Still she was unperturbed. ‘Volunteer Macleod, I am not a member of the armed services but I am of superior technical rank within the Installation, and I have the right, if I wish, to put you on a charge for insubordination.’
‘Fucking well do it, then, whore!’ He looked as if he might make a lunge towards the desk she sat behind – Harvey and Forsyth immediately offered comradely restraint, but he shook them off, regaining his physical composure though speaking with the same undiminished force. ‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘Obviously I’ve got no choice in the matter and no right of appeal. But I’ll tell you this – I’ll tell all of you. If we’re meant to put our lives on the line and risk our fucking necks for the sake of some bird who gets a kick out of flashing her knickers at us, then I say this mission is a fucking disaster from square one. If that’s insubordination then you’d better put me on a charge, but I’m telling you, miss, the British armed forces aren’t the sort of men you can fuck around with. And that’s what you’ve been doing with us for the last hour – no, since we first saw you yesterday.’
Rosalind quietly interrupted him. ‘Everything you say confirms the correctness of the decision made yesterday by the selection committee which I am now officially delivering to you after having allowed due time for reconsideration. No one questions your loyalty, your abilities or your patriotism, Volunteer Macleod. This mission requires a certain kind of human being, and it has been established that you are not of that kind. You will be assigned other duties.’
Macleod’s proud figure was hunched and drooping as he gave in to the inevitability of his dismissal. ‘So it was already sorted yesterday?’
‘I can’t discuss details,’ she told him. ‘Volunteer Beatty, you too will be redeployed.’
Beatty’s jaw fell at the news. All the men were by now too demoralized to respond, and Beatty made no complaint. Forsyth offered him a consoling handshake; Robert wondered whose name would be next on Rosalind’s lips. Macleod was still seething but Beatty looked close to tears. All he could say, after a painful silence, was, ‘Will my mum be told?’
‘Of course not,’ said Rosalind. ‘Whatever part you play in the mission, successful or otherwise, the world will never know. Now, Volunteers Macleod and Beatty, please step outside, where you will find your escort.’
The three remaining recruits watched them leave, and no other name was called. Robert was still in the mission, along with Forsyth and Harvey. Outrage turned to quiet jubilation, each man registering a sudden improvement of his odds.
Rosalind behaved as if nothing had happened. ‘It’s time for lunch,’ she told the lucky trio, putting on her shoes again, then lifting her small shoulder bag from the floor beside the desk where she had left it. ‘I’ll take you to the canteen, then we shall begin using the simulator.’
8
The dining area was not far from Rosalind’s office; at the serving counter, three women in white aprons delivered the single available meal option: vegetable soup followed by gammon, boiled potatoes and peas, with a small moulded jelly topped by a swirl of synthetic cream to finish. Only in the matter of drinks was there any choice: it could be water, apple juice or tea.
‘Simple but nutritious,’ Rosalind remarked to her companions, quoting a well-known and widely mocked Food Board slogan while the three men lined up with her in the short queue that soon began to lengthen behind them with the arrival of other customers.
‘More like cheap and cheerful,’ Forsyth commented, though the carefully measured rations which the women behind the counter gave him soon afterwards did not come with a smile. ‘I’ll find us a place,’ he said, bearing his tray towards the ranks of still mostly empty stools, followed by Harvey and Robert. They settled themselves at the far end of one of the long tables, Robert sitting opposite the other two, and when Rosalind joined them after paying the bill she put her tray beside Robert’s.
‘There’s something I have to give you,’ she told them, reaching into her bag and bringing out three long booklets of vouchers, which she distributed to the recruits. ‘These are what we use here instead of money. The denominations are small but you can’t get change with them, so if you only want a loaf of bread make sure you buy something else as well.’
Harvey leafed through the thick booklet, whose perforated pages were pink, blue or white according to value. ‘Can we convert them into cash when we leave?’
Rosalind shook her head. ‘These are only for day-to-day expenses,’ she explained. ‘Your service wages will continue to be paid into a fund while you’re here – and if the mission is successful there will be other rewards.’
