Live, Love, and Cry

by George B Mair

  And the consequences might be equally important for humanity.

  Juin was now speaking quietly, but with a hint of self-control which showed the strain of responsibility. His assistants were releasing the fragile glass capsule from the slide carrier when he held up an ampoule of lilac-coloured fluid. ‘PENTER 15, gentlemen. Evolved by Alex Carpenter of Edinburgh during the past few years in his efforts to make a foolproof but economical birth-control oral contraceptive. After experimenting with a number of chemicals he concentrated upon a blend of norethisterone acetate, ethinyloestradiol 3-methylether and, strangely enough, an iodine isotope which in due course was found to be one essential element necessary to build up this fantastic property of chemo-repulsion within the ovary. The concentrate which I am holding was given by Carpenter, who knows me well, in the belief that I would personally attempt to unravel certain mysteries which at present make it difficult for us to know, precisely, how the thing works.’

  He hesitated. ‘The remainder of his supply is kept either at his house in Morningside or else at his laboratory in the university and he doesn’t seem to have the slightest idea of its full potential importance. Indeed his only preoccupation is to publish his results as soon as possible. But preferably after a little more work has been done on the background to chemo-repulsion.

  ‘So now, gentlemen,’ he continued, ‘another ovum, but this time taken from one of several girls who have been kind enough to co-operate with Carpenter in testing the efficiency of his discoveries.’

  Grant half smiled. The hint of another story almost as exciting as the first had begun to glint between the lines. What sort of girls would ‘co-operate’ with a scientist in work like this? What sort of scientist would have the know-how to get on to ‘the right people’ for a field trial with a new contraceptive?

  The fresh specimen was quivering in and out of focus on the screen: showing the same restlessness and the same blurry outline as it trembled in its tiny bath.

  A needle point of male seed had been injected into the capillary tube and already dozens of writhing sperms were tail-wagging along the edge of the screen. It was almost like watching a shoal of nightmare terrors from a Pieter Breughel canvas as the tiny things shivered restlessly in circles around the female seed. But always in circles. And then, almost desperately, two thrusting sperms darted towards the ovum: to stop dead less than halfway: with tails suddenly limp and motionless for a few long seconds before they began, slowly, but with relentless steadiness, to move backwards towards the others. The ovum seemed to have swollen with tension until the sperms had been forced ‘out of range’ as it were: and then abruptly it began once more to quiver against its shining background.

  ‘Chemo-repulsion, gentlemen,’ said Juin curtly. ‘And one of the most sinister things I’ve ever seen. Certainly the most offensive demonstration of abnormal power which I have ever been obliged to show inside a laboratory.’ He cleared his throat self-consciously. ‘But that ovum was only affected by PENTER 15 three weeks ago. To clinch matters and to show you exactly how significant this chemical may be I now propose to repeat the last demonstration, but this time using an ovum taken from a woman who was given PENTER 15 five years ago. In fact she was one of the first subjects used for experimental work and the drug was administered in dilution of one in two and one-quarter million parts. But the point of importance is that the treatment, if you can call it that, was given only once, and that exactly five years, one month and six days ago. Long enough for Carpenter to claim long-term influence. And long enough to prove my point that the thing is of tactical value in a wide range of social and political problems.’

  The specimen had been replaced while he was speaking and the silence in the room could have been cut with a knife as one of his assistants brought the latest slide-bath into as near focus as possible. With magnification to one hundred diameters precise focussing in depth of any specimen large enough to be seen by the naked eye was impossible. But the little female seed seemed no different from the earlier one and it quivered restlessly with the same movements which showed the relaxing and expanding cell-membrane and the granular nucleus with its areas of density which Grant knew were chromosomes, these phenomenal sources of character and behaviour tendencies which made a man what he was.

  All eyes turned tense with expectation, to the assistant who was injecting another minute blob of semen into a similar capillary tube linking with the bath itself. The specimen was still fresh and as the wriggling tadpole-like seeds suddenly appeared on the screen the silence of the room seemed to tauten with expectation.

