Nuclear Midnight

by Cole, Robert

  ‘What happened?’ Alex asked.

  ‘Oh, they were very clever. They pretended to be astonished, but it wasn't long before they were reasoning away everything I could put before them. It's a game we play in academic circles, only this time it was no game. They questioned my sanity, they threw in charges of forgery, they disputed the figures, hinted that it would be dangerous to upset the 'delicate balance of our relationship with the military, as they put it, by publishing such a vicious slander, and so on, and so on.’ Martin shook his head wearily. ‘In the end, all I could do was gather up my papers and come home.’

  ‘I'm so sorry,’ Alex sighed. ‘How will this affect your position now?’

  ‘Oh, I'm sure they will be engineering my removal from the committee as I speak. But that's not the point, and I'm not finished yet,’ Martin said, pulling out his mobile phone. ‘We've started something now that we couldn't possibly stop, even if we wanted to,’ he continued. ‘It was clear that I was treading on some pretty important toes in that meeting. The military will be hearing from them very soon. I've no doubt about that. The only way we can stop them now is if we can get your story in a newspaper. Get it out in the open where the authorities can't stop it.’

  Martin found the number he wanted. ‘I'm going to ask to see the editor of 'The Chronicle' this afternoon. It's the most popular civilian run newspaper in the city,’ he explained. ‘Until we can get this story onto the streets, none of us will be safe.’

  He began talking into his phone, giving his name and speaking in a sharp, authoritative tone to a number of people.

  ‘They'll see us at three this afternoon,’ he said after the call. ‘When this gets out the military will find that they don’t have the final say on everything.’

  Alex and Elaine nodded, however neither felt terribly convinced.

  CHAPTER 13

  It was obvious that the flat was no longer a secure refuge for any of them. Mrs. Crean and her daughter were therefore packed off at once to stay with friends in another sector, while Martin, Alex and Elaine collected their belongings and prepared to leave for the meeting. It was still some hours before the appointed time, but mingling with the crowds seemed to them a less vulnerable option than hanging around the flat, waiting any moment for the doorbell to ring.

  As they had time to kill, Martin, having conducted them to the central business area, suggested that he show them around. Since their battered faces would have immediately drawn attention, Elaine and Alex opted for the hooded garments they had taken from the train passengers a few days earlier.

  The complex was vast, a technical and engineering marvel which couldn't fail to impress. Above them, over one hundred metres high, the roof converged into a glistening dome. At its apex, an intense shaft of light from the surface diffused through a series of huge, transparent filters, bathing everything in a soft golden light. Directly beneath the dome was an expanse of greenery which Alex estimated could not have been less than half a kilometre across. Like another Garden of Eden, it was filled with every conceivable type of flora, from large oaks and beech trees, down to the smallest daisy and buttercup, a reserve or ark of natural life, which was both a solace to the spirit and the seedbed of a regenerated world. Eight floors of tiled walkways, tinted glass and colourful shop displays surrounded this garden. Balconies protruded from these tiled walkways filled with tables and chairs, where people sat sipping drinks and eating meals. The murmur of their voices on so many levels reminded Alex of a vast indoor shopping in pre-holocaust times.

  Like children let loose in paradise, Alex and Elaine dived into the wonderful garden. They wandered amongst the huge variety of trees and shrubs, sniffing the sweet scent of the flowers that had long since vanished from the face of the land, and feeling the texture of healthy trees again. Finally, when they had trodden every pathway they could find, Martin led them to one of the balcony cafes several floors above. There they sat and sipped coffee and ate cakes.

  Martin was delighted with Alex and Elaine's reaction. Their excitement had lifted his mood and he began to talk more freely about the city. He spoke of its vast scientific laboratories, its advanced horticultural gardens where hydroponic techniques were used to produce a rich diversity of fruits and vegetables capable of tolerance to high radiation levels. And all the time, scientists were improving crop yields with genetically engineered hybrid plants. Advanced gene splitting techniques had already produced leaner cows, with more meat per kilo. They were even well advanced in producing synthetic meat which looked and tasted like the real thing and could be manufactured from amino acid mixtures. Trout and salmon had been bred to the size of small sharks; sheep had coats which grew continuously so their wool could be sheared three or four times a year. The list was so long and impressive that Alex could not keep track of it all. For the first time he understood something of the deep pride these people took in their city. He even began to share it. In such a place it would be easy to forget the flickering dismal light of the outside world.

  The head office of the newspaper was on the sixth floor of the complex. Martin guided them into a small, tastefully decorated office with oak panelled walls and a thick piled carpet. A woman sat typing in front of a large computer screen, occasionally stopping every now and then to put her finger on a page of hand-written text. She smiled briefly when she noticed them. ‘Oh, I'm sorry. It's always murder trying to type other people's handwriting.’ She resembled a porcelain doll, not that she looked particularly fragile, or beautiful. But her lavish use of makeup made her appear so. Every feature was emphasised, the thick glossy lips, cheeks heightened by a dab of rouge, large innocent eyes with immaculate eye shadow. Alex couldn’t help staring.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘We have an appointment with the editor,’ Martin replied.