Harvey smiled contentedly and fanned the flimsy vouchers beneath his face. He seemed oblivious to what Robert knew and increasingly accepted: that they might never leave.
‘Let me tell you more about my research,’ Rosalind said between sips of her hot soup. ‘Before I came to the Installation I was part of a team investigating the effects of strong electromagnetic fields on particular regions of the human brain. It has therapeutic uses in curing depression.’
‘You mean shock treatment?’ Harvey asked.
‘That’s what lay people tend to call one version of it. I was more interested in finding how artificial stimulation can affect an individual’s personality and opinions. If a sufficiently intense field is applied to the temporal lobe, for instance, the subject will start to believe in the existence of God.’
The recruits were surprised and sceptical.
‘It’s perfectly true,’ she assured them. ‘When the field is switched on, the person has a tremendously powerful sense of being at one with the infinite – subjects in our experiments described a profound peace, a kind of floating on air, a benign spiritual presence.’
‘And when the field was switched off?’ Robert asked.
‘It stopped,’ said Rosalind. ‘All the belief, all the irrational certainty they briefly felt; it vanished as they reverted to their normal, healthy selves. So now we know the origin of religion: it’s a disorder of the particular brain region on which we experimented. A few people have strong, spontaneous electrical activity there. The research I carried out offers hope of a cure.’
They pondered it while they ate, then Robert said, ‘What about drugs? Could they have the same effect?’
‘I don’t know. I think it would be very difficult to target a specific brain area.’
Harvey said, ‘Do you still do these electrical experiments?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who on?’ Forsyth asked.
‘Psychiatric patients, convicts, military personnel.’
All three men stared silently at her. ‘Are you going to be sticking wires on our heads?’ said Forsyth.
‘Other parts too. It’s what you consented to. If you want to back out now—’
‘No,’ Forsyth immediately interrupted. ‘I’m in this all the way.’
‘Me too,’ said Harvey.
‘And you, Coyle?’ Rosalind looked at him challengingly. ‘Is it all for one and one for all?’ He nodded. ‘Good. I’m glad I have your support. If Professor Kaupff is right, scalar waves might interact with human tissue in a way similar to electromagnetic fields. Your minds could be the detectors we need.’
Robert was struggling to make sense of it. ‘Do you mean these waves might transfer thoughts? Are we meant to get to the Red Star by telepathy?’
‘We have to consider every possibility,’ Rosalind said brusquely. She picked at the rest of her food then stood up. ‘I have to go and find out how things are proceeding in the hangar; the simulator may have been damaged by the incident we saw earlier. Stay here and have some coffee if you like – it’s one pink voucher per cup.’ She went quickly out, leaving the three men to mull over what they had learned. None had much appetite for imitation jellies that owed more to cow bones and tree bark than anything resembling a strawberry.
‘So now we know,’ Forsyth said with resignation. ‘We’re guinea pigs, lab rats.’ His brow furrowed as he looked
at his companions.
‘I knew it already,’ said Robert, telling them how he had fallen ill. ‘Maybe they gave you both the same drug too, but you weren’t allergic.’
Harvey was pensive. ‘It couldn’t have worked on me – I don’t feel any different from usual.’
‘It’s what we’ve signed up to,’ Forsyth said ruefully. ‘And we’ve got to see it through – right, lads?’ With his elbow on the table, he extended his fist for the other two to hold.
‘To the end,’ they vowed.
‘Now I’ve got to take a leak,’ Harvey declared. ‘Where’s the lav?’
Forsyth had seen it, and gave directions. ‘I expect it won’t only be pish coming out your old man after that performance we got from Rosalind.’ All three laughed, but as soon as Harvey left, Forsyth grew more serious. ‘I reckon it’s either you or me,’ he told Robert.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Rosalind and Kaupff have got it sorted between them, they’re stringing us along so that we’ll do all these experiments they want. Harvey’ll be next for the heave-ho, I get that off Rosalind’s face, the way she looks at him. Then they keep us two going with the promise of a place in the capsule – maybe draw straws when the big day comes. Assuming the capsule even exists.’
