by Nevil Shute
The mention of measles had aroused anxiety in her again. “I do hope Jennifer doesn’t get it.”
They spent a domestic afternoon in their own garden. Peter started on the job of taking down the tree. It was not a very large tree, and he had little difficulty in sawing it half through and pulling it over with a rope so that it fell along the lawn and not on to the house. By tea time he had lopped its branches and stacked them away to be burned in the winter, and he had got well on with sawing the green wood up into logs. Mary came with the baby, newly wakened from her afternoon sleep, and laid a rug out on the lawn and put the baby on it. She went back into the house to fetch a tray of tea things; when she returned the baby was ten feet from the rug trying to eat a bit of bark. She scolded her husband and set him to watch his child while she went in for the kettle.
“It’s no good,” she said. “We’ll have to have that play pen.”
He nodded. “I’m going up to town tomorrow morning,” he said. “We’ve got a date at the Navy Department, but after that I should be free. I’ll go to Myers and see if they’ve still got them there.”
“I do hope they have. I don’t know what we’ll do if we can’t get one.”
“We could put a belt round her waist and tether her to a peg stuck in the ground.”
“We couldn’t, Peter!” she said indignantly. “She’d wind it round her neck and strangle herself!”
He mollified her, accustomed to the charge of being a heartless father. They spent the next hour playing with their baby on the grass in the warm sun, encouraging it to crawl about the lawn. Finally Mary took it indoors to bath it and give it its supper, while Peter went on sawing up the logs.
He met his captain next morning in the Navy Department, and together they were shown into the office of the First Naval Member, who had a captain from the Operations Division with him. He greeted them cordially, and made them sit down. “Well now,” he said. “You’ve had a look at the draft operation order that we sent you down?”
“I made a very careful study of it, sir,” said the captain. “What’s your general reaction?”
“Minefields,” Dwight said. “Some of the objectives that you name would almost certainly be mined.” The Admiral nodded. “We have full information on Pearl Harbor and on the approaches to Seattle. We have nothing on any of the others.”
They discussed the order in some detail for a time. Finally the Admiral leaned back in his chair. “Well, that gives me the general picture. That’s what I wanted.” He paused. “Now, you’d better know what this is all about”.
“Wishful thinking,” he observed. “There’s a school of thought among the scientists, a section of them, who consider that this atmospheric radioactivity may be dissipating—decreasing in intensity, fairly quickly. The general argument is that the precipitation during this last winter in the northern hemisphere, the rain and snow, may have washed the air, so to speak.” The American nodded. “According to that theory, the radioactive elements in the atmosphere will be falling to the ground, or to the sea, more quickly than we had anticipated. In that case the ground masses of the northern hemisphere would continue to be uninhabitable for many centuries, but the transfer of radioactivity to us would be progressively decreased. In that case life—human life—might continue to go on down here, or at any rate in Antarctica. Professor Jorgensen holds that view very strongly.”
He paused. “Well, that’s the bare bones of the theory. Most of the scientists disagree, and think that Jorgensen is optimistic. Because of the majority opinion nothing has been said about this on the wireless broadcasting, and we’ve been spared the Press. It’s no good raising people’s hopes without foundation. But clearly it’s a matter that must be investigated.”
“I see that, sir,” Dwight said. “It’s very important. That’s really the main object of this cruise?”
The Admiral nodded. “That’s right. If Jorgensen is correct, as you go north from the equator the atmospheric radioactivity should be steady for a time and then begin to decrease. I don’t say at once, but at some point a decrease should be evident. That’s why we want you to go as far north in the Pacific as you can, to Kodiak and to Dutch Harbor. If Jorgensen is right there should be much less radioactivity up there. It might even be near normal. In that case, you might be able to go out on deck.” He paused. “On shore, of course, ground radioactivity would still be intense. But out at sea, life might be possible.”
Peter asked, “Is there any experimental support for this yet, sir?”
The Admiral shook his head. “Not much. The Air Force sent out a machine the other day. Did you hear about that?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, they sent out a Victor bomber with a full load of fuel. It flew from Perth due north and got as far as the China Sea, about Latitude Thirty North, somewhere south of Shanghai, before it had to turn back. That’s not far enough for the scientists, but it was as far as the machine could go. The evidence they got was inconclusive. Atmospheric radioactivity was still increasing, but towards the northern end of the flight it was increasing slowly.” He smiled. “I understand the backroom boys are still arguing about it. Jorgensen, of course, claims it as his victory. He says there’ll be a positive reduction by the time you get to Latitude Fifty or Sixty.”
“Sixty,” the captain said. “We can make that close inshore in the Gulf of Alaska. The only thing up there is that we’d have to watch the ice.”
They discussed the technicalities of the operation again for a time. It was decided that protective clothing should be carried in the submarine to permit one or two men to go on deck in moderate conditions, and that decontamination sprays should be arranged in one of the escape chambers. An inflatable rubber dinghy would be carried in the superstructure, and the new directional aerial would be mounted on the aft periscope.
