Project Hades

3

0135.

“Winston!”

“Here, Thelma. I’m under a hod-load of bricks.”

“Wait, don’t move, I’m coming.” She dug into the heap of bricks with her bare hands until she had uncovered his face and shoulders. Winston stirred and at last was able to sit up. “Are you hurt?”

“It all sort of washed over me. What about you?”

“The telephone kiosk fell over on top of me. I think it saved me. The phone was cut off, though. There. Can you stand up?”

He struggled to his feet. “I’m a bit dusty—the bike! Clare’s going to kill me.”

“It’s still here, where we left it. And here’s the rucksack with the data.”

“That bike’s better off than we are.”

There was a distant explosion; they both flinched.

Winston said, “Look, Thelma, I know how important it is to get back to the base and report in to Doctor Jones. We’re on a sort of mission. But—”

“You’re worried about your mother.”

“You saw how she’s fixed. She’s not going to be able to cope with this lot by herself.”

“Then we’ll go and get her.”

“Are you sure? I thought you’d argue.”

Thelma smiled. “Not me. We’ll save your mother, then we’ll save the world. And besides, you’re the one with the bike. Now, come on, give me that rucksack. I suppose that ugly beast is going to start, is it?”

She was answered by a roar as the engine kicked in.

The Hades command centre hummed with tension; information poured in via the phone lines and teletypes.

Major Crowne said, “There’s no news coming out of Newcastle.”

Clare asked, “Have you got through to the police control centre?”

“Constable, the emergency services are trying to work their way in. There’s clearly a major human disaster unfolding in there.”

Jones cried, “I told you so!”

Godwin said, “Be silent, man. What’s going on further afield, Major Crowne?”

“It’s sketchy. Lots of disruptions to the comms globally. It’s going to take a while to put it all together.”

Tremayne said, “I suppose you’d say we have another ninety minutes’ grace, Jones.”

“Precisely. Ninety minutes until the next wave of attacks.”

Godwin said, “Attacks? We’re dealing with a geological phenomenon, not a purposeful foe.”

“Oh, you know that, do you?”

Tremayne said, “Godwin, he could be right, at least about some of this. It might be wise to suspend the programme until we’re absolutely sure we know what we’re dealing with. If there is a connection between the Hades detonations and these geological upheavals—”

“I rather think that’s my call, don’t you think?”

Jones said, “Then make the right call, man, for once in your life.”

Tremayne sighed. “And what would you have us do, Jones?”

“Do what good scientists always do. Gather data. First we need to establish just what has happened in Newcastle, and any other problem areas around the country—around the world, if necessary—I presume your communications here are capable of that. Second, Tremayne, you and I need to work on the seismic data you’ve got heaped up down in your computer centre, but never bothered to interpret properly, if I may say so. I hope to prove once and for all what we’re facing here. And finally I need Thelma and Winston brought back here safely. The data they are bringing back has a broader base than the monitoring you’ve done here.”

“All right, Jones, we’ll do things your way—for now.”

Godwin said, “Well, I won’t stop you, if you stay out of the way of the project. But I think you’re a pack of fools, wasting time and resources.”

Jones snapped back, “Yes, well, you would think that, wouldn’t you?”

Crowne put in, “About your friends, Doctor Jones. I’ll detail Sergeant Grady to bring them in.”

Tremayne nodded. “Good. Sergeant, hook up with Captain Phillips; the British forces outside will be able to help.”

Buck said, “Yes, sir. But how will I find them? Things sound kind of chaotic out there.”

Jones asked, “Clare, does Winston have any family?”

“Yes, his mother. She lives alone in Gateshead.”

“Give the details to Sergeant Grady. Then plot a straight-line course from there back to the base. Sergeant, they’ll be somewhere on that line. I know Thelma. Right, Tremayne, got your slide rule oiled?”

The door was half off its hinges, with loose bricks and tiles heaped up against it. In the distance, sirens wailed.

Winston scrambled over the rubble. “Mum. Mum! Thelma, the house is shaken to bits.”

“Where will your mother be?”

“It’s the small hours. She’d have been asleep, in the bedroom upstairs.”

“Winston, the roof’s gone. There is no upstairs.”

“Oh no, oh God—”

“Now take it easy. Think, Winston. Where was the bedroom?”

“Over the parlour. Through here.” He forced his way through heaps of plaster and timber. “Mum? Are you here?

