by D. E. Ellis
It was several meetings later before it was decided exactly how his skill should be used in the campaign against the government. Force was alien to their natures, so there was not the slightest suggestion the3 he should assist them to make any weapons. The young people wanted more support from the population and were convinced that there were many, even more mature people, who would share their views if they took the trouble to think about them. The group felt quite strongly that the more complicated aspects of engineering and science should not remain a closed book.
“There is such a vast difference between our natures and those of our earliest forefathers, that it is inconceivable we should put any of the things we might discover to the evil purpose of destroying one another.” Griff was riding his hobby-horse to Bruce and Wormald, and they quite agreed with him. From what they had seen of the Klaatans, their mental contact with one another prevented misunderstandings over a few hot words, and enabled them to see the true meaning behind a hasty, ill-considered thought.
“It is possible for you to construct some undeniably useful object, needing technical knowledge far beyond ours, in a few weeks. Preferably, something easily exhibited. If we could show the people something practical that scientific progress could achieve, I am sure we would gain some new supporters to our cause.”
Wormald turned to Kenton, overcome to the naiveté of the request.
Through Bruce’s mind there raced the multitudes of labour-saving devices of the world they had left. He tried to think of something impressive, yet a simple object, not controlled by atomic power in some form. His brain whirled helplessly. Wormald was a little more successful. His training had been wide and included mechanisms of pre-atomic ages. He shrugged his shoulders and his expression showed his gathering doubt as equipment operated by electricity and other power systems leapt before his mind. Perhaps, if he went back far enough, almost to the beginning of the industrial revolution, he might find something that wasn’t too cumbersome, and did not require masses of other machinery to make. There again, he must be careful not to go back too far. These people had a rudimentary knowledge of such things, so whatever he produced had to be sufficiently revolutionary and advanced to impress them.
“It will want a terrific amount of thought,” he finally answered slowly. “I shall have to thoroughly examine your own achievements first. Have you some kind of museums. No one seems interested in the subject.
“We have and I’ll take you there as soon as we’ve had a meal. It isn’t very impressive, like some of our other museums. No one seems interested in the subject.”
“So you aim to get them interested! Perhaps you’re right, but what will the Council have to say about this? I don’t wish to do anything illegal.”
“There is no rule against anyone making anything they please. It is just that scientific study has never been encouraged—and, indeed, the Councillors were so against that kind of progress they have never stopped preaching the evils of it. As you know, most of us believe without question what the Councillors tell us. Even I would not dispute the fact that they are very wise. But old age makes them see things differently from us and tempers their judgements. It makes them content to have things remain as they are. They forget that in their youth they probably thought the same as we do.”
“If you wait long enough, perhaps you, too, will think the youth of your day hot-headed,” remarked Wormald with a shadow of a smile. In some ways he did not fit in with these impatient youngsters. It was understandable, since he was old enough to have been the farther of any one of them.
“There are many years to be lived before I reach an age old enough to do that. Why should they be spent in frustration, merely to achieve contentment for the last few years of my life? I speak for all of us in this organisation when I say this. I believe many others subconsciously feel the same way.”
The conviction and quiet dignity with which Griff made his last statement left Kenton and Wormald reassured as to the rightness of their conduct in committing themselves to the support of these youngsters. Once again, they reaffirmed their promises to do all they could to help.
Wormald found he had taken on an even more difficult task than he had imagines. Although fine craftsmen in every trade abounded, he doubted that , even given the materials, they could produce any of the fine parts he would require in the short time allowed him. Materials were the greatest snag, and he could see no way of surmounting the problem.
The Industrial Revolution that long preceded his own age would not have progressed far without the discovery of steel. These people had iron and various other metals, and had made what machinery they could from them; but, even if they had had the will to progress further, the next natural step was blocked by the lack of coal. This commodity had been extremely scarce even in his own time. Neither was iron exactly plentiful, and supplies of oil had also been running low. There were other forms of energy, such as the sun and water power, which could still be harnessed to provide the necessary heat; but that would take more years than these impatient youngsters were prepared to wait, and also require the co-operation of many more people than the few discontented rebels who made up the party. It was their am to secure this co-operation, and it could only be achieved by showing scientific progress to be worth while.
He thought of all the machinery on the Unisphere. She was an amazing exhibit herself. A real object lesson in the possible peaceful advancement of engineering and science. He wondered if it would be too overpowering for them to take in all at once. They would probably marvel and reckon their own way of life still the best for them. Anyway, the Council had the ship firmly under guard.
Ruefully, his mind turned tot he only other complicated piece of machinery in existence. If only the Tube needed occasional maintenance, mechanical skill would then be held in greater esteem. “That’s it!” he cried aloud, and could scarcely wait to propound his idea to Griff and the others involved.