Finally the Admiral said, “Well, that clears the decks so far as we are concerned. I think the next step is that I call a conference with C.S.I.R.O. and anybody else who may be concerned. I’ll arrange that for next week. In the meantime, Commander, you might see the Third Naval Member or one of his officers about this dockyard work. I’d like to see you get away by the end of next month.”
Dwight said, “I think that should be possible, sir. There’s not a lot of work in this. The only thing might hold us up would be the measles.”
The Admiral laughed shortly. “The fate of human life upon the world at stake, and we’re stuck with the measles! All right, Captain—I know you’ll do your best.”
When they left the office Dwight and Peter separated, Dwight to call at the Third Naval Member’s office, and Peter to go to find John Osborne in his office in Albert Street. He told the scientist what he had learned that morning. “I know all about Jorgensen,” Mr. Osborne said impatiently. “The old man’s crackers. It’s just wishful thinking.”
“You don’t think much of what the aeroplane found out—the reduced rate of increase of the radioactivity as you go north?”
“I don’t dispute the evidence. The Jorgensen effect may well exist. Probably it does. But nobody but Jorgensen thinks that it’s significant.”
Peter got to his feet. “I’ll leave the wise to wrangle,” he quoted sardonically. “I’ve got to go and buy a play pen for my eldest unmarried daughter.”
“Where are you going to for that?”
“Myers.”
The scientist got up from his chair. “I’ll come with you. I’ve got something in Elizabeth Street I’d like to show you.”
He would not tell the naval officer what it was. They walked together down the centre of the traffic-free streets to the motor car district of the town, turned up a side street, and then into a mews. John Osborne produced a key from his pocket, unlocked the double doors of a building, and pushed them open.
It had been the garage of a motor dealer. Silent cars stood ranged in rows along the walls, some of them unregistered, all covered in dust and dirt with flat tyres sagging on the floor. In the middle of
the floor stood a racing car. It was a single-seater, painted red. It was a very low-built car, a very small car, with a bonnet sloping forward to an aperture that lay close to the ground. The tyres were inflated and it had been washed and polished with loving care; it shone in the light from the door. It looked venomously fast.
“My goodness!” Peter said. “What’s that?”
“It’s a Ferrari,” said John Osborne. “It’s the one that Donezetu raced the year before the war. The one he won the Grand Prix of Syracuse on.”
“How did it get out here?”
“Johnny Bowles bought it and had it shipped out. Then the war came and he never raced it.”
“Who owns it now?”
“I do.”
“You?”
The scientist nodded. “I’ve been keen on motor racing all my life. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, but there’s never been any money. Then I heard of this Ferrari. Bowles was caught in England. I went to his widow and offered her a hundred quid for it. She thought I was mad, of course, but she was glad to sell it.”
Peter walked round the little car with the large wheels, inspecting it. “I agree with her. What on earth are you going to do with it?”
“I don’t know yet. I only know that I’m the owner of what’s probably the fastest car in the world.”
It fascinated the naval officer. “Can I sit in it?”
“Go ahead.”
He squeezed down into the little seat behind the plastic windscreen. “What will she do, all out?”
“I don’t really know. Two hundred, anyway.”
Peter sat fingering the wheel, feeling the controls. The single-seater felt delightfully a part of him. “Have you had her on the road?”
“Not yet.”
He got out of the seat reluctantly. “What are you going to use for petrol?”
The scientist grinned. “She doesn’t drink it.”
“Doesn’t use petrol?”
“She runs on a special ether-alcohol mixture. It’s no good in an ordinary car. I’ve got eight barrels of it in my mother’s back garden.” He grinned. “I made sure that I’d got that before I bought the car.”
He lifted the bonnet and they spent some time examining the engine. John Osborne had spent all his leisure hours since they returned from their first cruise in polishing and servicing the racing car; he hoped to try her out upon the road in a couple of days’ time. “One thing,” he said, grinning in delight, “there’s not a lot of traffic to worry about.”
They left the car reluctantly, and locked the garage doors. In the quiet mews they stood for a few moments. “If we get away upon this cruise by the end of next month,” Peter said, “we should be back about the beginning of June. I’m thinking about Mary and the kid. Think they’ll be all right till we get back?”
“You mean—the radioactivity?”
The naval officer nodded.
The scientist stood in thought. “Anybody’s guess is as good as mine,” he said at last. “It may come quicker or it may come slower. So far it’s been coming very steadily all round the world, and moving southwards at just about the rate that you’d expect. It’s south of Rockhampton now. If it goes on like this it should be south of Brisbane by the beginning of June—just south. Say about eight hundred miles north of us. But, as I say, it may come quicker or it may come slower. That’s all I can tell you.”
Peter bit his lip. “It’s a bit worrying. One doesn’t want to start a flap at home. But all the same, I’d be happier if they knew what to do if I’m not there.”
“You may not be there anyway,” John Osborne said. “There seem to be quite a few natural hazards on this course—apart from radiation. Minefields, ice—all sorts of things. I don’t know what happens to us if we hit an iceberg at full cruising speed, submerged.”
“I do,” said Peter.
The scientist laughed. “Well, let’s keep our fingers crossed and hope we don’t. I want to get back here and race that thing.” He nodded at the car behind the door.