  The Admiral’s fingers were moving restlessly as he fiddled with the stem of his briar and the Ambassador was staring, dead-pan, as the writhing sperms edged towards the ovum, but always tending to keep to the edge of the screen and move around in narrowing circles.

  Only the Prime Minister seemed relaxed as three of the little creatures darted almost simultaneously towards the ovum, only to stop two full diameters away while the cell itself swelled like a balloon and exerted its malevolent unseen force until, limply, the sperms fell back, millimetre by millimetre, with every semblance of life seemingly knocked out of them.

  As they blended with the hundreds in the background their tails began, once more, sluggishly, to slither into slow movement and they clumsily joined the frustrated procession still encircling the female seed: so near: and yet so far.

  ‘You appreciate the point, gentlemen.’ Juin’s shoulders shrugged expressively under his gown. ‘And remember that every similar ovarian seed in that woman has been affected in the same way. She has been sterile for over five years and we have no reason to believe that the effect will ever wear off. Five years is long enough to be a measure of the power of this frightful substance and only one question remains. What are we going to do with it?’ He nodded towards his two assistants, and waited while they dismantled the apparatus before leaving the lab.

  Even Grant was reluctant to say anything and the party changed in silence, dropping hats and masks untidily on the floor of the ante-room while the Admiral watched with cynical doubt. It would take men more imaginative and ruthless than either the Prime Minister or Ambassador to control the situation which must now lie just around the corner.

  Bryce, Black Watch mess sergeant, had laid on drinks and Grant poured himself a white Cinzano with fresh lemon, still his favourite before-luncheon appetiser. The others chose Johnny Walker, and the Prime Minister was first to speak. Had he been correct in supposing that the murderer of the caretaker must still be lying on the hills, camouflaged in deep heather and waiting for darkness before making an attempted getaway? Or that it had really been impossible for anyone to escape after Grant had given the alarm?

  Grant nodded. ‘Though Smith did say that we made a mistake in using a service exercise as a front for this visit. In fact he hinted that the murderer might have passed himself off as a soldier.’

  ‘But even so,’ persisted the Premier, ‘he must still have gone to ground, because all ranks have been paraded and accounted for.’

  ‘And their weapons name-tabbed. We should know within a few days if a service rifle was used.’

  ‘Then may I make a suggestion?’ The Premier seemed vaguely excited. ‘It is at least a possibility that one or more men are still lying on the hills. And you say that it would have been impossible for anyone to have escaped your helicopter patrol. That being so, I suggest that you spray the moors with petrol and start a fire which will flush them out before dark. If you like,’ he added offhandedly, ‘you can broadcast a warning of what will happen before you drop a few incendiaries to start the blaze.’

  ‘And you, sir?’ The Admiral looked curiously at the Ambassador. It had been a diabolical suggestion. But justifiable.

  The American smiled coldly. ‘At a time like this anything goes. But I’m real curious to know what happens if the guys are roasted.’

  The Premier’s eyes were hard as flint. ‘Then they must roast. But one can also hope that they
will be sensible and give themselves up.’

  ‘So!’ The Admiral dropped once more into his parade-ground voice. ‘Contact Scottish Command and lay on the necessaries, David. A few more aircraft for patrol work and some incendiaries, plus standard spray equipment with a few hundred gallons of kerosene.’ He grunted with satisfaction. ‘Any nut who smells the stuff and sees these kites preparing the ground won’t need a broadcast to know what’s goin’ on. Ve-ry good, Prime Minister. Ve-ry good in-deed.’

  ‘Witnesses,’ said Grant quietly. ‘Better get rid of the troops. With your permission, sir, embus and return to confinement within barracks until further notice.’

  The Prime Minister smiled. ‘Plus Official Secrets Act and threat of courts martial for anyone who either complains or talks. This has got to remain secret. Cost . . . what . . . it may.’

  Professor Juin again cleared his throat. ‘Messieurs. I would like to know how Dr. Grant feels. He is not only a competent Intelligence agent: he has also had a scientific training and I would like to hear his own appraisal of PENTER 15.’