Her voice was faint. “Winston? That you? Ee, man, what’s going on? Are the Jerries starting up again?”

“Mum, are you hurt?”

“Well, me leg got squashed. Good news is it’s me wooden one. And me bed came right through the ceiling. Soft landing, like. Always was a lucky bugger, me.”

Thelma said, “We’re going to get you out of here.”

Hope laughed. “How? On that motorbike, like Mods and Rockers? I don’t think so.”

Winston said, “Thelma, if you want to get back to the base, leave us—”

“Absolutely not. We’re going to take her with us, leg or no leg. We just need to work out how.”

Tremayne led Jones and Clare back to the computer centre. “All right, Jones, it’s your show. Where do we start?”

Jones glanced around. “Look, we want to get all the seismic data you have, fed through your main processor here, and plotted up as graphical displays on these screens. Clare, you know where the tapes are, you can help too.”

Tremayne said, “Suppose you tell me what kind of ‘graphical display’ you want.”

“A section of the Earth. Deep as you like—all the way to the core if you can. I want to be able to see where these disturbances you’ve been tracking are travelling.”

“That’s asking a lot. We’re only one observing point here; we need triangulation.”

“That’s what I’m hoping to get from Thelma’s data, among other things. But we can squeeze a lot out of this data set with a bit of ingenuity.”

Tremayne rubbed his chin and looked absent; he was obviously a man who relished a scientific puzzle. “Hmm. I suppose we could look for signal attenuation. Reflections from the mantle layers. That the sort of thing?”

“Precisely—”

Crowne bustled in. “Professor Tremayne, Doctor Jones. We’ve had some input from outside. The comms are still patchy. Newcastle’s been hit bad. Massive earthquakes and aftershocks, as far as the Cheviot hills. The geologists can’t make any sense of it.”

“I’m not surprised,” Jones said.

Tremayne said, “And further afield?”

“There are trouble spots all over—tremors, quakes, even volcanism. All over the world, I mean.”

Jones said, “Where, exactly? Show me, man. Clare, bring over that world map.”

“Bring the tapes, fetch the map, make a cup of tea. Just remember you’re still under arrest, Doctor Jones.”

“Now, now, Constable Clare.”

Crowne took the map and used a thick black pen to mark locations. “You have these sites across the continental US, here, here, here. And across western Europe, the south as far as Turkey, and in Australia, Japan—”

Jones said, “Well, there’s no obvious correlation with any patterns of seismic activity I know about. Tremayne?”

“I’m afraid it’s rather obvious to me. Major?”

Crowne said, “Doctor Jones, these are Project Hades emplacements. Like this one.”

“More buried bombs. Well, well. There’s your correlation, Tremayne!”

Tremayne stared. “Good Lord—now I don’t know what to believe.”

“Then let’s get on with this data analysis and wash away all your doubt.”

Buck Grady was waiting behind the wheel of the truck. Phillips climbed up beside him. “Right, let’s get going, Sergeant.”

Buck started the engine. “Yes, sir.” The truck pulled away. “You sure this is going to be enough, just the two of us?”

“I think so. Things are quiet for the moment and my men are getting a bit of shuteye. Leave them to it. Who knows what we’ll have to deal with in the morning? Besides this is just a quick in-and-out to retrieve those two civilians.”

“Turning into a long night, though, Captain Phillips.”

“You can say that again.”

“Here, take another smoke.”

“Thanks. Your Yankee drags are disgusting, though.”

“I’ll try to come better equipped next time. You have family yourself, Captain?”

“The missus and two little girls. Down in Sussex, a long way from the action here. I tried calling, but the lines are down. What about you?”

“Just my fiancée, in Long Beach, California. They say there’s problems out there too.”

“Really?”

“The scuttlebutt is this volcano stuff is bubbling up all over. But I haven’t had a chance to make a call.”

“Well, we’ll try to fix that when we get back from the city.”

“I’d appreciate that. Not that I’m worried. Tina is a take-it-on-the-chin kind of kid.”

“Hmm. Should think she’d have to be, attached to a chap like you.”

“Yeah, you got a point there. Hey, what’s that red glow up ahead? Sunrise, you think?”

“I’m afraid not, Sergeant. That’s Newcastle burning. See if you can get a bit more ummph out of this old banger.”

The engine roared and the truck surged ahead.

Winston said, “All right, Mum, let me get you lifted into this.”

“You’re joking me. That’s a bairn’s pram!”

