Analog SFF, July-August 2010

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Fifteen miles north of Newcastle the traffic ground to a crawl, not for the first time. People pressed around the truck; Thelma looked out over a sea of hunched shoulders and drawn faces.

  Buck said, “My God. So many people, even this far out.”

  “A whole city's in flight,” Thelma said. “Who's that waving up ahead?”

  “We're being flagged down. That's a policeman.” Buck braked to a halt.

  “We mustn't stop. We have to get this scientific material back to Doctor Jones.”

  “I fully understand that, Miss Bennet,” Phillips said. “But I don't think we have a choice.”

  They climbed out onto the road and waited while Phillips jogged off to talk to the policeman.

  Winston said, “We're wasting time. We should have been back at the base by now.”

  “I know, I know,” said Thelma. “I'm as frustrated as you are. Are you all right, Mrs. Stubbins?”

  “Oh, champion. This nice canvas seat Sergeant Grady gave me takes the weight off me stump—”

  “Oh, thank heaven, here comes Captain Phillips.”

  Phillips's expression was grim. “It's bad news, I'm afraid. It's all rather a mess. There's some kind of drama going on back at the base. The comms links are down, and nobody's being let in or out.”

  Thelma said, “So we can't even talk to them?”

  “Afraid not. And I wouldn't advise striking out by yourselves; there are roadblocks everywhere. Could be tricky to resolve. There's even talk of storming the fence.”

  Buck said, “Hmm. With Americans inside, Brits outside?”

  “Yes. But it is an atomic base, and we need to get a grip on events. I've told my chaps to do nothing until I get back. Which might be a while, unfortunately.”

  Thelma said, “Why's that?”

  “Because of all this lot. Seems the Cheviot has blown its top. I mean the mountain itself. Rivers of lava pouring down the valleys. Quakes and tremors everywhere, the ground opening up, and so forth—quite a mess.”

  Winston said, “That's impossible. The volcanoes around here have been extinct for hundreds of millions of years.”

  “Yes, well, tell that to the mountains. Anyhow the emergency services are getting their act together. But all these people can't just keep walking. We need to set up refugee receiving centres—strung out along the roads, you see. And the first priority is to get the road cleared so traffic can pass. For now our duty is here. Right, come on, Sergeant Grady. You there, police constable! Start shifting these people.”

  Thelma said, “Oh, how very frustrating.”

  Hope said, “You'll get to your Doctor Jones in the end.”

  “Yes, but will we be in time?”

  * * * *

  Jones let the metal wall panel fall to the floor, wincing at the noise. “Right, just climb through here and we're in.”

  Clare clambered through the hole. “You were right, Doctor Jones. This is the computer room.”

  “And nobody around. Good. Now, that hatch down to the control room was under that bit of carpet over there as I recall.”

  Clare lifted the carpet. “Got it. Now all we have to do—”

  “Clare, wait. Think. You can't just march in with your warrant card in your hand. If we lift that hatch and Godwin's there, our welcome will be a bullet, like poor Major Crowne. We need to find a sneakier way in.”

  “Like what?” She glanced up at a grille on the wall. “How about the ventilation shafts?”

  He smiled. “You've been reading too many thrillers. Hear the hum of the fans? You'd be chopped liver before you got three yards. No, there's a better way. What else must connect this room with Godwin's centre?”

  She looked around. “The computers?”

  He snapped his fingers. “Exactly!”

  “You're not serious. You want us to crawl through the computers?”

  Jones said, “But those big boxes are almost empty inside. Come here. Help me get the cover off this processor cabinet. Have you got that threepenny bit?” They hastily unscrewed the panel. “Oof. It's heavy. Right, in we go. See—this thing's the size of a wardrobe, and there's not much inside but this rack of metallic cores, these bundles of wires—aha. And a hatch in the floor. See? It's clearly connected to sister units down below.”

  “I feel like a rat crawling behind a skirting board.”

  “Sooner a humble rat than a great man like the Commodore, eh?” He started working on the hatch. “Come on, Constable Clare. And watch out for rat traps.”

