by Cole, Robert
But just before three in the morning a young man with a white and very worried face rushed into the office. He whispered something to the editor and immediately the mood changed. Mr. Casey stood up unsteadily. Alex hurried over.
‘I don't know how, but the military have found out about our plans,’ he said urgently. They could be here at any minute. You must go now.’
‘What about you?’ Alex asked, suddenly feeling ill.
‘I shall make those phone calls at once and send out the articles.’
Alex was struck by the bravery of his words, but he could see how frightened he looked. ‘Are you sure you won't come with us?’
Casey shook his head firmly. ‘Please go. You have little enough time as it is.’
Alex turned sharply to Martin, who also shook his head.
‘I have to find my wife and daughter before the military does and you must get back to your community with this information as quickly as possible.’
Alex stared at him, lost for words. The swing from triumph to abject failure was too sudden for any of them to take in at once. ‘I'm so sorry,’ he said uselessly.
Martin shook away his words. ‘Go before you lose your chance to escape.’ Then abruptly, as though gripped by panic he could no longer control; he turned and ran from the office. Alex gathered the plans the editor had given him, gripped Elaine's arm and they fled after him.
As before, the quickest way out of the city was through the ventilation system. The main ventilation shaft terminated in a duct embedded in the pavement in a nearby walkway. Alex and Elaine unscrewed the grid and climbed in, drawing it back after them.
Once inside they had to contend with a steady blast of warm air. The duct ran under the pavement until it reached the corner of the building, then climbed steeply and disappeared into the roof. Soon they became saturated with sweat as they slowly elbowed their way upward. Reaching the top, they began to cross the newspaper building. Down shafts opened up at close intervals to ventilate the various offices of ‘The Chronicle’ below. The escapers traversed this section with extreme care, as each shaft brought its own tale of screams, harsh orders and shouts as the raid beneath them got under way. At one vent the voice of the editor could be heard demanding an explanation for the invasion in ringing tones. They stopped to listen, their hearts gripped with fear and sadness for him. Tables and chairs were being overturned and glass was being smashed.
‘You're too late!’ they heard the editor say confidently.
‘No, I don't think so,’ retorted a calm, self-possessed voice. ‘We've already cut all communications from your office. Nothing got out.’
There was a pause.
‘I've been in touch with several people in the government and told them everything,’ the editor said.
‘They won't do anything,’ the voice replied casually.
Again there was a pause.
‘You don't have that much power.’ But this time, they noticed, the statement was more in the nature of a question.
‘Anyone in the government with any influence answers directly to us,’ the voice replied. ‘I'm afraid you have made some serious miscalculations.’
‘I don't believe you,’ the editor replied.
‘You must think we are very naïve, Mr. Casey. You made three phone calls in four minutes. The first was to Anthony Thorn, deputy leader of Food Resources; the second to Mark Langley, minister for Health and Safety; and the third to Brian Garrett, leader of the civilian government. We routinely monitor all your newspaper's calls. They would have been foolish indeed not to have reported your conversations to us.’
This time the silence stretched for several seconds. Then, very slowly, in almost a resigned voice, the editor asked, ‘You're saying you control the whole civilian government?’
‘Always have,’ the other voice responded in a condescending tone. ‘One city cannot have two masters. We built it and we control it, as always.’
‘Then why?’ the editor cried. ‘Why the charade? Why not just order us to obey you, instead of this elaborate invention.’
‘You can't master a wild beast by continually beating it over the head with a stick,’ the voice continued. ‘You will only ruin its character. It will brood over its ill-treatment and wait for its moment of revenge. A civilian population is like that. But if you pamper it, if you coat its chain with sugar and change its straw frequently, it will soon forget any other way of life. It will even lick poison from your hand.’
‘But we rebelled,’ the editor interrupted.
‘Not on your own initiative. Without the missing pieces supplied by those two mutants, you would never have worked out what was really happening.’
‘But you couldn't honestly expect to keep the truth from us for ever. If the survivors from the surface hadn't contacted us, something else would have given you away. Once the colonisation of the surface began, it would have become obvious that you weren't telling the truth.’
‘Not so, not so.’ The voice sounded completely at ease. ‘Without those two mutants, you would have remained submissive and contented, happily swallowing all the information we fed you. By the time you were allowed on the surface it would be exactly as we have described it. Our misinformation, as you term it, would have become literal truth.’
‘But it's not the truth,’ the editor protested, ‘it's lies. Is the truth so terrible that we have to be shielded from it for ever?’
There was another pause. Alex could just hear the sound of army boots pacing the floor. ‘You talk of truth as though it's some absolute, some ultimate goal that everyone must strive for. But it's not, you see; like morality, it changes from generation to generation and from one section of society to another. Before the war, for instance, if you can cast your mind back that far, do you imagine that truth for the masses was the same as truth for the politicians? Of course not,’ the voice continued, answering its own question. ‘The politicians distorted the truth to suit their own purposes, just as you or I, in private life, might lie to cover up some indiscretion. Politics is not a doctrine of truth; it's a means of persuasion. Truth is what you believe, nothing more. And by raising the threshold of comfort, we can lower the resistance to manipulation.’