‘You think they might be bluffing?’
‘Who knows. And all this spy stuff – what do you make of that? This Installation’s a weird fucking place, no mistake. Not surprising since there’s all these people never get out to the real world to see what’s going on. They’ve even got fucking toy money!’ He leaned closer. ‘What I’d like to know is where we’re meant to find ourselves some fanny. We’re not going to last a few weeks here without any relief except the kind Harvey’s probably giving himself now in the bog. Where’s all the talent?’ he asked, shrugging as he looked round the dining hall, almost all of whose occupants were male. ‘Where do these blokes get their satisfaction? Are they all homos or what?’
‘There’s the Town.’
‘My landlady’s as old as my mum,’ Forsyth said dismissively. ‘And from what little I’ve seen out of the bus, this place isn’t exactly heaving with birds. Fine for Rosalind, of course, getting her jollies prick-teasing us poor sods, but I’m damned if I’ll be spending all my nights here shaking hands with the bishop.’
Robert suggested they start spending some of their toy money on coffee. ‘I’ll get the first round,’ he said, going to the counter with his booklet of vouchers and offering them to the fat girl at the till, who was not much older than he was but had a blowsy air of worldly experience.
‘You’re a rich one,’ she told him, tearing out two pink slips for the drinks, leaning over the counter as she did so, making one of her large breasts rest on the booklet. Beneath her white hat her pinned black hair was greasy, and the flesh of her bare neck looked mottled. She was coarse and unattractive, yet with Forsyth’s banter still ringing in his ears, Robert imagined squeezing that heavy breast. She looked up at him, caught his gaze, and there was a moment of understanding between them. ‘Spend some of it on me if you like,’ she suggested with a wink. He said nothing more, but went back to Forsyth with two milky coffees in glass cups and saucers.
‘That Rosalind,’ Forsyth resumed, ‘she gave me such a stonner when we were all sat on the rug.’
‘I could see it through your trousers.’
Forsyth laughed. ‘You can get slung out the forces for spying on a fellow’s todger.’
‘I could hardly help seeing it.’
‘I have to admit it’s an outstanding natural feature. But where’s it going to get some exercise? Where’s the fucking whorehouse in this place?’
‘It’s called the Blue Cat,’ Robert informed him.
Forsyth was taken aback. ‘And how come you’re the fucking expert, Casanova? Let’s go there tonight. You, me and Harvey – boys’ night out. After all, we’ve got to get rid of these vouchers somehow – and I’m not spending them all on this fucking acorn juice they call coffee. Hang on, here comes trouble.’ Rosalind and Harvey could be seen coming into the dining hall together, both looking grave.
‘Bad news,’ Harvey announced on reaching their table.
Robert and Forsyth immediately had the same thought: Harvey was off the mission. They were wrong.
‘The platform’s still not operational,’ Rosalind explained. ‘The simulator’s out of action – we can’t do anything with it this afternoon. So the three of you have some free time. I can arrange for the bus to drop you anywhere you like in the Town – the bowling alley, perhaps?’
Forsyth looked at Robert with a sly smile, then at Rosalind. ‘How about the Blue Cat?’
‘That’s for tonight,’ she said, completely unfazed. ‘It is now half-past one, and Professor Kaupff expects all of us to be back at the College for five, so I shall ask the bus driver to take you to the centre of Town where you can do as you wish. You’ll be collected from the same place at four thirty. If you should visit one of the pubs, do not consume more than two units of alcohol or else I shall put you on a charge and possibly terminate your involvement in the mission. You may fraternize with women but should not engage in any lewd or immoral conduct. Now let me take you to the bus. I have faith in all three of you.’
9
The men were deposited beside the Freedom Monument at one end of the Town’s main street; a white cenotaph resembling those found throughout the Republic to commemorate victims of the patriotic fight against tyranny and oppression; though this one bore few names, since, as the recruits had already learned, there had been only a small village here prior to the founding of the Installation. Where the people of that village had gone, and what had become of their houses and livelihoods, one could only guess.