  * * * *

  In the command centre, Godwin loomed over Tremayne's shoulder. “Ah, Tremayne. Good to see you back at work.”

  “Just ensuring the seismometric systems are functioning. There's rather a lot of data to be gathered tonight. Shame to waste the opportunity. But I remain concerned about Doctor Jones and that WPC.”

  “They're contained. They'll come to no harm if they behave themselves.”

  “I don't believe I can trust you anymore, Godwin.”

  “That's rather melodramatic, Tremayne.”

  “Melodramatic? I saw you kill a man—a fellow officer! And what is the purpose of this extra control room Doctor Jones spoke of?”

  “You believe him about that, do you?”

  “Implicitly.”

  “Very well. I'll escort you there for a look around. I suppose that will maximise your utility to the project, at this point. Look—you go ahead.” He handed over magnetic and manual keys, and a map. “I need to brief Captain Greengage, who's now the senior American officer on the base. The perimeter must remain secured. Then I'll meet you.”

  Tremayne took the keys. “Good. We need to talk, above all else—and work together.”

  The covert control room was unmanned, though relays clattered and tape decks whirred.

  Clare said, “Look at all these flashing lights.”

  “Yes. This computer suite seems to be working on something, doesn't it? Let's hope we can work out what. Righty-ho, let's see what's what.” From a deep pocket in his trenchcoat he pulled out a spare set of reading glasses and began to throw switches.

  Clare paced around. “All those glowing points on the map. Are they the same as the Project Hades bomb sites? You remember, Major Crowne marked that map when the Magmoids first attacked.”

  “I do indeed remember. You're right, Clare. This room is obviously somehow central to the control of Project Hades as a whole.”

  “Secret underground lairs. Wall maps of the world. It is like something out of a thriller, isn't it?”

  “Yes, there is something cartoonish about Godwin. Often is with men like that. Doesn't make them any less dangerous, though. . . . Aha! I thought so. Clare, come here. This control panel with the big red buttons.”

  “Here?”

  “When this lever is thrown, these computers—well, they take over the ones upstairs. Locking out any other commands.”

  “So from down here you are in control of the base.”

  Jones said, “Total control, yes. And through a few handy communications links, you're in control of rather more than just Aldmoor. Watch the map when I implement this test.” He turned the switch.

  “Blimey. All those bomb emplacements have turned green.”

  “Green for primed, I presume. You see what this means, Clare. From within this room, you could control all of Project Hades—a worldwide suite of nuclear weapons of immense power.”

  “My God. And Godwin has all this in his hands!”

  “Yes. Well, I rather suspected something like this. The question is what Godwin intended to do with the power he was to grab—and what he intends now that the Magmoids have shown up. But there's something I still haven't worked out. See this display?” It was a bank of pulsing lamps. “I can tell that this computer suite is busily reprogramming itself. Which means, presumably, that the whole of Project Hades, the global network of bombs, is being reconfigured.”

  “Reconfigured? To do what?”

  “I don't know. But I don't
imagine we'll like the answer when we have it.”

  “Here's something I do recognise, on this screen. These numbers, ticking down.”

  “A countdown clock. You're right. Seems we're not done with fireworks tonight. Godwin's setting something off. But what?”

  “Perhaps you should ask him,” said John Tremayne.

  Jones whirled, startled. Neither he nor Clare had heard him come in. “All right, Tremayne, you caught us bang to rights. What are you going to do about it?”

  Tremayne said, “As I said. We'll ask the Commodore.”

  “Don't be a fool, man. This might be our only chance to stop him! If you can show me how to disable this system—”

  “I gave my word that I would work with the man, and so I will. The presumption of innocence—eh, Jones?” He turned on an intercom. “This is John Tremayne in the control room. Could you hurry down, please, Commodore?”

  * * * *

  The road was still jammed with people, despite the efforts of the police and troops to clear the carriageway. To the din of helicopters and truck engines and angry shouts was added the wail of babies crying.

