by Trevor Hoyle
This was how Frank Kersh, in his role of amateur social anthropologist, saw her. As Frank Kersh, healthy thirty-three-year-old bachelor with normal libido quotient, he wanted, euphemistically speaking, to sleep with her.
Cal Renfield asked him what he intended to do next, now that his hunch had proved to be correct and the radiation count confirmed as positive. Would he take it up with Professor Friedmann and see what explanation he could offer?
Frank hadn’t yet decided what the next step should be. He said, ‘It still doesn’t constitute absolute proof that the Project is to blame. Friedmann could quite easily reject it out of hand – in fact that’s probably what he will do – and in a sense he’s perfectly right. There still isn’t any hard-and-fast evidence to link the babies in the hospital with the neutrino detection experiments being carried out at the Deep Hole Project. They could be entirely unconnected – and we’d have a tough time trying to prove otherwise.’
‘Strange that babies giving out radioactivity should be cared for in a place called Radium,’ Helen said.
‘It is strange,’ Frank agreed. ‘Just one of those odd coincidences that no one can explain. They might easily have been taken to another hospital, in Glenwood Springs maybe, or Lakewood.’
‘Might have been but weren’t,’ said Cal Renfield, sipping his brandy.
‘You’re getting to sound like your local preacher – what’s he called – Cabel? Delivering gloomy prophecies of doom and disaster from the Book of Genesis. Do you think the people round here really believe in him or do they treat it all as a joke?’
‘You want to hear him sometime,’ Cal Renfield said. ‘He’s pretty impressive. He’s got the whole thing worked out.’ He leaned back at ease in the armchair and clasped his short stubby fingers together across his stomach, as comfortable and content as a cat fed on cream and caviar. ‘The Telluric Faith states that we’re all, each and every one of us, an integral part of the Cosmos. There are different levels of awareness but most people are only aware of the one level they inhabit, what you might call the everyday world. Cabel says that in fact we’re part of the living Earth – not living on it, you understand, but part of it. And as part of the Earth we’re also part of the living Sun, and so on up through the various levels to the Cosmic.’ He frowned and said to Helen, ‘What’s that phrase he uses to describe the different levels?’
‘Greater Bodies and Lesser Bodies.’
‘Right, that’s right… so if you think of the whole bag of tricks as a gigantic onion, layer upon layer, then our Greater Bodies are the Biotic, the Planetary, Stellar, Galactic, and so on right up to—’ He clicked his fingers and appealed to Helen once more.
‘The Omniverse,’ she supplied.
‘The equivalent of what we’d call the Universe,’ Frank said.
‘That’s right,’ Cal Renfield affirmed. ‘And going the other way, in descending order, our Inner Bodies are the Biological, Chemical, Physical, Psychic, and finally V – which Cabel uses to symbolize the Ultimate Void. You get the overall picture? Each layer of the onion corresponds to a specific level of awareness, all of which are inter-related. By coincidence or design, I’m not sure which, human beings come slap in the middle, with the Omniverse at one extreme and the Ultimate Void at the other.’
‘Which is another name for the inner self, I take it?’
‘The soul, the astral body, the Id, Ego and Superego, whatever you care to call it. Members of the Faith believe that all forms of life on Earth are part of the one conscious intelligence – that’s what Cabel terms the Biotic – and above that we’re part of a greater living body, the Earth, which is itself part of the Planetary, and so on and so forth. It obeys the old classical dictum, “As above, so below”, each of the different planes in harmony with the rest.’
‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ Frank said, smiling.
‘I’ve heard the guy often enough, and as I say he can be fairly convincing when he gets up a full head of steam.’
‘I remember you telling me that he regards the Telluride Mine as having special significance,’ Frank said.
‘As near as I understand it that has something to do with lines of energy which intersect at various points on the Earth’s surface and the Mount of the Holy Cross happens to be situated at one of them.’ Cal Renfield helped himself to more brandy and offered the bottle to Frank. ‘What made you think of that?’