  ‘May I have your name?’

  ‘Doctor Crean.’

  She wriggled out of her chair. ‘I'll see if Mr. Casey is free.’ In a few moments she returned. ‘This way please.’

  They followed her past several large, noisy offices until she stopped at a door marked 'Chief Editor'.

  She knocked and put her head around the door. ‘They're here, Mr. Casey.’

  They were ushered into another, much larger office. A man with greying temples and thinning hair was leaning over a desk at the far end, studying what looked to be the layout of a newspaper. He came forward.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ he said. With a gesture he included a small, middle aged woman sitting at the desk. ‘This is Denise Boswell, my assistant editor, and I'm William Casey.’

  He stepped forward and shook Martin's hand. Martin then introduced Alex and Elaine. Both were wearing the tracksuits they had taken from the people on the train. Elaine had kept on her hood as they entered the office, so when he looked closely at her, he got rather a shock.

  ‘We're what your military would term 'mutants',’ Alex said bluntly, watching his reaction. ‘They did that to her when they questioned us.’

  The editor gave him a startled look, as if unsure whether to listen any further or to yell for help. ‘Are you the two that escaped?’ he asked after a pause.

  Alex nodded.

  ‘We have a story that we want you to print,’ Martin said. ‘It concerns military plans to wipe out tens of thousands of survivors on the surface.’

  ‘But there's nobody left on the surface.’

  Alex smiled. ‘There are over sixty thousand people in two large, well established colonies, with many more in smaller ones.’

  The editor frowned and turned to his assistant as if for her support, but she just shrugged.

  ‘Do you have proof of what you say?’ he asked at length.

  Martin held up his briefcase. ‘Proof of the military’s plans to clear the surface of mutants in official documents, specific down to the smallest details.’

  He drew out the papers and handed them a copy each. While they read, Alex went on to describe the condition of the colonies, how Elaine and h
e had been interrogated in 15G and what the Major had told them. It was plain from their faces that he was laying before them facts and circumstances of which they had no conception.

  Martin took over next, to unfold what had happened at the Science Committee meeting, their apathy, and why it was so urgent that this whole matter be brought to the public's attention. It was gratifying to him to find in the editor, and his assistant, a much more attentive and responsive audience.

  ‘Well, that's quite a frightening scenario all in all,’ the editor concluded, after looking through several pages of notes he had taken during the course of the questioning. ‘The authorities certainly seem to be up to something.’

  ‘I think that's an understatement,’ Martin said sternly, ‘considering what we have told you, it's quite clear they don’t deserve our trust. Not only are they cold bloodedly planning this massacre, they have also been lying to us all this time.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I appreciate that,’ the editor said quickly. ‘But what I mean is this is going to be no ordinary story. Your story has massive consequences and I hardly need to add that they will include the future of this newspaper, if we get it wrong.’ He shuffled some of the documents again and then cleared his throat. ‘The key issue, really,’ he went on after a moment, fixing his eyes firmly on Alex, ‘is how many survivors still remain. These documents are not specific on numbers. The military will simply argue that the numbers are all exaggerated and this attack is merely a mopping up operation to remove dangerous mobs.’

  ‘But look at the amount of weaponry and the numbers of troops involved,’ Alex pointed out. ‘And why, if it's little more than a policing exercise, should they plan to devote four months to the sweep? You can't tell me that's just to dispose of a few ragged bands of survivors.’

  The editor nodded. ‘Yes, that's a good point. We can definitely build on that. But to revert to what I said earlier when I mentioned the closing down of this newspaper. If these people really are as ruthless as you say, they're not going to be satisfied with that. All our lives could well be in danger.’

  ‘So you aren't going to publish this?’ Alex asked.

  ‘I didn't say that,’ the editor replied firmly. ‘I think it would be criminal not to publish, but we must face the consequences squarely. After all, the people of this city owe their lives to the military for inviting them down here in the first place. There may be strains in the military civilian relationship, but there's also a substantial sense of loyalty.’

  ‘You think the people won't believe it?’

  ‘I think there's a strong possibility that we could be accused of grotesque exaggeration. If there's even a hint of that, we'll be laughed out of court. The whole thing will likely blow up in our faces.’

  ‘Then we'll have to present the evidence in such a way that the public are compelled to see the gravity of the situation.’ This was the assistant editor's first substantial contribution to the discussion. ‘If we are going to expose the military, we may as well clean the cupboard right out and use all the disappearances, falsified scientific reports and so forth to build up a concrete case against them.’

  ‘Yes,’ the editor looked thoughtful, ‘what is the position of the scientific community?’ he asked Martin. ‘Where do they stand? And is it correct that certain of your colleagues are publishing statements at variance with the true substance of their work? These are very damaging rumours, if true.’

  ‘Not in my department,’ Martin said firmly, ‘I'm glad to say. But yes, it is possible that work in certain fields has been pushed beyond what they are willing to admit to, though I have to say that I have no firm evidence of this.’