  Phillips led the party back into the truck. “Phew. It's nice to get back in here for a break.”

  Thelma said, “Tough going, is it, Captain?”

  “Civilians! No matter how many times I implore them to be patient, how many times I tell them that supplies are on the way, but the lorries just can't get through because half the bridges are down or the roads are swamped with molten lava—”

  Hope said, “Ay, but you should be sorting it out yourself.”

  “Now really, Mrs. Stubbins—”

  Thelma said, “No, let her speak. What do you mean, Mrs. Stubbins?”

  “I can hear babbies crying. What's being done for them?”

  Phillips said, “Nothing. I mean, we have nothing to give them.”

  “Oh, cobblers, bonny lad. Look—where's the nearest fresh water?”

  “A tanker truck's on the way.”

  Hope said, “A tanker truck? What do you want that for?”

  Winston said, “Actually, there's a stream just down this bank.”

  “Right, there you go. Get down there and set up some kind of shelter.”

  Phillips said, “We don't have any tents.”

  “Then use your noggin.”

  Buck said, “I guess we could use the tarpaulin off this truck.”

  “Exactly. There's a start. Now go down the line of people and pick out the most vulnerable. The old folk. The young mums with the bairns. Get them down to the shelter and start sharing out the powdered milk and Farley's Rusks.”

  Phillips asked, “What powdered milk?”

  Hope said, “The tins they'll all be carrying in their suitcases, that's what. You've got a thousand people on the road out there with half their homes on their backs or in their cars. Set your tame coppers to asking. They'll need some hot water, of course. Surely the British Army can manage to gather a bit of firewood.”

  “Yes, all right, Mrs. Stubbins—”

  “Next the doctors can take a look at them.”

  “What doctors?”

  “I'm willing to bet my best false teeth that somewhere in this mob there's a GP. Just find him, man.”

  “Well. Is that all?”

  “No, that's just the start. Then we've got to think about the soup kitchens. Ee, man, you wouldn't have lasted five minutes in an air raid. Give me a hand, our Winston, I'll get down and sort it out meself. Come on, Captain Phillips.”

  Phillips followed, grumbling, “A remarkable woman, Miss Bennet.”

  Thelma said, “Isn't she just. With a heart as stout as England itself. Come on, Captain, as long as we're stuck here I'll help you get organised.”

  * * * *

  Godwin entered the control room, revolver in hand. “So our mice escaped from their cage once again. I believe I've been tolerant enough of you two—”

  Tremayne said, “Commodore. They're not to be harmed. I called you here; I gave them up to you. I kept my word to you. Now you must behave honourably.”

  Godwin laughed. “You really are an idealist, aren't you, Tremayne?”

  “An idealist who built your bombs for you. But I don't recognise what you've done with my project. And I don't know what you intend to do with it now. Godwin! Tell us the truth. What have you done with Project Hades?”

  “Do you know, I rather doubt that even you are capable of understanding, Tremayne.”

  “What? Oh, this is all—”

  Clare said quickly, “Professor Tremayne. Why don't you tell us what Project Hades is supposed to be?”

  Tremayne took a deep breath. “A test programme. That's all. A series of high-energy bombs to be set off underground, at locations scattered throughout the world.”

  Jones indicated the world map. “And why these specific locations?”

  “We're testing different geological types. Where the bombs might be used for mining, for instance. Or—”

  “Oh, I doubt that was the real intention of those who funded you. Tell me, Tremayne. Were these proposed sites screened at all?”

  “Screened?”

  “By, oh I don't know, let's say some cabal of military officers?”

  “There was a high-level vetting process, yes. The sites had to be chosen for safety, of course, and so as not to set off our enemies’ warning systems.”

  “Or so you were told.”

  “Yes—so I was told. Now I find I'm rather suspicious about the military's involvement. Godwin?”

  Godwin said, “You'll know soon anyhow. Project Hades, Professor, has evolved far beyond your petty dreams of mining and excavation. There is a committee of us who were always able to see a much greater potential.”

