A fresh wind was blowing from the east. The last clouds of the great storm were drifting westwards like a retreating armada, dead black against the grey dawn sky. Keenly he surveyed the landscape, and as his gaze settled on the soft, red glow reflected above the centre of the city, a smile came slowly to his lips.
He’d done it. In spite of Lalia’s crazy attack on him, her foolish treachery, he had done what he had set out to do. He had lain there dazed for some time after she had fled, and had come to his senses to find the machine still running, the storm almost at its height. For hours he had watched it through the television periscope, exulting in its terrible abandon, its wild, flashing fury. Until at last, content, he had stopped the machine and the tempest had gradually subsided, leaving him to contemplate the havoc it had caused over the whole area of the city and beyond.
But it was not enough to remain there, concealed, viewing his handiwork from a distance. He could not resist the temptation to go out into the streets to see the devastation he had wrought at close quarters, to see the effect on the city’s inhabitants of this catastrophe whose true nature they had yet to learn. He had given them an abundant demonstration of his power. When he was their Master they would respect him all the more for that. But first he must seize the Mastership; they would not know until later that the storm was not a natural phenomenon, if an unprecedented one.
Lalia, of course, would talk—if she still survived. If she was dead, so much the better. He had been a fool to trust her as far as he did. But she had been useful. Now he could forget her.
He drove the car out of the underground garage and along the road, still flooded from the deluge. Making towards the city’s centre, he soon gained a closer, grimmer perspective of the disaster he had created. Crumpled villas, fallen trees, swirling waters covered with driftwood, presented a picture of widespread destruction in the outer circle of the city.
It grew lighter as he came nearer to the inner section, where he was forced to abandon the car and proceed on foot to observe the utter chaos that revealed itself in the battered streets. Everywhere he looked he saw tangled girders and shattered masonry where tall, stately buildings had stood. Commercial Tower had gone, felled by the merciless lightning. The Science Institute had suffered, one wing a great pile of broken concrete and twisted steel. The Weather Bureau and the Ambassadors’ Building were only two of the blackened, smoking shells left by devouring flames, which even the rain had failed to quench. Elsewhere, in many parts of the city, fires were still raging, defying the weary, grimy men who still strove to defeat them.
Through the streets, too, wandered little aimless groups of men, women, and children who had been driven from the wreckage of their homes; while others were curious sightseers, gazing stupefied at scenes of devastation and horror. Rescue squads worked ceaselessly amid tumbling ruins. Ambulances raced, bells ringing wildly, or stood vigilantly by while sullen bulldozers shoved aside debris. As Melvin neared the city’s shattered heart, the activity increased.
“Terrible, isn’t it?”
He turned sharply. A stocky, well-built man with tousled hair and dirty, perspiring face stood at his elbow. There was bitter sorrow in his eyes; his mouth was shut tight as though in an effort to master his emotion. His clothes were torn, and he held his left arm in a rude sling beneath his empty sleeve.
“Pretty bad,” Melvin admitted almost grudgingly. Somewhere within him was a strange feeling of discomfort, which he had been trying to analyse even as he strove to conquer it. It was not remorse—it could only be nausea. He had no regrets. He had set out to accomplish this, and he had succeeded. For him it was triumph, not tragedy. Yet now he could feel none of that splendid satisfaction he had tasted when he first surveyed the landscape from the laboratory. The finer details were a little—distasteful.
“I was in a holo-cinema with my wife and two kiddies,” the man said absently. “We heard thunder, but thought nothing of it. Then the whole place caved in. My wife and kids were crushed under a steel girder. They got me out. I wish they hadn’t....”
“I’m sorry.” Melvin wanted to get away from him, but the man suddenly grasped his arm with his free hand as though anxious to unleash his feelings now that he had found someone who would listen.
“I can’t understand it, can you?” he went on. “That storm—it was no ordinary storm, was it? It couldn’t have been. There’s never been another like it. I wonder—”
He broke off, peering into Melvin’s face. “I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before, haven’t I? At the Science Institute, perhaps—”
Melvin smiled faintly, threw off his morbid feelings. There was no reason why he should conceal his identity. The whole of London would know him soon enough. His name would be on every lip.
“I’m Melvin Read,” he said. “Vice-Chief of the Electronic Department.”
“Why, of course!” The man brightened, held out his hand. “I’m Curtis Townsend, engineer. We must have met. I often have business at the Institute. I knew Mernas Steele very well. Latimer, too.”
Melvin frowned, feigning surprise. “You knew them? You mean—”
“You haven’t heard? It was on the radio and TV. All stations broke down when the storm was on, but they’ve got going again. They’re putting out bulletins, they tell me. The death roll’s estimated at ten thousand, maybe more. Several big names among the missing, the Master and Chief Scientist included. They’re dead for certain—no trace.”
Melvin’s pulses raced. It was just what he had hoped for. Now was his opportunity.
“Then the city’s without a leader, a central authority. There will have to be an election,” he urged.