  Grant had been waiting for the question. The thing was Satanic. Theoretically it might control world population more efficiently than anything ever devised. But if various Church organisations got wind of it there would be a howling outcry enough to topple any government which used it. The Press would also give it the fullest treatment as a story equal in importance to Hiroshima or Nagasaki: even if in the opposite direction. But behind the scenes world intelligence agencies would be at one another’s throats to secure a monopoly.

  Whatever happened Carpenter must not be allowed to publish his results. His records must be taken into safe custody. And if the man refused to co-operate then he must be destroyed.

  There were key areas throughout the world where water could easily be treated enough to render millions sterile. Hong Kong was one. Most of its water came from Communist China. Did anyone think that Mao would lose such an opportunity to empty the enclave of people before the treaty expired? And as for Israel! If she used her new supplies from the Jordan PENTER 15 might succeed where gas chambers and Hitler’s thugs had failed. ‘One question only,’ he ended. ‘If fields are irrigated with water holding PENTER 15 will crops using it be affected?’

  Juin smiled triumphantly. ‘The one question I have been waiting for. The answer is yes. And that is one of the angles I am working on. Indeed I have grown potatoes which have produced sterility in one of Carpenter’s subjects, the girl from whom the first live ovum was taken for our test today. The second woman was given the substance in water.’

  ‘Then anything could happen if it got into wrong hands,’ said Grant slowly. ‘Think of Egypt, dependent on the Nile. How many millions of gallons would be needed to sterilise all of Egypt and the Sudan.’

  ‘Think, instead,’ said the Prime Minister slowly, ‘how many gallons would be needed to sterilise the populations of our own major cities! For myself that is excuse enough to take any steps necessary to ensure that this recipe is either destroyed or locked up under the joint control of Britain and America.’

  ‘Anything else, sir?’ Grant glanced at the Admiral for permission to go.

  ‘Nothing. But either get that man alive or fry him. Or them.’ He added: ‘Our first objective is to find out who killed Smith: and why. Our second is to deal with Carpenter. And we’ll discuss that later.’

  Chapter Four – ‘From here the figure looks like a blazing log.’

  Afternoon tea was interrupted by the hum of aircraft flying low just beyond the Big House and the Admiral looked with dispassionate interest as they systematically coursed over the target area at less than five hundred feet. Juin’s boffins had devised a modification of standard spray devices installed in aircraft for work with pesticides. Safety margin had been raised enough to make use of low flash-point kerosene a practical proposition and already nozzles were being lowered from beneath the bulging bellies of the transporters.

  The stuff was forced out under high pressure, and the four men moved, almost unconsciously, to the window as they watched the vapour hiss downwards in a steady stream over the heather. Each aircraft could beat a hundred-yard strip and the five machines were flying in tight formation parallel to the valley with two helicopters half a mile behind and a thousand feet higher.

  Grant was in control of ground-air radio communication and had returned to his pipe as he waited for a last signal. ‘Target area treated, sir. Over.’

  He looked at his chief. ‘End of phase one, sir. What next? Do we send out a message?’

  Admiral Cooper shook his head. ‘Tell Number One, C for Cissie, to drop a small napalm bomb on the hill-top this side of the valley. Actions may say more than words.’

  C for Cissie dropped her wing-tip, slipped out of line and circled for altitude. She was still within sight of the house when she made a practice run, doubled on her tracks and then dropped her egg on the rocks of Ben Mhor half a mile west of the Big House and at least two miles from moors where Grant suspected that at least one desperate man would be watching every movement. The flash was blinding even at that range, and for several seconds sunlight seemed to be drenched by the brilliance of flames as a river of fire rippled down a line of grass near the hill-top to fizzle out among the loose rocks of a stone shute which led down to the valley floor.

  ‘Now tell him to make one practice run dead centre over the target area,’ said the Admiral. ‘Other aircraft to return to base.’