“It’s all a bit worrying,” Peter repeated. They turned towards the street. “I think I’ll have to do something about it before we go.”
They walked in silence into the main thoroughfare. John Osborne turned towards his office. “You going my way?”
Peter shook his head. “I’ve got to see if I can buy a play pen for the baby. Mary says we’ve got to have it or she’ll kill herself.”
They turned in different directions and the scientist walked on, thankful that he wasn’t married.
Peter went shopping for a play pen, and succeeded in buying one at the second shop he tried. A folded play pen is an awkward thing to carry through a crowd; he battled with it to the tram and got it to Flinders Street station. He got to Falmouth with it at about four o’clock in the afternoon. He put it in the cloakroom till he could come and fetch it with his bicycle trailer, took his bicycle, and rode slowly into the shopping street. He went to the chemist that they dealt with, whose proprietor he knew, and who knew him. At the counter he asked the girl if he could see Mr. Goldie.
The chemist came to him in a white coat. Peter asked, “Could I have a word with you in private?”
“Why, yes, Commander.” He led the way into the dispensary.
Peter said, “I wanted to have a talk with you about this radiation disease.” The chemist’s face was quite expressionless. “I’ve got to go away. I’m sailing in the Scorpion, the American submarine. We’re going a long way. We shan’t be back till the beginning of June, at the earliest.” The chemist nodded slowly. “It’s not a very easy trip,” the naval officer said. “There’s just the possibility that we might not come back at all.”
They stood in silence for a moment. “Are you thinking about Mrs. Holmes and Jennifer?” the chemist asked.
Peter nodded. “I’ll have to make sure Mrs. Holmes understands about things before I go.” He paused. “Tell me, just what does happen to you?”
“Nausea,” the chemist said. “That’s the first symptom. Then vomiting, and diarrhoea. Bloody stools. All the symptoms increase in intensity. There may be slight recovery, but if so it would be very temporary. Finally death occurs from sheer exhaustion.” He paused. “In the very end, infection or leukaemia may be the actual cause of death. The blood-forming tissues are destroyed, you see, by the loss of body salts in the fluids. It might go one way or the other.”
“Somebody was saying it’s like cholera.”
“That’s right,” the chemist said. “It is rather like cholera.”
“You’ve got some stuff for it, haven’t you?”
“Not to cure it, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t mean that. To end it.”
“We can’t release that yet, Commander. About a week before it reaches any district, details will be given on the wireless. After that we may distribute it to those who ask for it.” He paused. “There must be terrible complications over the religious side,” he said. “I suppose then it’s a matter for the individual.”
“I’ve got to see that my wife understands about it,” Peter said. “She’ll have to see to the baby … And I may not be here. I’ve got to see this all squared up before I go.”
“I could explain it all to Mrs. Holmes, when the time comes.”
“I’d rather do it myself. She’ll be a bit upset.”
“Of course …” He stood for a moment, and then said, “Come into the stockroom.”
He went through into a back room through a locked door. There was a packing case in one corner, the lid part lifted. He wrenched it back. The case was full of little red boxes, of two sizes.
The chemist took out one of each and went back into the dispensary. He undid the smaller of the two; it contained a little plastic vial with two white tablets in it. He opened it, took out the tablets, put them carefully away, and substituted two tablets of aspirin. He put the vial back in the red box and closed it. He handed it to Peter. “That is for anybody who will take a pill,” he said. “You can
take that and show it to Mrs. Holmes. One causes death, almost immediately. The other is a spare. When the time comes, we shall be distributing these at the counter.”
“Thanks a lot,” he said. “What does one do about the baby?”
The chemist took the other box. “The baby, or a pet animal—a dog or a cat,” he said. “It’s just a little more complicated.” He opened the second box and took out a small syringe. “I’ve got a used one I can put in for you, here. You follow these instructions on the box. Just give the hypodermic injection under the skin. She’ll fall asleep quite soon.”
He packed the dummy back into the box, and gave it to Peter with the other.
The naval officer took them gratefully. “That’s very kind of you,” he said. “She’ll be able to get these at the counter when the time comes?”
“That’s right.”
“Will there be anything to pay?”
“No charge,” the chemist said. “They’re on the free list.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Of the three presents which Peter Holmes took back to his wife that night, the play pen was the most appreciated.
It was a brand new play pen, painted in a pastel green, with brightly coloured beads upon the abacus. He set it up upon the lawn before he went into the house, and then called Mary out to see it. She came and examined it critically, testing it for stability to make sure the baby couldn’t pull it over on top of her. “I do hope the paint won’t come off,” she said. “She sucks everything, you know. Green paint’s awfully dangerous. It’s got verdigris in it.”
“I asked about that in the shop,” he said. “It’s not oil paint—it’s Duco. She’d have to have acetone in her saliva to get that off.”
“She can get the paint off most things …” She stood back and looked at it. “It’s an awfully pretty colour,” she said. “It’ll go beautifully with the curtains in the nursery.”
“I thought it might,” he said. “They had a blue one, but I thought you’d like this better.”