Townsend’s face was blank. “In time, I suppose. The administration’s still functioning as best it can, but it will take weeks to clear up this mess. Someone will have to shoulder the responsibility in the meantime. It’s no light task—”
“I’ll take it on.” Melvin’s voice was challenging, though he tried to conceal his eagerness. “I was next to Mernas Steele, have all the qualifications. If things are left to the petty officials, they will all be quarrelling among themselves and nothing will be done. The people must have a leader, someone whose word is law and whom they can trust, or they will get out of hand. If I speak to them, I’m sure they will put me in that position until we can have a proper election. If you and your friends will give me your support and nominate me, I shall not easily forget it.”
Townsend ruminated, his personal grief forgotten in his concern for the city’s welfare. He had heard of this Melvin Read in the influential circles in which he was privileged to move, even if he did not strictly belong to them. Men spoke his name, he remembered, with something of envy and respect, while treating him as an inferior. Perhaps if he threw in his lot with him....
“There’s something in what you say, and I admire your public spirit,” he confessed. “Of course, I’m only an engineer—”
“And the very man I want to have charge of the rebuilding of the city,” Melvin encouraged.
“Then you can count on my full support. Come along to my office, and we’ll see if we can get you on the TV and radio once we’ve got your nomination through. The people will acclaim you—I’ve no doubt of that. Yes, Melvin Read for Master it shall be!”
* * * *
The reaction of the people to Melvin’s appointment as temporary Master was enough to show their willingness to accept any leader who could inspire them with the courage and determination that were most needed in the present emergency. The harassed administration welcomed him as one who was prepared to relieve them of the burden of responsibility in a crisis they could not cope with; and those of the Intellectual Circle who were loath to accept him were at least prepared to grant him the extra burdens of his office while they lasted. Later, when he had reorganised affairs sufficiently for an election to be held, he could be easily deposed by a candidate more to their liking.
But Melvin Read, having grasped his opportunity, was quick t
o exert his new power in a way that would ensure his retention of it. He spared no pains to persuade the people that he alone could give them the betterments they craved by his ruthless domination of the whole community and its resources of capital and labour. Within a few days, the city’s three hundred thousand homeless had been given fresh shelter, and the work of repairing the tens of thousands of damaged homes and buildings had begun, under the direction of Townsend. With prospects of such a swift rehabilitation, the people’s hopes rose as they demonstrated their confidence in the new leader.
But he, conscious of the precariousness of his position, knew he could not rely on fickle popularity to defeat the more subtle forces arrayed against him. If his bid for power failed, he must resort once more to the Elements Controller, that master bargaining weapon, which would always be more valuable than votes. At the same time, it was imperative that the secret of the machine be kept. Beneath the ruins of his home it was safe enough, but he had to have access to its violent strength at all times, against any emergency.
Only he knew the purpose of the complicated switchboard that was promptly installed in his office in the Science Institute, where he made his temporary headquarters until the rebuilding of Commercial Tower. Much less did those few who were aware of its existence realize that behind it was an ingenious remote control apparatus which enabled him to operate the Elements Controller with the same facility as if he were in the underground laboratory where it was concealed.
But the precaution proved unnecessary. When, within two months, he was forced to accede to the demands of those who opposed him and submit himself for election, the people clamoured for him to remain in office rather than accept any of his rival nominees. His forthright methods, coupled with his assurances of continued progress to benefit Intellectuals and Workers alike, had brought him general approval, and he found himself with the Mastership for a further period of two years.
Engineer Townsend was the first to call at his office on the morning after the election.
“You deserve it, Read,” he said warmly. “You’ve done wonders. The people want a man of action.”
“You’ve done well, too,” Melvin acknowledged. “But we still have to move faster. We need more labour. The other cities can’t or won’t co-operate, so what we can’t get from outside we must get from within. We shall have to be ruthless. My first act will be to conscript everybody within a hundred miles radius into the Workers’ Circle, to help with the rebuilding.”
Townsend raised his black brows. “That’s not going to be very popular, is it?”
“Perhaps not. But I want to see this city rebuilt—and quickly. We need more houses for the workers, and until they have them we shall never make progress on the bigger schemes for which we are all impatient. The whole of the city is too crowded. I want to see it expand still further into the countryside. The inner circle will be enlarged to the present limits of the outer circle, which will spread out beyond that. We shall absorb the small towns and the few villages that are left, cover the fields with houses, keep such open spaces as are necessary. London needs more territory—and more Workers. There are too many Intellectuals. You understand?”
The engineer looked doubtful, but he nodded. “You want me to get started on this expansion scheme?” he asked.
“Very soon. Of course, it will take time. But we shall work as fast as we can—keep the people occupied. Meanwhile, I have other plans which do not concern you.”
“I see.” Townsend lowered his gaze. “Well, you can rely on me.”
As the door closed behind the engineer Melvin Read sat back in his chair, musing. His pensive eye lighted on the wall-safe where the plans of Levison’s Thought Amplifier still reposed, neglected but not forgotten. In the two months that had passed he had heard nothing of his brother, nor of Lalia. Perhaps they had both died. She, at least, would surely have come to him in the hour of his triumph, asking his forgiveness, wanting to share his success. He had to make certain, now, that he was rid of her. And of Levison....