‘And what of the two mutants? Aren't you afraid they might spread the real truth about your activities? You can't control them at least.’
‘They are of no consequence. Without your support no one would listen to them. Besides, I'm sure they're well on their way out of here by now.’
‘And you're not going to try and catch them?’
‘There's no point. They can't do anything to stop us. They've already done the worst they're capable of.’
‘And us?’
The voice replied chillingly: ‘The frankness of our conversation, which I must say I have enjoyed, precludes your re entry into society, I fear. My superiors must decide your ultimate fate. Guard, take him away.’
Alex and Elaine climbed out of the tunnel system several hours later. There had been no sign of pursuit and there were no military patrols on the surface. They reached Box late that morning and found the Land Rover where they had left it. Exhausted and deeply depressed, they started on their journey back to Wales.
CHAPTER 14
It took them six weary days to reach the community again. Elaine eyes were so swollen that she had difficulty focusing. This meant she could not drive for long periods. Although Alex had tried to compensate for this by increasing his spells at the wheel, the after effects of their experience in the city, and the need to keep a sharp look out, drained his strength. So the journey was a long one, with frequent stops though they begrudged every hour that passed.
As soon as they arrived Alex went straight to Marcus's office and blurted out the whole story. An emergency meeting of the committee was convened at once. They were both required to attend, but a few minutes were allowed for them to wash and change into the grey shirt and baggy trousers, standard issue of the community's clothing section. Elaine's ey
e was properly bandaged for the first time, but the rest of her face had lost little of its grotesque appearance.
Alex was immediately called upon to relay every detail of his trip. He hung up a large map of England and indicated the location and the extent of the underground city. With Elaine's help he recalled everything that could be relevant, backing up each statement with documents. Particularly useful for the tacticians were the ground plans of the city, which William Casey had given him.
To say that the committee was flabbergasted would be no exaggeration. To learn of the existence of a sophisticated underground city and to be told simultaneously of its well advanced plans for your extermination was no small thing.
Marcus led off with the first question. ‘In your opinion, Alex, do you think there's any chance of the military being persuaded to stop the attack?’
‘No,’ Alex replied firmly. ‘None at all. They have every intention of carrying out their plans and nothing will make them deviate from that.’
The decisive tone of these words drew a wave of muttering from the committee.
‘But as I understand it, the civilian population still doesn't know we exist. I mean, surely they'd make a stand if they were informed of exactly what their military were up to.’
This was from Arthur Renwall, the self-important, self-satisfied nuclear expert, now peering at Alex like an over-excited schoolboy.
‘I agree,’ Stephen Lane added, an excellent organiser but fatally short-sighted beyond the field of his own routines and timetables. ‘We must send a delegation to them immediately to sort this whole thing out.’
‘It’s just not that simple,’ Alex retorted impatiently. ‘The military would prefer to kill any delegation than talk to them.’
‘They will have to use the tunnel entrance that you came out of then, and bypass the military to reach the civilian population,’ Stephen continued.
‘It's only logical,’ Arthur chipped in. ‘This whole business could be solved by exposing the nature of the attack and letting the other members of the city deal with the military.’
‘I thought I'd explained how we've already tried that, working from the inside.’ Now Alex was angry. ‘A very brave newspaper editor has died, and probably others, too. You don't seem to appreciate the enemy we are up against. These people have already abandoned us once; they've tried to wipe us out with an epidemic and their poison sprays have kept the radiation in the cities high. And you're saying the strength of public opinion is going to make them change their minds!’
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen!’ Marcus rose to his feet and motioned with his hands for quiet. ‘Let us keep our minds on our immediate objective. We are not here to pick holes in what Alex has to say. The evidence he has presented us with is substantial, detailed, widely based and, I believe, authentic. From what he tells us, we have just over four weeks to plan a strategy to defend ourselves against attack. I suggest we set about that task immediately, without wasting any more time.’
‘I’m not suggesting that sending a delegation is the only thing we can do,’ Arthur said defensively. ‘Obviously we have to prepare for every contingency. But we cannot pass up the opportunity to settle this matter peacefully.’
Alex drew a deep breath. ‘After all I've told you, I'm surprised that you think the civilian population would respond positively to the leadership of a band of mutants, or heed their advice. As we overheard, they have been taught to follow the military’s lead. Even if we could penetrate the complex again, we would be handed over directly to the authorities.’
Arthur frowned at this and seemed at a loss as to how to reply. He took off his glasses and rubbed his lenses thoughtfully. ‘Well, we must try something,’ he said at length.
‘Of course we must, but not that,’ said Alex.
‘There is one way to make them listen,’ another voice called.
Alex had wondered how long it would be before they heard from his old friend Terry Aldiss.
