Analog SFF, July-August 2010

by Dell Magazine Authors

  “There's been nothing like it while humans have been on the Earth,” Jones said grimly. “And this monstrosity is what you plan to use as a weapon, is it, Godwin?”

  “Think of it. If we could set off a supervolcano under Moscow—the end of the Communist threat, forever. The end of Russia!”

  “The end of the world, more like!”

  “We had no intention of using the bombs—at dawn this morning we would have announced their existence, and the test as a demonstration of their potency—and we would have pronounced our willingness to use them, regardless of political cowardice. The threat alone would have caused the Soviet Union to fold like a house of cards.”

  Tremayne said, “No, no. No, no. This is all wrong. That wasn't my intention at all.”

  Jones said, “But you still haven't told us it all, have you, Godwin? These computers are in the middle of being reprogrammed. You are somehow redirecting Project Hades, aren't you? What are you up to?”

  But Tremayne, growing ever more agitated, wouldn't be quiet. “I meant my project to show the madness of war, and a way to a future of peaceful uses of the weapons. I have been betrayed. You, Godwin, and your cabal of conspirators, have used my technology for precisely the opposite purpose to that which I intended—to deliver a weapon of such insane potency that it could destroy mankind altogether. What have I done—oh, what have I done?” He stood over a control panel.

  Godwin raised his revolver. “Get away from there.”

  “It's all my fault—all mine. I must put a stop to all this—” He raised a code book and smashed a glass screen.

  Godwin held his arm out straight, pointing the weapon. “You asked for it, John.”

  Jones yelled, “No!” He leapt at the Commodore, trying to get the gun. They fell together on top of Tremayne, who was knocked to the ground. The gun went off; Jones felt it as much as heard it. Gas hissed from a ruptured pipe and klaxons wailed. Jones rolled away from Tremayne and Godwin, seeking the cover of one of the console blocks.

  Clare shouted, “Doctor Jones!”

  “Stay down, Clare!”

  “Tremayne—”

  Jones saw Tremayne's slumped form. “He's out cold, but he's not been hit. Poor old chap. His whole life's work ruined in a moment of betrayal.”

  Godwin called, “There's no use hiding. I suggest you come out quietly.”

  Clare whispered, “He can't see us. All this gas.”

  “Yes, I think he hit some kind of pneumatic feed. Look, Clare, get Tremayne out of here. Go that way. I'll distract Godwin.”

  “But Doctor Jones—”

  “Listen to me. Get him to Winston and Thelma. All right? Tell them they must work together with Tremayne. Do as full an analysis of the data on the Magmoids as they can manage.”

  “What for?”

  “Well, if I'm to make the Magmoids see sense, I need to understand what they're saying to each other, don't I?”

  “Saying to each other? But—oh, never mind. I'm not leaving you here.”

  “Now don't be a fool. Tremayne needs your protection, Constable Clare. I don't.”

  “But Godwin—”

  “I'll deal with him.”

  “You're still under arrest, Doctor Jones.”

  “Naturally. Now go, go!” He heard her crawl away. “Now then—Godwin! Over here!”

  The gun cracked. He ducked back. The klaxons still wailed, but the hiss of escaping gas stopped. “Thank heaven for that.”

  Godwin called, “So, Jones, you smuggled out your friends. It's of no consequence. Just you and me now.”

  “Just you and me and a planetful of bombs—and a countdown clock. And you won't shoot me, will you, which would be the logical thing to do? Men like you always need an audience before whom to strut and preen.”

  “I would advise you not to goad me, Jones.”

  “Ah, yes, you do have that short fuse. What is it Tremayne said about you? Calm, calm, bang? Are you prepared to tell me now what you're planning?”

  “As you observed, I've set in train a reprogramming sequence. I'm no technician, but it was a quite a simple procedure.”

  “So you're resequenced the explosions? Redirected the impulses? Is that what the clock is ticking down towards, some immense new bang? But what are you trying to blow up, Godwin? Not the Russians, surely.”

  “The Russians are rather irrelevant now, don't you think? For suddenly mankind faces a much greater enemy.”