It was a bright, sunny winter’s day, but Forsyth was in little mood for strolling. ‘Let’s try that pub,’ he said, pointing to a place whose nature was evident from the lamp over the door and the frosted-glass windows. The others complied, and soon all three were crossing the threshold of a dreary establishment that could have been situated anywhere, its interior an assortment of nicotine browns. The floor was sticky with spilled beer, and the only other customers were four elderly men who sat playing dominoes at a wooden table. They barely turned their heads to see the new arrivals walking straight to the bar.
‘All right, pet?’ Forsyth said to the middle-aged woman behind the counter.
‘What’ll it be?’
He quickly glanced at his companions on either side and asked them, ‘Large?’ They shrugged assent, and Forsyth ordered a round of Victory Ale. ‘Just what we’re needing,’ he said to them as the drinks were poured.
‘That’ll be three, please.’
He brought out his voucher book, tore off the correct amount and smiled to his companions. ‘Good system, eh?’ Then he led them to a table some distance away from the old men, who they now could see were playing for matchsticks. ‘Wonder how much it costs for a leg-over with auntie behind the bar,’ he whispered once they sat down.
‘Save it for the Blue Cat,’ said Harvey, taking a sip of flat beer. ‘Cheers.’
‘We’ll probably see her again there anyway,’ Forsyth added. ‘I reckon every woman in the camp doubles as a whore – workers for peace and all that.’ A long-running campaign had encouraged people to take up a second occupation, and he saw no reason why the same principle shouldn’t apply inside the Installation.
The beer was weak but Robert still felt its effect with the first sip he took, spreading a rich hoppiness through his palate and a lightness to his head. ‘I’d better go easy on this,’ he said. ‘One’s the limit for me.’
Forsyth looked puzzled. ‘Not much of a drinker, are you? What sort of regiment are you from?’
Robert confessed he had been conscripted after failing university, and Harvey smiled. ‘Spud peeler, eh? And an intellectual. Well, one’s my limit too.’
‘Rosalind said two,’ Forsyth insisted.
‘She meant that
as a maximum, not a requirement – don’t make Einstein here get a headache.’ Harvey looked at Robert again. ‘Now I know why you went straight to the top of the class – reckon they want you as the brains and us as the brawn.’
Forsyth asked Harvey, ‘Make any sense of those lectures this morning?’
‘Nope.’
‘Me neither. Too busy thinking about fanny. And too thick. How about you, Professor?’
Robert swallowed a mouthful of beer. ‘All I’ve worked out so far is that everything’s connected to everything else.’
Forsyth laughed. ‘Thank you, Confucius. Why can’t they just tell us about the space capsule?’ He saw how his careless remark made the others look nervously towards the old men and the barwoman. ‘Don’t get fucking paranoid,’ he said, more quietly. ‘We’re still on the inside here. Everybody’s doing something secret and they all know to keep their eyes, ears and traps shut.’
‘I wonder what sort of experiments they got used in,’ Harvey said mournfully, nodding towards the oblivious domino players.
‘I expect they spent years making bombs and now they’re allowed a bit of rest,’ said Forsyth. ‘And good luck to them.’ One of the old men appeared to have noticed he was being observed; he turned and looked towards the recruits, and Forsyth raised his glass. ‘Cheers, comrade.’
‘And yersel’,’ the old man replied, resuming his earnest contemplation of the dominoes standing upright on the table before him.
Harvey was still watching them. ‘Reckon we’ll end up like that? Still here when we’re old men, our brains dried up? Or else dead?’
Forsyth gave him a comforting pat. ‘Nobody wants his arse shot off but that didn’t stop us joining up, did it? Take the risk, make yourself a hero, and don’t waste the best years of your life being a fucking coward. Of course, it’s different for college boy here – expect you must be shitting yourself by now, eh?’
It wasn’t meant in a hostile way; Forsyth was used to dealing with all things in life – from mortal danger to human sensitivities – by not thinking about them; but in any case Robert was not offended, because whatever fear he felt was as abstract and remote as the life he had left: he wasn’t afraid to die because in some sense he was already dead. Harvey was the only one of them who seemed unduly stressed.
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