‘It's clear that the civilian population is not strong enough to oppose the military. So to make the military listen to us, rather than destroy us out of hand, we need a bargaining chip.’ Terry rose and came forward. Alex’s plan of the city was still pinned up on the front blackboard and he studied it carefully for a moment. ‘Yes, their ammunition supplies are located largely in one area, sector seventeen.’ He picked up the pointer Alex had been using and tapped the plan. ‘There are ventilation shafts either side of this sector, here and here. All that is needed, therefore, is an armed force to descend by these shafts and seal off this section with explosives. There would be enough ammunition here to blow up half the city. This would be carrying the war right into their own camp; if, after that, they did not come to terms, they'd risk their total destruction.’
In spite of his dislike for Terry, Alex had to admit that his plan was very good. Marcus, too, from the look of him, was giving it very serious consideration.
‘One of the most ridiculous suggestions I ever heard,’ Arthur piped up. ‘Any number of things could go wrong with it. What if the armed force failed? The military would be on the surface in a flash, after the rest of us. Then there'd be no reasoning with them.’
Alex and Marcus's eyes met across the room and for a moment, in the older man's eyes and drawn cheeks, Alex glimpsed the strain of the responsibility that was weighing him down. He felt for him as, rising above the babble of voices which had joined in denouncing Terry's plan, Marcus once more called for quiet. He stood and surveyed the gathered company until all was quiet. ‘This business has come rushing upon us,’ he began, so softly that they had to be completely silent to hear him. ‘As in the time of the first bombs falling that destroyed the world we knew and loved, we are unprepared. But in that dreadful time we were individuals, citizens without a voice, suddenly overthrown in the ruin of our country. Today it is not quite like that. This is our home now, a home we have built up and moulded with conscious purpose. It is the work of our own hands, and we have justifiable pride in what our own labours have achieved. Let us therefore stand to arm and ready ourselves to defend it and all those who have entrusted themselves to our care. I call for volunteers from both the Scottish and Welsh communities. Together we shall raise an army and march to the underground city and, if necessary, be ready to attack it if it threatens to destroy us.’
Arthur Kenwall was still persistent in his dissent. ‘Are you saying that we should attack the city without first trying to negotiate with them?’ he interrupted.
Marcus waved his objection aside. ‘I approve the pre-emptive strike that Terry has suggested. The aggressive intentions of the military are beyond reasonable doubt. Whatever the outcome of that strike, it follows that we also need the immediate threat of an army to add weight to our claims to destroy the city, or to launch an immediate assault if the sabotage fails.’
‘But we don't have the arms to supply an army of any size,’ Arthur persisted.
‘Sir, you are mistaken.’
Alex recognised Dimintri Antoni, one of the three-man junta of the Scottish community. Tall and with a hawkish face, he stared Arthur down relentlessly.
‘Scotland is well provided with arms and ammunition,’ he continued, seeing that he now held the floor. ‘It is the one surplus we can call upon. We place them unreservedly at the disposal of our Welsh friends, whose fight is ours.’
‘That is most generous, Dimintri,’ said Marcus. ‘What volume of armaments and what time scale are we talking about?’
Dimintri shrugged. ‘Enough to equip a force thirty thousand strong. We can contribute ten thousand of our own men. They could be on their way within a fortnight.’
‘And your colleagues on the junta? Would they be likely to raise any objections?’
‘I speak for them. I repeat; your fight is our fight. Alex's arguments and documentary evidence are unanswerable.’
This sudden pledge of arms and men did much to stir the committee into action. The general principle of Terry's plan was adopted and several l
eading men from the community's armed forces were called in to examine the logistics of it. Dimintri, meanwhile, discussed with Marcus how best to combine the Scottish and Welsh armies and organise the support facilities in the few weeks that remained. Marcus eventually agreed to supply all the food and trucks, if the Scots could take care of most of the arms. If everything went according to plan, the two armies would merge in three weeks' time on the outskirts of Stoke on Trent and advance south together to the city. Dimintri would leave for Scotland at first light the next day, by sea, on a Welsh trawler, as it was expected that this would more than halve the travelling time.
The committee meeting was adjourned in the early hours, with an agreement to meet again in several days to review progress.
Alex and Elaine, feeling more dead than alive, slipped away quietly to catch up on some sleep. They did not wake until late the next day.
Alex found Elaine sitting at a table by herself, staring distantly at her food. He crossed over to her, not expecting an enthusiastic greeting and not getting one. She turned and smiled briefly, more out of politeness than pleasure.
‘Your face looks a lot better,’ he said awkwardly, when she did not speak. ‘I mean a lot better than it did a few days ago,’ he added quickly, as her hand went instinctively to the swollen purple area.
She withdrew it and nodded, but still she did not reply.
They had had a blazing row the day before. He had never seen anyone quite so angry. The whole argument had come as rather a shock. She had asked him if he would be joining the forces to fight the military, if it came to a battle. He had shrugged and said he supposed he would, not really giving the matter a second thought. She had then started asking him a whole series of awkward questions. Why did he want to fight? Hadn't he already done enough? Did he really want to be involved in another war? This negative response had irritated him; it was his duty, he had said. Immediately she had flown off the handle. What was the matter with him? Did he take some morbid delight in war? When he had attempted to defend himself, she had simply raised her voice and finally had stormed off. Neither of them had said a word to each other for the rest of the day. It was now dinner time on the day after and still they had not spoken to each other.