  “Godwin—you don't mean—surely you can't think—”

  “You yourself showed me their origin, on the surface of Earth's inner core. Jones, Hades is designed to strike right through the body of the Earth, to a remote point on the surface. It was a simple matter to redirect it to strike at the heart.”

  An automated voice filled the room. "Ten seconds to Project Hades full synchronised initiation. Nine. Eight . . ."

  “You intend to attack the Magmoids, don't you? Are you quite mad? You're declaring war on beings unutterably superior to humanity in every way—a war you can't possibly win!”

  “A war you might not win. I am made of different stuff. Can you think of a better way of proving the rightness of these mighty swords?”

  “I can't allow this—you're insane—”

  “Get back!”

  "Three. Two."

  “Godwin! Stop this!”

  “Welcome to hell, Jones.”

  "Zero."

  A tremendous detonation lifted the whole room.

  * * * *

  5

  0436.

  The truck drew to a halt. Buck called, “Aldmoor. This bus terminates here.”

  They all climbed stiffly down from the truck. Buck ran off for “a recce.” Thelma blinked, trying to clear gritty eyes; a part of her longed for sleep. A faint dawn was seeping into the eastern sky. And to the west the military camp blazed with light from floodlights and flares that drifted in the air, and she thought she could hear a pop of gunfire. She was still perhaps a quarter of a mile from the fence.

  Winston said, “What now, Thelma? Where's Doctor Jones?”

  “I don't know, Winston. Perhaps he's still inside the base. Captain, that big explosion—” It had nearly turned the truck over, as if the earth was a blanket being shaken out.

  Phillips said, “No. It didn't sound like volcanoes to me either.”

  Winston said, “Another nuke. That's what it felt like. But why would they set off another nuke? What's going on in that base?”

  “I don't know. I just—God, will this long night never end?”

  Thelma said, “It will, Captain Phillips. But not yet. Bear up.”

  “The trouble is I may have some grave decisions to make before the end of it. Very grave.”

  Buck jogged up. “Looks like a right mess, sir.”

  Phillips said, “You don't say.”

  “No comms in or out of the base for hours. Your guys have got the place locked down. But the spotters say they see armed men looking back out at them through the fence.”

  “Wonderful. Armed Britishers outside, armed Americans inside. So much for the special relationship, eh? Who's in command in there, Sergeant Grady?”

  “Unknown, sir.”

  “What do you mean, unknown?”

  “There's some scuttlebutt that Major Crowne has been killed. Whispers heard by your squaddies through the fence.”

  “But he's the senior American officer. Well, that puts the tin lid on it.”

  Thelma asked, “What will you do, Captain?”

  “My orders are to find out what's what and then sort it out—and the sooner the better if whoever's in charge in there is going around setting off nuclear bombs. I have a horrible feeling that might mean storming the base. Or worse.”

  Winston said, “Look! There's somebody coming up through that hatch, outside the fence.”

  Thelma, whirling, saw the hatch open in the grass, and two figures clambering stiffly out.

  Phillips said, “By George. That's Professor Tremayne. And
that WPC!”

  Thelma said, “They'll know about Doctor Jones. Come on!”

  * * * *

  “Do you smoke, Jones?”

  “Smoke? No, Commodore, I don't smoke.”

  Godwin struck a match, lit a cigar, and took a deep inhale. “Ah. Cuban.”

  “Isn't that an illegal import?”

  “Finest cigars in the world produced by one of the world's most rotten states. Isn't that a sign that the order of the world is all wrong, Jones?”

  “'Order of the world?’ Godwin—what are we doing here in this steel tomb? You've already set off your damn bombs. The Magmoids will strike back. . . .” He glanced at his watch. “They seemed to have skipped the latest ninety-minute cycle, at least in terms of attacks here. I'd guess next time then, at about six. And this time they will target the base itself, believe me. So now what?”

  “Oh, my work here isn't finished yet.”

  “What do you mean, Godwin?”