The boldness of the scheme took even Griff aback for the moment. “It’s madness!” he said. “Even supposing you could gain access to the controls of the Tube System, and put it temporarily out of action, I fail to see how that would help our cause. The Tube is an integral part of our lives. To damage it in any way, even though it might show the powers of engineering knowledge, would only alienate people to our cause.”
“What if something did go wrong with it, anyway? Your people would never be able to put it right. Surely that would make them anxious to learn something about it?”
“It isn’t possible for it to break down,” muttered Griff, aghast at the thought that perhaps it could. Suddenly, light began to dawn on him. He began to chuckle at the thought-picture he perceived in Wormald’s mind.
“Yes, anyone who could put it right would be a hero, and it would help our party no end—provided they never discovered that the hero upset the works in the first place. Do you really think you can do it?”
“Well, it’s just an idea, so far. I’m hoping there are plans of the system stored away. Otherwise, it’s going to take me an awful long time to track down the controls and power-source. I remember something of the general principles on which it works, from my student days. I believe the main controls are located somewhere in the North of London that existed then. Your present capital is nowhere near the same size, it may be difficult to find.”
“Most of the literature we had to aid us in our recovery towards civilisation was found in various parts of the Tube. Some passengers were carrying books, and there were others on the bookstalls at the stations. Various offices in the system contained masses of papers relating to schedule and so forth. Yes, it is possible something giving information of the kind you require survived the Disaster, but most of these papers have turned to dust with the passing of the years. Some, thought worthy of preserving, have been copied though. Possible someone, although technically ignorant, may have had a vague idea that such papers meant something and included them in our archives.”
“It is quite pos
sible they were printed on something more durable than paper—so they may have survived the years. Can we start searching right away?”
“The sooner the better. The library to which the Archives Department is attached is not far from here. Just a word of caution though. Don’t mention this to anyone else. Although they can be trusted, it creates a barrier to know of a secret like this; and, sooner or later, someone might let the barrier slip. The mere fact that they have something to hide might make certain people wonder what was going on. If a crime of any sort has been committed they might be suspected of it, by reason of the barrier. Then the Council has every right to order that the barrier be broken down and the secret revealed. That would finish our cause.”
“What of yourself then? I suppose I have placed you in an awkward position.”
A rare smile lit up Griff Rama’s rather grim face. “I shall have to hope no one commits a crime in the next few weeks. Seriously though, I don’t think a barrier in my mind will make anyone suspect that I could possibly be a criminal the were seeking. It is well known that I head a dissentient group, so a barrier in my mind is nothing unusual. There is more danger that the Council will want to examine you for some reason—and will find out about it from the thoughts mingled with other things in you mind. Still it’s a risk worth taking.”
Wormald began the task of searching through masses of documents, feeling happier than he had done for many years. He now had a problem before him that absorbed his whole interest. Even his work on the construction of the Unisphere had been marred by the recent death of his wife. Now the old world and its problems became buried in his mind, and he was challenging the new with all the skill he could command.
Thane noticed the change and congratulated Bruce on having revived Wormald’s interest in life. Bruce denied being responsible for it, mentioning that it must have been some of the friends he had persuaded him to meet.
“Another woman, perhaps,” suggested Thane, with a grin. “By the way, you seem to get along famously with your girl-friend. Any talk of marriage yet—or perhaps, I should say, setting up a partnership. The ceremony seems rather different nowadays.”
Bruce turned rather pink. “Since when did I get ideas about marriage? I leave that kind of thing to the girls. In any case I dare say there would be no end of obstacles to any such arrangement between us and this super-race.” He had given the matter more thought than he cared to admit, even wondering if there could possibly be children from such a union, and if the Council would allow it. He tried to dismiss the problem from his mind for although Rona obviously enjoyed his company, she had never given him the slightest encouragement in that direction. In fact, he felt as though he were being dangled on a string, with no idea of her true feelings towards himself. Since he had played the same game with many a girl in the old days, he could scarcely complain; but it probably explained why he was so interested in this particular girl.
In spite of Bruce’s remarks, Thane could guess there was more in it than Bruce was going to admit. At first, he had been gay and light-hearted over the whole affair; but, lately, there was an anxious, strained look in his eyes, and his frustration was becoming more evident as his temper became less certain.
Inevitably, the situation developed into a quarrel over something quite trivial so the infrequent meetings a their apartments ceased and Bruce took himself off to live in lodgings of his own choosing. If the Council knew he had broken one of their conditions by moving, the gave no sign of it.
In spite of his many new friends, Arnot felt lonely. Although, in general, Fate had thrown most of the crew together for the voyage, it was reasonable to suppose that they would eventually part. However, Bruce had been his friend since long before the expedition had been undertaken, so he had regarded him almost as a brother.