* * * *
The man in the dark grey uniform, standing at the door of the bungalow, announced his business in a tone that brooked no argument.
“You are instructed to come with me to London immediately for essential employment in the Workers’ Circle. Here is my authority.”
Levison Read took the paper the officer held out to him.
“You understand,” he emphasised, “you are to come immediately. Accommodation will be provided for you. This house and your belongings will be taken care of by the authorities until your services are dispensed with, but it will be necessary for you to live with the Workers for the time being. Bring with you only the things you need—”
“But what is this?” Levison found his voice. “Emergency Order? Recruitment of labour?”
“If you don’t come willingly I shall have to arrest you,” the officer threatened. “The vehicle is waiting just along the road. You won’t be the only one. I’ll expect you there in ten minutes.”
He was about to turn on his heel when he caught sight of the girl coming into the passage. His eyes raked her.
“Your wife?” He leered.
Lalia answered before Levison could speak, giving her name and explaining that she was staying at the bungalow because her own apartments had been destroyed in the Great Storm.
“Lalia Melbridge, eh? Lucky for me. I’ve been looking for you, Miss Melbridge. Two birds with one stone.”
He searched through his papers, handed her a document similar to the one he had given Levison. “You’ll have to come along too.” He winked heavily at Levison. “If you’re good, perhaps they’ll fix you up together. Don’t forget—ten minutes.”
He was gone. Lalia looked up from the paper, her blue eyes puzzled.
“But this is absurd! If this is some of Melvin’s work—”
“He doesn’t waste any time, does he?” said Levison. “So the Intellectuals must become Workers, by order of the Master! He’s running his head into trouble already. But we’d better get ready.”
Lalia’s frown turned to a look of complete bewilderment. “You—you mean you’re going? Under threats? You’re going to let him force you to give up your work on the Amplifier? That’s just what he wants—”
“If we refuse we shall only be playing into his hands, giving him an excuse to put further pressure on us. It won’t hurt us to live in the Workers’ Circle for a while. It will give me a chance to protest against his high-handed actions—to meet him face to face if I can. Yes, I think we’d better go.”
She was still inclined to doubt when they took their seats in the great three-decker motor-bus outside, into which many others like themselves were climbing, carrying suitcases and parcels of intimate belongings. But she knew it was useless to resist. For the moment, Melvin had the whip hand. They would have to bide their time.
The bus stopped once to pick up a little group of people waiting at the roadside with two grey-uniformed men, then continued on its way towards London. The passengers were silent, uneasy; there were a few feeble protests, but no more. The officers were grimly uncommunicative. The prospect looked bleak.
The bus reached the outer city traffic levels, entered the drab regions of the Workers’ Circle with its rows of little grey houses. They passed many ugly spaces littered with the debris of those that had been torn down, either by the storm itself or in consequence of its toll of damage. In every street gangs of workmen toiled at the task of reconstruction. Eventually the bus pulled up outside a public building. The officers herded them out, up the wide steps and into a queue which trailed through the great hall to a door labelled ‘Registrations’.
When at length they reached the table where a flint-faced official sat ready to ply them with questions in their turn, Levison spoke up:
“I wish to appeal against this treatment. I am engaged on important work.”
The official glared. “There is no work more important than the rebuilding of the city. The Mast
er has ordered that you shall be engaged in such work, at least until you can be spared for less urgent matters. No appeals against that decision are permitted. Your name, please!”
“Levison Read. The Master is my brother—”
“That makes no difference. Kindly reply to the questions.... Occupation?”
Levison hesitated, seemed as though he would carry his protest further, then gave up the struggle with a shrug. He made his replies mechanically, moved aside to make way for Lalia. The officer ignored the defiance in her voice as she gave her particulars. At the end he looked up and announced to all and sundry:
“If there is anybody who feels inclined to question the Master’s judgment in this matter, may I remind them that the Master has the right under the Act of Mastership to make whatever order he chooses in an emergency, without reference to any other authority. Next, please!”
* * * *
It was only by degrees that Levison and Lalia came to realize how completely Melvin’s edict had them in its grip. They were given billets fairly close to each other and put to work in the same underground factory; there were ample facilities for recreation, and as long as they were content to adapt themselves to their new mode of life they were not interfered with. But they were under constant surveillance by the grey-uniformed police who patrolled the Workers’ Circle night and day, ensuring that they did not pass the jealously guarded barriers into the city’s inner circle without a special permit. To impress upon them even further their loss af Intellectual status, they were obliged to wear the drab olive-green dress of the Workers at all times.
By patient application to the proper authority, Levison gained permission to retrieve the apparatus and equipment he needed to continue work on the Thought Amplifier in his periods off duty, and the little room which Lalia visited every evening soon had all the appearance of his Paradise Acres workshop, except for its cramped dimensions. Though greatly handicapped, he laboured more diligently than ever, while Lalia helped where she could. But as the days lengthened into weeks and their enforced duties in the factory grew more and more irksome, she grew impatient, resentful.
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