  “Project Hades is rather extensive. Did you know that Britain spends three times as much on defence as on education? You'd be surprised how freely money sloshes around in a world that believes it is at war—and how easily it can be diverted.”

  "There are more bombs. In addition to the ones you've detonated already. Is that what you're telling me? In heaven's name, man, you've already launched one assault on the Magmoids at the centre of the Earth. What more can you do?”

  “I have a second strike capability. A reserve. It's standard strategy. Your Magmoids have been stirred up by my first assault. Good. Let them rise up. In a short while I will be ready to strike again. The countdown has already started.”

  “Good lord, man, can you not see what a storm you'll reap? You don't know the Magmoids. They could have the Earth shake off humanity as a dog shakes off water. Commodore, I urge you to reconsider. Let Captain Phillips into the base. Let Tremayne shut down these systems. Abandon this madness.”

  Something exploded, not far away, perhaps a grenade; the room shook and glass crashed.

  “Oh, do sit down, Jones. You are an excitable sort of chap, aren't you? And this gun is loaded, you know. Are you sure you won't take a cigar? They really are rather good.”

  I must get a message out of this lunatic asylum, Jones thought. I must.

  * * * *

  Clare and Tremayne limped away from the base lights.

  Tremayne said, “All my fault. All this.”

  Clare, panting, supporting him, said, “Come on, Professor, keep moving. We need to get away from the fence. There are too many guns pointing at us for my liking.”

  “I only meant—you know—peaceful application—such power, such power, in the hands of good men—I should have known! I should have known!”

  Winston ran up. “Clare! Clare!”

  “Winston. Oh, thank God.” She grabbed him and hugged him.

  Phillips, Grady, and Thelma followed close behind. Phillips said, “Come with us, Professor Tremayne, you're all right now. Well done, Constable.”

  “I found a tunnel—there is a whole set of them, actually. They must be for emplacing bombs for the tests. Lucky we didn't crawl into a live one. What happened to you?”

  Winston said, “Quite a lark. My mum's running a refugee camp just off the A68.”

  Clare laughed. “Well, that's the first thing I've heard tonight that hasn't surprised me.”

  Thelma said, “Clare. What about Doctor Jones?”

  “Still in there. With Godwin.”

  “Who?”

  “The base commander. Commodore Godwin? He's gone rogue.”

  Phillips said, “He's what?”

  “He's setting off the bombs. Not just here, all over the world. We tried to stop him, but—”

  Buck said, “Did he kill Major Crowne?”

  “I'm afraid so, Buck.”

  Phillips said, “Well, that explains a lot. You're going to have to come with me for a debrief, young lady.”

  “All right. But Thelma—”

  “Yes?”

  “Doctor Jones got us out. Me and the Professor. But he had a message for you. He was very insistent.”

  “Tell me.”

  “The stuff you've brought back. The data. You're to work with the Professor. Analyse it all. Look for signals in the seis—seis—”

  Winston said, “Seismometry?”

  “That's it. Something to do with talking to them.”

  “Talking to who?”

  “The Magmoids. The creatures that are attacking us.”

  Phillips said, “Creatures?”

  “From inside the Earth.”

  “Oh, now really, Constable—”

  Tremayne said, “It's true. I saw the displays myself. Very plausible chap, Doctor Jones. Very plausible. I should have listened to him. What a fool I am!”

  Clare said softly, “It's going to be hard working with him, Thelma. He's been through too much tonight, poor old boy.”

  “We'll just have to do what we can. Help me get him to that tent. Now come on, Professor, we've got work to do.”

  * * * *

  More explosions and a rattle of gunfire. Jones tried to estimate if the fighting was getting closer.

  “You look restless, Jones. Try to relax. You're burning up energy for nothing.”

  “I admit I'm not used to being unable to influence events.”

  “We're quite a contrast, aren't we, Jones? You, utterly powerless. Me with all the power in the world. Literally, I suppose. Fancy that.”

  “Yes, what an irony.” He muttered, “I just hope you're on the ball, Captain Bob.”