Chapter 11
Many months passed before Wormald was able to put his plan into effect. He had decided that something more subtle was required than engineering a major breakdown all at once. A series of small breakdowns, at first appearing to right themselves, leading to more major ones, would give the appearance that the machinery was at last succumbing to the wear-and-tear of old age. If all went well, it might not be necessary completely to close down the System before the Council thought to summon aid from the Unisphere’s crew and give directions that they should train a chosen few to be responsible for its future maintenance. Thus, advanced engineering would gain a foothold.
It would expose Wormald to the danger of discovery more than a straightforward complete breakdown, executed in one fell swoop; but the results would be more convincing.
The first blow struck, passed almost unnoticed. One of the trains was a few seconds behind schedule. In later weeks this developed into minutes—with the result that people began to discuss the phenomenon, still without alarm. Other trains were also affected. However, Wormald watched the schedules closely, being anxious not to cause any accidents which might result in loss of life.
Anxiety began to stir when one of the little-used minor lines failed to function altogether. A few days late, it was working again; and sighs of relief were given as the idea formed that the System was capable of performing its own repairs. The Tube System actually was maintained by built-in robot servicing devices, but once Wormald had fully mastered the controls, he was able to short-circuit some of them. He was fully enjoying himself, much as a small boy would with an intricate model railway, now that the danger of discovery appeared to be remote. Luck had been on his side in tracing the main controls. As he thought, they were located well to the North of the present capital. There were no buildings in the area, so the station had fallen into disuse and no one had bothered to repair the entrance to it. Trains still stopped there, as they always had done, but, apart from small boys, archaeologists, and a few others, merely curious, no one got on or off there.
Following the plans his research had uncovered, Wormald eventually came to the place where there should have been a lift to carry him to much lower levels. The wall appeared to be unbroken. At first he thought he must have made a mistake? Then an unusual sound caught his ear. He tapped the wall, then stopped and listened as the taps sounded more hollow. The sound came from the other side of the wall. It was not loud, but the contrasting silence left after the departure of the train made it quite clear. Hope rose that it was possible the lift was still working, but had been bricked up for some reason.
Immediately, his senses dictated caution to him. Who had been responsible for the bricking up? If it had been deliberately bricked up by any Council of the new race, to tamper with it would make it obvious that there had been human interference causing the breakdown—and it would not take investigators long to discover that he was responsible. There was, however, a reasonable chance that the sealing off had taken place in the days prior to the Disaster—when the automatic control and maintenance of the System had reached such perfection that there was no further need to use manpower at the controls.
It was a chance he had to take. If he failed, he was not sure that it mattered much if they took his life. He should have been dead and buried hundreds of years ago. and there was not much for him to live for in this new world. With little hesitation, he attacked the wall, using tools improvised from the debris which was still cluttering the entrance to the station. As the concealed lift was in a side passage, some distance from either the entrance on the platforms, by the time he had made an opening large enough to pass through there was no time left for exploration that first day.
Having ascertained that there was indeed a lift working behind the wall, he caught a train home, being determined to bring food and camp there for several days. His absence would occasion less suspicion than frequent journeys to such an out-of-the-way spot. People who knew him would assume that he had been invited to stay with someone else temporarily.
Later journeys he took overland, using devious routes to get there. The entrance was not completely blocked, and he had no difficulty in finding, and using it.
He explained these journeys by assuming the pose of an ardent nature-lover. He was careful to set the controls so that the occasional breakdowns should not coincide with his periodic absences, and managed to remain completely free from suspicion.
Thane Arnot decided that the thing he liked most about this new world was its openness, the large areas of land still free to cultivate. Coming from a world of cities and little open land, one would have supposed him to have a phobia of vast spaces, and feel really comfortable only within the confines of the small towns. Space-travel, however, had taught him that there is nothing so vast and open as space—and now he knew that deep down in his subconscious, this was what he had really wanted all his life.
His future work, if the Council permitted, should be on the land. It would take time to learn all the things that most of these people knew from childhood; but he was still young. Physically, he was only thirty-two years old, he recalled with a slight sense of shock.
He was debating whether or not he should try and contact the Council, or wait for them to summon him, when the message came. One moment, he had been wondering whether he could bear many more days of loafing about, now that a purpose in life had begun to form once more; and, the next, the thought had planted itself firmly in his mind, leaving little doubt as to its origin, that he was required to report to the Council immediately.
He had been on the point of returning to Ranmor from one of the farms in a nearby community. The farmer was a relative of the Clints, the family with whom he had become friendly at the beginning of his explorations. By then he had been more or less adopted into the family bosom as an uncle, and the two small children adored him. When the first stirrings of an interest in farming became noticeable, Merril Clint had introduced him to her brother, and this had produced an invitation to stay on his farm a few days. The message slightly hastened his departure, but he left with the warm assurance of the farmer that a job could be found for him on the farm, should the Council agree.