Thelma smiled. “Well, now it’s a custom-built sidecar, Mrs. Stubbins. And we’ve strapped it onto the bike quite firmly with these broom handles—see? Anyway you’re small enough to fit in.”

“Oh, am I? Just as well I’ve left me other leg behind, isn’t it? Winston, you can go and raid old Porky Harris’s garden shed.”

“What for?”

“He keeps a can of petrol in there for his bubble car. He’s off on holiday at the minute, he won’t mind.”

Thelma said, “That’s very sensible, Mrs. Stubbins.”

“And while he’s out of the way, Thelma, you can give me a hand to the khazi. Best to spare the lad’s blushes. Come on. We only ever had an outside bog and with any luck it’s still standing. You lead the way, I’ll hop along after.”

After an hour’s work, Jones, Tremayne, and Clare made their way back to the command centre.

Godwin paced, glowering over his operators’ shoulders. “Still wasting time, gentlemen?”

Jones ignored him. “I think we’ve squeezed just about as much out of these fragments of data as we’re going to manage. Now we’re going to look at the results. Ready, Tremayne?”

“I have the computer output patched through to here.”

“Just remember—all of you,” Jones said, gazing around at them. “Open your eyes—and your mind.” He threw a switch. A cathode-ray monitor powered up with a heavy clunk.

Clare peered at the display. “It’s a big circle. Is that the Earth? Looks like a radar display. But what are those flying shapes?”

“This is the anatomy of the planet, Clare. A world within a world. This is the core. Here you can see the layers of the mantle surrounding it.”

“Where’s the crust, the continents?”

“Too thin to see on this projection. Remember, Clare—all the world you know is just a shell.”

“And those shapes, washing to and fro. What’s that, static? Echoes?”

Tremayne leaned to see. “They seem to be rising up from the surface of the core. Like rockets launching.”

Jones said, “That’s a very apt comparison, Tremayne. See how they sail all the way to the surface—I mean, our surface—and sniff around a bit before falling back. Of course this is a very time-accelerated view.”

Godwin laughed. “Rockets? Oh, this is all—”

Tremayne said, “They’re purposeful. There’s no doubt about it. Whatever they are—purposeful and intelligent.”

Jones slapped his back. “At last you see it.”

“And there’s a sort of seismic wake that precedes them.”

“Signals, Tremayne. They communicate through seismic waves passing through the rock, just as you and I talk using sound waves rippling through the air.”

Clare asked, “What are they, Doctor Jones?”

Jones said, “My department has evidence of these entities going back to the work of the first geologists. Charles Lyell himself came away from a trip to Sicily with suspicions, never confirmed… Evidently they inhabit the surface of the planetary core. To them the mantle rock, the magma, is as thin as air, a medium through which they fly. We call them Magmoids.”

Tremayne said, “Magmoids!”

“Well, we had to give them some sort of label. You understand they are firmly within the Linnaean Paradoxa class, Tremayne. We had no firm evidence of their existence—but no proof of their non-existence either. And our brief, as DS8 and its predecessors, was to keep a weather eye on them. They probably never even knew human beings were here. Not until you started letting off your bombs high in their rocky atmosphere—and with your Hades bombs, firecrackers finally big enough to get their attention.”

Tremayne said, “And that explains the ninety minutes.”

“Yes. I think the apparitions the local people called ‘Grendels’ are Magmoid probes—like space satellites—probably automated. They really are in orbit, Tremayne, literally orbiting through outer layers of rock so thin they may as well be vacuum. I wonder why they’re drawn here, and why they have been visible for so long. Something to do with the deep geological flaws hereabouts, no doubt. And in Lucifer’s Tomb you have a flaw on top of a flaw—as Winston Stubbins understood.”

Tremayne was staring at the images. “How extraordinary. We thought we were alone. We looked outward, to the stars. While all the time there was a civilisation, whole and entire, under our feet.”

“This is first contact, Tremayne. First contact.”

The motorbike roared down a street strewn with rubble and rapidly becoming clogged with traffic. The city was wide awake now, and everywhere people were moving, clambering through shattered properties. Overhead helicopters flapped, sirens wailed, and Thelma heard the ominous crackle of fire.

She said, “We’re lucky we’re on a bike. A car would never get through. It might get easier when we get back to the main road out of the city. But all the people—look at them. I wish there was something we could do for them.”