Frank poured brandy into his glass, watching the trickle of amber liquid and smelling the heavy rich aroma. He had made up his mind not to tell anyone of his experience underground, but now, well-fed and warmed by five-star French cognac, and with a sympathetic and intelligent audience, he was sorely tempted.
After a moment’s silent debate he said, ‘Everything seems to be centred on the mountain, doesn’t it? The Project is based there, the Telluric Faith regard it as being the focal point of their religion, the tremors seem to emanate from that region …’
‘Those are precisely the things that made us suspicious in the first place,’ said Helen, leaning forward to take the bottle. She had rolled up the sleeves of her check shirt and her arms were smooth and brown, a faint scattering of freckles like flecks of gold dust on her forearms. ‘There were just too many strange occurrences on that mountain or in some way connected with it – you know, things that didn’t make any sense or that we couldn’t find an explanation for.’
She regarded him seriously, her grey eyes wide and intent, and Frank had an instant fantasy about the expression those eyes would assume in the act of love-making. He could see them tightening, a little scared and yet eager at the same time, sensuously inviting as a woman’s and also naively trusting like those of a young girl.
Had he been seeking proof of thought-transference this might have furnished it, for her cheeks took on a deepening tint and her lips parted slightly, as if she were reading his mind; or it might have been his penetrating gaze which revealed what he was thinking.
Cal Renfield blundered into the mood, oblivious to it, or apparently so, by saying, ‘The Tellurians could be closer to the mark than they realize.’
‘In what way?’ Frank asked.
‘Because of the fault line that runs right along the Valley from Rifle through Eagle and almost as far as Breckenridge. Follows the course of Eagle River for most of the way, then cuts south below the Great Eagle Dam. Hasn’t moved an inch since records were kept but it’s there right enough. I spoke to a geologist who was doing a survey for the University and he pointed it out on his map. He told me it had been caused by something called the Laramide Revolution which happened 80 million years ago when the Rockies were first formed. There was some kind of colossal upheaval and two mountain ranges were flung up – the Mount of the Holy Cross on one side and Mount Powell on the other. The fault runs between them and eventually, after sixty million years or so, was pushed from both sides and closed up. As I say, there’s never been any detectable movement recorded in the vicinity, so maybe it’s sealed up good and tight.’
Frank nodded. ‘Which is just as well with the earth tremors you’ve been having recently.’
‘What I want to know is what can we do about all this?’ Helen demanded. She looked at her father and then at Frank. ‘You say that we need positive proof that the Project is responsible, yet while we’re waiting things are getting steadily worse. What do we need to know to convince somebody that we’re not just imagining all this, that it’s affecting the climate and the terrain and the people in the Valley? I mean—’ She held up her hands and curled them into fists, impotent in her frustration ‘—what would satisfy them? An earthquake? A flood? Some major disaster? Do they want to see the fault crack wide open and all the towns along the Eagle River disappear beneath the crust, wiped from the face of the Earth as if they never existed?’
‘Isn’t that what Cabel preaches?’ Frank said. ‘Doesn’t he prophesy that a Great Flood will one day destroy everything, just as in the Bible?’
‘I’m not concerned about Cabe
l and what he preaches,’ Helen said brusquely. ‘I want to know what the hell we can do to stop this before it goes any further. Friedmann must be aware of what’s happening, he must realize that these experiments with neutrinos, or whatever they are, are likely to be the cause of a major catastrophe if something isn’t done soon to stop them. But how do we get through to him? How do we convince him?’ She sounded desperate, not knowing which way to turn.
Frank marvelled how in forty-eight hours he had come to accept such questions as being valid and in need of urgent answers. Had someone put them to him on his arrival he would have thought that person stupid or crazy, in need of psychiatric treatment. Now he too had grave doubts about the Project and he was as keen as Helen to put a stop to whatever was happening before it was too late. But too late for what? he wondered. Was the Valley threatened by a disaster of some kind, just as the Telluric Faith prophesied? Had the mysterious Mr Cabel received Divine warning of a supernatural catastrophe that was to strike down from the heavens? But there had to be a rational explanation for all this; he refused to accept that these recent events, however strange and inexplicable, had anything to do with the religious mumbo-jumbo of Greater and Lesser Bodies, Omniverses and Ultimate Voids.