  ‘What fields do you have in mind?’

  ‘Well, I suppose that molecular biology is the obvious one. I can't imagine they will have given up manipulating the human genome, as they were doing pre-war for instance.’

  ‘Human cloning? That sort of thing?’

  Martin shrugged. ‘Possibly, although it’s more likely that they are still trying to track down specific gene families. For example, those involved with intelligence or exceptional athletic ability.’

  ‘And what will they do with these genes families once they find them?’ Alex asked.

  ‘Nothing much in the days of pre-war, but the deliberate selection for intelligence and athletic traits is now possible. There is no telling what research is being undertaken with the military in the driving seat.’

  ‘But wouldn't the scientists themselves object to such manipulation?’ Elaine asked.

  ‘Some may have already done so.’ The editor opened a filing cabinet behind the desk and pulled out a manila folder. ‘This is a recent request from friends and relatives to publish a description of a missing scientist.’ He pushed an A4 sheet of paper in front of them. ‘The military, of course, washed their hands of any responsibility for his disappearance. They say he probably wandered off when he was on the surface and got killed by mutants, but it's more likely he found out something the military didn't want him to, or objected too strongly to a particular line of research.’

  He pulled out another folder. ‘There are three years of disappearances catalogued here, over one hundred missing persons.’ He slapped the folder on the desk. ‘To date, five have turned out to be murders, the rest remain unsolved.’

  ‘Your achievement,’ Miss Boswell said, turning to Alex and Elaine, ‘is to have provided us, at last, with the hard evidence we need to present a strong case against the military. They must be stopped, and by devoting the whole paper to them, we might even stir up public opinion and begin the process of bringing them back within the law. I can't see why this could not be done.’

  Alex looked at their determined faces and knew that the publication was now unstoppable. But in his excitement he did not lose sight of the time factor. ‘Don't forget, the military’s plan is to be activated in a little over a month,’ he reminded them.

  ‘Things move fast when there's enough public pressure,’ Miss Boswell told him confidently. ‘If we can really make it buzz, we might be able to stop them inside a week. I propose that we print our allegations in the day after tomorrow's issue. That gives us one clear day to collect the evidence and present our arguments as clearly and convincingly as possible.’

  With the agreement of everyone present, the setting up of the special edition began at once. Tables were cleared, the various documents were spread out, food and drink were brought in to sustain them in their labours. The editor and Miss Boswell undertook to do all the writing themselves, as even their key reporters were not to be trusted with so delicate an assignment. No detail was to be left out, and the perspective was widened to include a critique of the military from the first days of the holocaust. The brutality of the work camps was vividly described, and the unimaginable horrors of the engineered plagues. The same thread was tightly woven into each article: the calculated murder of the survivors by whatever means possible. All disappearances in the city since the holocaust were re-examined in the light of the new theory, and in most cases there were links or reasons, especially dissident activity, to suggest that the military may have been involved. Lastly the fragile trust between the scientists and the general population was shattered by allegations levelled at the scientific community as a whole. The much-vaunted research was portrayed as being honed towards one goal, the creation of a genetically superior being at any cost. In these terms, the inhabitants of the city could be seen as little more than an exploitable pool, a convenient bank of resources, as much a part of a giant experiment as the monstrous fish and the genetically engineered crops.

  As a final support to all these claims, the documents that Alex had recovered were published, along with Major Collin’s own notes of his interrogation.

  Late the next day Alex, Elaine and Martin, having spent the night on makeshift beds of cushions in the office, held a final conference and the editor read them his concluding paragraph. In this he called for immediate demonstrations, stop work meetings and a gene
ral boycott of all food and materials produced by the civilian population until the military came up with adequate explanations for their activities. He explained that as the paper hit the streets, he and Miss Boswell would be ringing all the people who held positions of influence in the civilian government to demand that something be done immediately about the situation.

  When Elaine enquired what Alex and she should do, he became very serious.

  ‘I want you both to stay in hiding,’ he said. ‘Only if events begin to move our way, as I trust they will, are you to emerge.’

  When they questioned him further he said that the response of the military was likely to be severe. Everything would depend on how the public would react. He then went on to outline several possible routes of escape if things didn't work out. He also gave them maps of the city, showing the military's storage facilities, their fuel dumps, armaments stores; in fact, everything which an aggressor, contemplating an attack on the city, could possibly need. There was no doubt in Alex's mind as to why he had given them this information. As far as the editor was concerned, the publishing of these articles was an act of war. If they failed below ground, it was up to Alex to continue the fight from the surface.

  When the final editing was finished they were all invited to the editor’s office to review the articles. They were excellent. The first issues would be out in a matter of hours. The editor opened a bottle of French wine and they toasted the success of their efforts, all feeling like saboteurs about to embark on a dangerous mission. Alex put his arms around Elaine and they laughed and joked. Even the grim faced Miss Boswell seemed to relax slightly.