“Don’t fret, bonny lass,” Hope said. “You’re doing your best. Woah! Ee, Winston, if I knew I was going on a dodgems I’d have worn me kiss-me-quick hat.”

“Sorry, Mum.”

Thelma said, “Look, through that alley. I think that’s the way back to the main road.”

“It’ll be a squeeze. Hang on, Mum.”

They pushed through the alley and emerged onto the main road—but Winston slowed the bike and turned off the engine. “Oh, dear God.”

The road was crammed with people, a moving wall that blocked the exit from the alley.

Hope called, “What is it? I canna see back here in the cheap seats.”

Winston said, “People, Mum. Thousands and thousands of people.”

“Men, women,” Thelma said. “Kids on their parents’ backs. Old people in wheelchairs.” She pointed. “Those look like hospital beds being pushed along.”

Hope said, “It’s the city, isn’t it? The city emptying out.”

“I’m afraid so, Mrs. Stubbins.”

“It was like this in the last lot. When the bombs came a lot of people just walked out, in their bare feet some of them. You don’t see that in the war films.”

“Look, we’re just going to have to make our way through this crowd.”

Winston said, “It’s going to be awful.”

“I know. But we’ll hit clear road when we get ahead of the crowd. Are you ready, Mrs. Stubbins?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Winston said, “Let’s do it.” He started the engine and pushed forward. Reluctantly people made space for the machine.

The ground shuddered.

Winston called, “Did you feel that?”

Thelma said, “I’m afraid I did. Another tremor.” She checked her watch; it was nearly three a.m. “And right on cue—another ninety minutes gone.”

“We aren’t going much faster than walking pace.”

Hope said, “You’d gan on faster if you dumped this stupid pram with me in it.”

Thelma said, “We’re not about to do that, Mrs. Stubbins.”

A voice came drifting from a loudhailer, distant but clear. “Thelma Bennet! Winston Stubbins! Thelma Bennet! Make yourself known…”

Winston said, “Did you hear that?”

“Yes. I think so. My name and yours. I think that’s Captain Phillips.”

“Come in, number seven, your time is up!”

Winston said, “Hush, Mum. I think it’s coming from that truck—see, it’s shining its headlights this way.”

Thelma said, “Stop the bike and I’ll run up and see.”

“Hurry back.”

She clambered off the bike and began to force her way through the crowd. “Excuse me. I’m sorry. Please, excuse me, I have to pass…”

Tremayne said, “The question is what to do about all this—I don’t know—I just don’t know.”

Godwin smiled. “I have no confusion in my mind. Men like you see only problems. I see an opportunity—if there’s anything at all in what you say.”

Jones said, “Now why does that make my hair stand on end?”

A phone rang and Crowne grabbed it. “Yes. Who? Oh. It’s for you again, Jones.”

“Give me that. Hello?”

“Jones?”

“Thelma! Goodness, I’m glad to hear your voice. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m with Captain Phillips. And so’s Winston—tell Clare. Although it seems to be starting up again.”

“I know. We felt it here.”

“We have the data you wanted.”

“Oh, well done, Thelma, well done.”

“I just hope it’s worth it. Have you worked out what we’re dealing with yet?”

Jones said, “Magmoids, I think. An infestation of the core of the Earth. Get back here, Thelma. Bring that information. Just be safe!”

He put the phone down, breathing hard. He was more relieved to have heard her voice than he wanted to admit. Gradually he became aware of his surroundings again—the command centre resounding to the noise of murmuring voices, the ringing telephones, the clattering teletypes, the sharp, warm smell of electronic valves. He was remarkably tired, yet he knew he couldn’t sleep even if he had the chance.

Once again the floor shuddered and metal walls creaked.

Crowne called, “More reports coming in. More damage in Newcastle. Tremors in other locations near Hades bases. Ankara, Turkey. Seville, Spain.”

Godwin said, “Fatalities?”

“It seems so, sir. But the comms are flaky, and the ground situation is kind of chaotic.”

Tremayne said, “What do you suggest, Jones?”

“There’s not much we can do until Thelma gets back here with her data. I’d certainly be trying to get a warning out through your chain of command. Tell those in charge to prepare for disturbances like this, probably worsening, coming every ninety minutes until further notice. We may still be able to get out of this without a great deal more damage being done. To the Magmoids humans are an irritation, at best. A bit of bad weather, high in the rocky sky. But any more bomb blasts and they will deal with us. You must ensure above all that no more of these monstrous fireworks of yours are let off.”