  * * * *

  Phillips and Grady huddled in foliage not far from the fence. Lights flared, and Phillips, feeling very exposed, could hear shouting coming from within the camp, and sporadic shooting from around the boundary.

  “All right, Sergeant Grady, time for a spot of infil.”

  “Got you, Captain.”

  They crept forward, Phillips leading the way.

  Phillips said, “Hm. Your GIs are dug in just behind the fence.”

  “Machine gun positions?”

  “Yes. Also snipers on the rooftops.”

  “Probably more emplacements behind that first line of buildings, and inside too. Our guys are well trained, sir.”

  “I can see that. And they're going to be tough to root out. Well, let's try a little transatlantic diplomacy. Pass me the loudhailer.” He clicked it on. “My name is Captain Robert Phillips, British Army. I'm speaking to c-in-c, Aldmoor base.” Light splashed over them, and they ducked into what cover the uneven ground offered. “Gosh, that's blinding.”

  An American voice came drifting from a tannoy. “Back away with your hands up. Any incursion within fifty yards of the fence will be met with lethal force.”

  Phillips lifted the loudhailer. “Yes, but look here. I have orders from Brigadier General Deke Worthington of the Seventh US Army, who is at SHAPE, the Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers in Europe. Now, you know that name very well, don't you?”

  A single gunshot cracked.

  Phillips ducked again. “Yikes.”

  “If he'd wanted to take your head off he would have done so, sir.”

  “Well, I'm aware of that, Sergeant. And I'm also aware that they are following standing orders precisely.”

  “Yeah. If their comms go down they have to assume that they are isolated in enemy-held territory. For all they know Britain has been overrun by the Russkies.”

  “In their shoes I'd be doing exactly the same thing. Which doesn't help sort this mess out, does it, Sergeant? Come on. Let's fall back and consider our options.”

  * * * *

  Inside the army tent, Tremayne followed where he was led, as if stunned, his tweed jacket scuffed, a bruise developing on his forehead, his white hair a halo around his head. “I let everybody down, you see? Jones was right. My arrogance led me into this. I always was the smart little boy who knew better than everybody else. . . .”

  Winston said t
o Thelma, “Clare says he's been like this since the bunker. Over and over. It's frustrating. Well, the answer's in this rucksack—I know it is.” He began pulling stuff out of the rucksack.

  Tremayne was distracted. “Why have you got a bag full of toilet rolls, boy? What are you, some kind of spiv? Had enough of your type in wartime.”

  Thelma said, “No, Professor. Nothing like that. Look. This is data. Seismometer output. All dated, labeled, and calibrated, see?”

  Tremayne inspected it. “Good Lord. So it is. I've never seen anything like it. And you produced this—what was your name?”

  “Winston, sir. Winston Stubbins. Do you remember—we met at the gate—?”

  “You made some dire warnings, didn't you? And I gave you rather short shrift.”

  “It doesn't matter.”

  “But it does. You were right, and I was wrong, in my foolish arrogance—”

  Thelma said, “That's enough of that. Professor Tremayne, we need your help.”

  “My help. What use am I?”

  “Jones wants us to analyse all this, together with the data from the base's instruments—”

  “Impossible. Look around you, woman. We're in a tent! We've no computer. No power if we had one. How can we achieve any sort of meaningful analysis in these circumstances?”

  Winston said, “Oh, it's hopeless. He's just giving up.”

  Thelma said, “Hush, Winston. Ah, but that's the challenge. Come on, Professor. Engage with the puzzle. Think about the prize—communicating with an alien life form! What's the first step?”

  Tremayne snapped, “Calculating machines.”

  “Calculating machines?”

  “Lots of them. And people to work them. That's the way to do it. If you can sort that out for me, ah—”

  “Thelma. Thelma Bennet.”

  “Jones spoke well of you, Miss Bennet. Also we'll need the data from the base, of course. You can fetch that from the backup record store outside the fence. Meanwhile you, boy, help me sort out all this data, by date and location to begin with. Well, come on! What are you waiting for?”

  Winston said, “Yes, sir!”

  Thelma said, “Glad to have you with us, Professor.”