It was just too preposterous.
Cal Renfield heaved himself out of the armchair. He yawned elaborately and flexed his shoulders.
‘Think I’ll call it a day.’
‘That’s the best thing to call it,’ Helen said, straight-faced.
‘Don’t forget to put the cat out.’
‘We don’t have a cat.’
‘Hell, don’t we? What was that I put out last night?’
‘The hearth-rug,’ Helen said. She turned to Frank and said apologetically, ‘You’ll have gathered that this is what passes for sparkling repartee in the Renfield household.’
‘Don’t mind me,’ Frank said.
Cal Renfield bade them both good night and when he’d gone Helen said, ‘Would you care for some more coffee?’
‘It’s late. I’d better be going.’
‘Would you like to stay the night?’
‘Thanks, but it’s only a short walk to the hotel.’
‘I know that,’ Helen said. ‘I meant with me.’
Frank said, ‘I wasn’t aware the Liberation Movement had spread this far West.’
It would have been putting it mildly to say that he was taken aback; he’d never been so directly propositioned before. Even with the girl in San Francisco they’d contributed equally to the liaison, each making fifty per cent of the running. He didn’t know what to say or what to do with his face.
‘The way you looked at me earlier I got the impression you wanted to sleep with me.’ She made a small inconsequential motion with her shoulders. ‘Sorry if I got the wrong idea.’
‘Don’t apologize,’ Frank said swiftly. ‘I mean yes – I’d like to – it’s just that—’
‘You’re afraid that if we sleep together I won’t respect you,’ Helen said. Her expression was solemn but there was a devilish twinkle in her grey eyes.
Was this, he wondered, the fast-come-on before the big put-down? He said, ‘I just feel rather awkward. After all, it is your father’s house.’
‘But my body,’ Helen said. She stood up, unbuttoning her shirt, and came to sit beside him on the settee. Her body was lightly tanned and his suspicions that she wasn’t wearing a bra were confirmed.
She said, ‘I don’t see what all the hooh-ha is about. I find you very attractive and sexually desirable and the way you looked at me earlier I thought that you felt the same.’
Frank nodded dumbly.
‘We’re both young and healthy,’ Helen said. ‘And there isn’t a reason in the world why we shouldn’t.’
‘Keep talking,’ he said, ‘you’re convincing me.’
‘I think I’ve done enough talking,’ Helen said, putting her hand on the nape of his neck. He relaxed under the pressure of her hand and bent forward to kiss her. She tasted sweet, her mouth soft and yielding, and almost immediately he felt her tongue slide between his lips and begin its silky explorations. In the same instant he became hard and the desire for her overpoweringly strong. Unfastening the remaining buttons he slid the shirt from her shoulders and her slim brown arms encircled his neck so that her firm young breasts were lifted and pressed against him.
He said close against her ear, ‘Yes, I do. I want to fuck you very badly.’
‘I was hoping you’d do it rather well.’
He couldn’t help it and laughed out loud and they both fell away from one another laughing hilariously. He looked at her open mouth, the teeth small and white and perfectly symmetrical, and found it sexually intoxicating; his senses seemed to shimmer and distort, his breath constrained in his chest.
Still watching his face Helen reached out and began to unfasten the buckle on his belt. He touched her face with his fingertips, tracing the fine line as in a delicate pastel drawing, then her lower lip, which he had always maintained was the most sensual part of a woman’s anatomy.
‘You haven’t asked me if I’m married,’ Frank said.
‘Is that the question you’re usually asked?’ Helen said, unzipping him.
Frank breathed out slowly and nodded. He couldn’t trust himself to speak.
‘Would it make any difference if you were?’
‘Would it to you?’ he managed to say.
‘No,’ she said coolly, shaking her head, her eyes not leaving his face.