  Jones said, “A committee, eh? Of more tin soldiers like you?”

  “We've representatives from all the British forces, and others around the allied world—in the Pentagon, the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe, the French, the Japanese. Senior military officers, Professor Tremayne, hardened by experience of war—and deeply concerned by the current international situation.”

  Tremayne said, “And who is this committee answerable to, Godwin? Which elected government?”

  “Elected governments have proven themselves incapable of responding appropriately to the current emergency. Surely that's clear to an intelligent man like you. Take the posture of Eisenhower himself, who will not even consider any plans for waging limited nuclear war—he will sanction nothing but an all-out assault, should the allies be attacked.”

  “But there's a logic to it, man,” Jones snapped. “And remember Eisenhower is a rather more senior soldier than you. Eisenhower knows you can't win a nuclear war—but you can't banish the weapons from existence. All you can do is design a system to ensure that the weapons are never used. Churchill talked of finding hope in the ‘universality of potential destruction.'”

  “And you believe the weapons will never be used, do you? Jones, never in human history have we invented a weapon that wasn't used to its fullest in the end.”

  Tremayne said, “Apart from gas in the second war battlefields. Apart from—”

  “Yes, yes. My point is that this policy of assured destruction can lead only to global catastrophe—or weakness in the face of an enemy stronger-willed than our own vacillating politicians.”

  Tremayne said, “And so this military conspiracy is grabbing power.”

  “Not a conspiracy. An international organisation of the informed and concerned.”

  Jones said, “Which has now taken control of this bomb network—or rather you have, Godwin.”

  “This wasn't the intention. The emergency with your Magmoids, Jones, has forced this decisive action on me.”

  Tremayne said, “Decisive? Treacherous, Godwin! Treacherous!”

  Jones said, “And what are you going to do with your network of bombs? Tell us, Commodore!”

  * * * *

  Out by the blocked road, fires had been lit and
kettles whistled, and somewhere somebody had organised a sing-song.

  Buck found Phillips. “Sir, you Brits never cease to amaze me.”

  “Spirit of the Blitz, eh, Sergeant Grady?”

  “Listen, Captain, there are some bits of good news. The aid convoys are getting through, at last.”

  “Well, about time.”

  “But the news from Aldmoor isn't so good. Still that stand-off developing there.”

  “All right. I know the roads have been cleared, more or less. We can afford to leave this lot for now, I think. You get the truck ready. I'll find Miss Bennet.”

  Clare murmured, “Doctor Jones. Look. This other clock has started clicking over.”

  “Yes. Once again we're in the middle of a countdown—with only minutes to go. But a countdown to what?”

  Godwin said now, “It had to be done this way, Tremayne. The bombs had to be planted, the control network established, in utter secrecy—even before the first test explosion, tonight. Surely you can see that.”

  Jones said, “And when the bombs detonate, Godwin? What then? What's their true purpose? Hmm. Considering where the emplacements are—Tremayne. These bombs of yours deliver shaped explosions, don't they?”

  Tremayne said, “Yes. That's a key part of their design. You can blast out a specific seam of mineral ore or shape a chamber to your design—with a single detonation.”

  “But if you set off a whole network of the things, wrapped around the world—give me that bit of paper. Pen, Clare!”

  “All right, all right!”

  Jones sketched rapidly. “You see, Tremayne? If all the explosive pulses were coordinated like this, say, or like this—”

  “My God. Yes. You could combine the pulses to create a single seismic wave, to strike anywhere in the world—a wave of extraordinary magnitude.”

  Clare asked, “What are you talking about?”

  Jones said, “A weapon, Clare. The whole of Hades is a single weapon, using coordinated pulses of seismic waves to deliver a devastating geological blow.”

  Godwin said, “Do you know what a super-volcano is, Jones? There is the relic of one under Yellowstone Park in Wyoming. Others in Sumatra, New Zealand. A catastrophic explosion. Plumes poking right up into the stratosphere. Clouds of ash, gas, and rock that scrape the landscape bare for miles around.”