Crowne turned to Tremayne. “Professor? Do you endorse that?”

Tremayne said, “To be truthful, I am barely clinging on to the coattails of Doctor Jones’s analysis. But there is clearly a link between the Hades emplacements and our own detonation with the timings and locations of these tremors. It is only prudent to get Doctor Jones’s warning out.”

Crowne said, “Very well—”

Godwin drew his revolver. “Belay that, Major.”

“Commodore!”

Tremayne said, “What on Earth are you doing, Godwin?”

“Taking control. This is clearly a global crisis. If these ‘Magmoids’ exist at all, and I’m not ready to concede that yet, we ought to be thinking in terms of striking back.”

Jones said, “Striking back? By all that’s holy, man—”

Crowne said, “Commodore, I really think I should pass this up the command line—”

“To what end? This is the focus of the Magmoid attack. This is where the intelligence is gathered—here, in my hands. And nobody is better qualified to make the profound decisions that now face mankind. Crowne, obey my order. Step back from the console.”

Crowne took a deep breath. “Sir. With respect. No, sir. Commodore Godwin, I am the senior US officer on the base here. My commander-in-chief is President Eisenhower—not you. We work together, sir, we are allies. But in the final analysis I have to exercise my own judgement. And I won’t allow the base to be cut out of the chain of command. No, sir.”

And Godwin pulled the trigger. The noise of the revolver was shockingly loud in the enclosed space. Crowne fell back and lay still.

Clare cried, “Major!” She knelt down and felt for a pulse at Crowne’s neck. “Commodore Godwin—you killed him!”

Tremayne said, “For God’s sake, man! What about duty? What about the oaths you swore to serve Queen and country?”

“Oh, I serve a higher cause than that, Tremayne.”

All the operatives in the command centre—every one of them a soldier, Jones reminded himself—had turned, shocked, at the sound of the gunshot. But Godwin snarled, “Back to work, all of you.” They turned back to their consoles.

“Now to business,” Godwin said. “I am confident that the American troops within this base will continue to obey my commands. But I must decide what to do with you. For you’re either with me or against me, it’s as simple as that. You’ll be confined, Jones. Obviously. As for you, WPC Baines—”

“I won’t submit to your threats, Commodore.”

“I admire your spirit. Well, you’ll be confined too. And you, Professor Tremayne—I expect your cooperation. This is your baby, you know. The bombs of Project Hades are your design.”

“But I never wanted this killing.”

Jones said, “I might ask you what you expected when you devoted your life to weapons design, Professor.”

“But I have always believed in the power of reason. Oh, you can put your gun away as far as I’m concerned, Godwin. I’ll work with you. But I’ll be working to make you see sense!”

Godwin said, “Sergeant at arms, take these two away. And clear up this—umm, unfortunate incident. We have work to do. Come, Professor Tremayne.”

As Jones and Clare were led away, the room shuddered.

Clare muttered, “Here we go again.”

A blur of light washed over the crowded street, a noise like a shriek. People cowered, bewildered by such strangeness on this terrible night.

Buck said, “Woah. Anybody see that?”

Winston goggled. “Yes! Wow, that was fantastic, I’ve never seen a Grendel so close. It’s like an eye in the sky—it seems to watch you as it goes by. No wonder people thought they were living things.”

Phillips called, “Coming up to the bridge.”

Buck said, “And it’s still intact. Thank cripes for that—”

There was an explosion, somewhere ahead. People screamed.

“Holy smoke, that was bigger than ever. I can’t see the bridge. Is it down?”

Phillips said, “No. There, see, through the smoke? Hold on—”

The truck bounced and rattled onto the bridge. Another shriek rolled down from the sky.

Hope said, “What’s that up in the sky? Angels?”

Winston said, “Not angels, Mum. They’re called Grendels.”

“My word,” Phillips said, “they’re all along the length of the bridge.”

Thelma peered ahead, over his shoulder. The strange squashed-sphere shapes of the Grendels hovered over the bridge’s superstructure, like Christmas lights, illuminating the streams of refugees struggling to cross.

Buck said, “Can you smell sulphur?”

Hope grumbled, “Yeah. And I’m sweating fit to melt.”

Buck looked down, peering out of his window. “Gee, the water is glowing.”

Thelma peered down at a crimson, smoking river. “That’s not water, Sergeant. That’s lava. The valley of the Tyne is full of molten lava!”