Frank drew her near to him, a kind of hushed breathless languor pressing down on him. His eyes felt hot. He kissed her, feeling her hands fondling him, and behind his closed eyelids he experienced a sensation as though the world had shifted and the trembling in his limbs had communicated itself to everything in the room.
A picture fell off the wall and the house groaned like something alive.
Helen leapt to her feet as the tremor ripped like a shockwave through the house and the coffee cups and brandy glasses slid off the table and landed in a smashed heap on the carpet. Glowing coals tumbled into the hearth and behind their heads the window shattered with the sharp crack of a rifle-shot. From all around came sounds of breaking glass and falling objects and timbers splintering under the strain. Plaster showered down from the ceiling.
The house was falling apart.
Frank said urgently, ‘Your father’s bedroom, where is it?’
Helen had donned the check shirt, her first act of self-preservation, and Frank followed her across the disintegrating living-room to the back of the house where they met Cal Renfield in his dressing-gown emerging from the bedroom.
He said, ‘I knew if I didn’t make the mortgage payments they’d send the bailiffs in,’ and pushed Helen and Frank in front of him along a passage and through a small utility room and out into the back garden. The three of them ran round the side of the house into the tree-lined avenue where several people were milling about in confusion and barely-controlled panic.
The streetlight on the corner was leaning at an impossible angle, like a drunk who should fall down but is too intoxicated to realize it.
Frank suddenly thought to make sure his dress was properly adjusted, and thankfully it was.
‘Either that was the first of three,’ Cal Renfield said, ‘or it was the big one and we’ve been let off lightly this once.’ His dressing-gown was a vivid unidentifiable tartan, which made him seem even shorter and more rotund than usual, and rather comical.
‘Do they come in threes?’ Frank asked.
‘Don’t most things, especially if they’re bad?’
Frank looked along the avenue but it didn’t seem as if a great deal of damage had been caused. In the darkness, with only the leaning street lamp for illumination, it was difficult to be sure, though the houses were still intact and there were no large gaping cracks in the sidewalk or the road. It might have felt worse than it really was, he thought, for it didn’t require much of a movement – a few inches at most �
� to crack foundations and shift load-bearing walls off-centre. In fact outwardly Cal Renfield’s house didn’t appear to have suffered serious damage, though several of the windows were broken and from somewhere they could hear the sound of gushing water.
One of the neighbours was counting. He had reached 120 and Cal Renfield said, ‘I guess that’s it for one night. If there was going to be another we should have had it by now. Wouldn’t you say so, Clem?’
The neighbour shook his head doubtfully. ‘Never can tell with these bastards. Just when you’ve relaxed your guard they hit you with another, right when you’re least expecting it. It’s like somebody or something is watching and waiting, then when it sees you’ve let out a sigh of relief – wallop! wham! – catches you bare-assed with your pants round your ankles.’
Frank looked away into the darkness, trying to hide a smile, and Helen nudged him in the ribs and whispered, ‘You’re not alone, seems like Clem’s had a similar experience.’
Cal Renfield was all for going back into the house but the neighbour warned him against it. Frank suggested they walk up to the main square and find out if the hotel had been left unaffected by the tremor.
‘You can’t stay in the street all night,’ he pointed out, ‘and I’ve a room there with a bed and a couple of armchairs. It’s not much but it’s better than nothing.’
Helen gave him a private look, pursing her lips and pulling a sardonic face.
They were still a fair distance from the square when they heard the low moaning – a faint yet steady drone that reminded Frank of a mournful dirge. He had heard it before but couldn’t remember where.
Then as they got nearer he did remember: it was the sound that had accompanied the tremor on his first visit to the detection chamber in the depths of the Telluride Mine.
FOUR
Cal Renfield said, ‘My God, the Tellurians are out in strength tonight.’
Frank said, ‘Are you sure? Is that where the noise is coming from?’
‘Nothing like a good old-fashioned thunderstorm or a powerful earth tremor to get them whipped up into a fine old frenzy. Listen for yourself.’