  The aircraft circled the hill at just over three thousand feet and then angled down at a tangent to the Big House, dropping altitude rapidly before flattening out at six or seven hundred feet above ground-level. She was now below the skyline and her shadow scurried over the uneven tussocks of heather-covered peat at four miles per minute as the Admiral snapped another order.

  The pilot acknowledged receipt of the message and made a tight turn above the horizon before roaring back over his path towards Ben Mhor.

  Incendiaries were dropped at hundred-yard intervals and even the Admiral held his breath as the hillsides leapt into spurting flame, orangely crimson tongues of spurting heat leaping upwards from a crackling lake of darting fire which spread with incredible speed over hundreds of acres of moorland hill.

  Two buzzards swung through the smoke, their wings flapping angrily as they circled upwards above small clouds of plump little birds which Grant knew must be grouse, and five red deer suddenly leapt through a rim of flames, darting like mad things towards the valley. It seemed that they would be caught, but as their leader paused for a second Grant watched her look for a way out through a hedge of fire and then with necks and heads thrust desperately forward the herd belted for the one narrow opening which remained, and broke through it with a terrific leap just before the flames closed behind them.

  He sighed with relief. Deer were among his favourite animals and he had seen the blaze of fear in their eyes as he scanned the area with his binoculars.

  The helicopters were also on the mark, flying as low as they dared, when one suddenly flung out a message which crackled into Grant’s ears: ‘Man coming out of thick heather just below.’

  There was a pause. ‘Looks exhausted. I think burns of face. Waving for help. Flames estimated two hundred yards away but closing rather fast. Propose drop rope-net.’

  The chopper hovered steadily above what seemed from the window to be a wall of flame. The smell of burning was now drifting across the valley and specks of dirty smoke had dappled the glass. Visibility was worsening but four pairs of field glasses could still see the dangling mesh of rope as the machine lost height. It now looked as though it was on fire and Grant could hear the pilot’s curses as he fought to keep it steady against uprising currents of hot air and a sudden wind which was now fanning the burning moors into an inferno.

  ‘Keep us advised, man,’ snapped Grant as the pilot hovered at less than twenty feet from the ground. ‘Running commentary. What is happening?’

  The pilot’s voice was coldly pre
cise. ‘Fellow wrapped in a coat. Protecting face. Extremely high temperature up here. Serious risk fuel explosion. Net now touching his shoulders. Seems half blind. Fumbling for a grip. Dropping four more feet.’ The voice broke off and then ripped into an excited flurry of words. ‘There is a stream fifty yards to port sir. Second man immersed to neck in deepish pool. Head almost invisible below out-jutting bank earth and shrub. Alive, though. Consider it possible number two doesn’t realise he has been spotted. Making no efforts attract attention. Almost completely encircled by flames. Probability safe if he can withstand temperature. Keeps head lowered into water. Surfacing only for air. Body concealed in part by dammed-up driftwood and lumps of bracken.’

  There was a flow of rapid obscenity and then the voice reported back. ‘Rescue operation object number one now impossible. Subject just fallen from near top of net. Fingers seemed to lose grip as they reached for entrance aircraft. Struck ground and rolled downhill. Death rapid if not instantaneous. From here the figure looks like a blazing log.’

  There was a glimpse of the net-ladder swaying below the ’copter as it gained height. ‘Request further instructions, sir. Subject number two still safe. Consider possible descend and rescue if subject prepared co-operate, but time margin now narrow. Over.’

  ‘Do what you can. But get him out if it is humanly possible.’ Grant broke off to listen to the Prime Minister. ‘Am instructed to say that George Medal has already been earned for outstanding gallantry under dangerously impossible conditions. As man on the spot, decision attempt rescue number two lies with yourself. Over.’

  ‘Possible with assistance K for Kathie. Suggest here immediate descent and tie subject number two to my rope-ladder. Area of loose stone still barring advance of ground-flames to south.’ There was a dramatic exchange of messages between the two pilots and Grant held his breath as K for Kathie dropped like a plummet into what seemed from the house to be a lake of fire. Only the pilot in C for Cissie kept him posted.