sky intently when Millicent buttonholed him in Prescott's drive.
`That bicycle looks decidedly unsafe, Bob.'
Harding chuckled. The old upright Raleigh had earned him a good deal of ribbing when he had arrived on it but he had taken it in good heart. `Oh, it is, Milly. It is. But the roads are suddenly so much safer. You could make a middle-aged man very happy by accepting a lift on his cross-bar.' His attention returned to the sky.
`It's a lady's bicycle.'
`I can improvise a cross-bar.'
`I think I'd rather walk. And you're well past middle-age -- how many people do you know who are 120?'
`Cruel, Milly. Cruel.'
`I was interested in what you said about our visitors being at least 300 years ahead of us.'
`Pure theorizing based on good but scant evidence,' Harding replied absently, sky watching again. `There seem to be clouds forming.'
`But definitely well ahead of us?'
`There's no doubt about that. They're here where we come from, but we're not there where they come from.'
`And they'd also be 300 years ahead of us in medical research.'
`It's a sobering thought, but yes.'
`How long before we create self-replicating molecules, Bob?'
The question surprised the scientist. He lost interest in the sky. `Artificial tissue growth? The medical profession's dream. Being able to grow new body parts.'
`That would be one thing,' said Millicent cautiously, thinking how astute the scientist was -- he was almost reading her thoughts.
`Well -- it's been just around the corner for ten years. But so has controlled nuclear fusion. I'd say fifty years. Definitely within a hundred years. But foretelling the future is hazardous. I was taken to the Festival of Britain as a kiddiwink. In the Dome of Discovery we were told that by the end of the 20th Century we'd be living in houses that looked like golf balls on stilts. Here we are in the 21st Century, living in brick houses with tiled roofs built the same way that the Romans built them.'
They started walking, Harding wheeling his antique bicycle. He kept glancing up.
`There's so much we could learn from the visitors,' said Millicent wistfully.
`They might even have a cure for cancer,' said Harding. `But we don't even know if they're a carbon-based lifeform. Although I'd be prepared to bet that they are.'
`Well... I'm sorry to have kept you, Bob. Do be careful on that thing.'
Harding laughed. `I shall stand on the edge of the plague swamp and yell for help if anything untoward happens to me or my bits. Goo
d day, Milly.' He mounted the bicycle and wobbled towards the town, his safety not enhanced by his tendency to show a greater interest in the sky than the road.
Millicent Vaughan's thoughts as she walked home were that Vikki Taylor would not have yelled for help. Or had she done so unwittingly?
Chapter 46.
`YOU WERE HARD ON DIANA Sheldon, Asquith,' said Harvey Evans, pouring himself some more whisky.
Prescott smiled wolfishly. `She will receive a private apology, and a grovelling public apology at the next meeting followed by a fulsome eulogy about her work and how her services are indispensible. After that she'll do anything I say. Otherwise she can always resign and go back to family's law firm.'
The two men were sitting at a garden table on Prescott's lawn having enjoyed a heavy lunch. Through an open downstairs window the landowner's wife could be seen, cutting old-fashioned Gestetner stencils on a typewriter, headphones over her ears.
`What did you think of Bob Harding's appraisal?' asked Prescott.
`Extremely well put.'
`He toned it down a little at my request. He didn't favour the model of our visitors coming from our nearest star. Too convenient. He considered that the centre of the galaxy was more likely.'
`Meaning that it's possible that this situation could drag on indefinitely?'
`Precisely, Harvey. Precisely.' Prescott sipped his Scotch. `What's the firearm situation at Pentworth Police Station?'
`I'm sorry, Asquith, but that's something I'm not prepared to discuss.'
`Of course, Harvey -- forgive me for asking. But one cannot help but conjecture about the number of firearms in the community.'
`Very little now. The last amnesty just after the new law came in produced a small crop -- mostly rusty old firing pieces.'
`There was that sub-machine gun two or three days ago,' said Prescott. `Quite unbelievable.'
Evans smiled. Two days previously the lead story on local radio had been the woman who had wandered into Pentworth police station carrying two Sainsbury's shopping bags. One contained a heavily-greased British Army Sterling sub-machine gun, and other was burdened with two loaded magazines. She had moved into a house in Northchapel that had been standing empty for fifteen years and had found the cache rolled up in an old carpet in the loft.
Temple of the Winds Page 22
