John Wyndham: The Midwich Cuckoos

'On the other hand, it is our culture that gives us scruples about the ruthless liquidation of unarmed minorities, not to mention the practical obstacles to such a solution.

'On the – oh dear, how difficult – on the third hand, to enable the Children to shift the problem they represent to the territory of a people even more ill equipped to deal with it is a form of evasive procrastination which lacks any moral courage at all.

'It makes one long for H. G.'s straightforward Martians. This would seem to be one of those unfortunate situations where no solution is morally defensible.'

Bernard and I received that in silence. Presently I felt compelled to say:

'That sounds to me the kind of masterly summing-up that has landed philosophers in sticky situations throughout the ages.'

'Oh, surely not,' Zellaby protested. 'In a quandary where every course is immoral, there still remains the ability to act for the greatest good of the greatest number. Ergo, the Children ought to be eliminated at the least possible cost, with the least possible delay. I am sorry to have to arrive at that conclusion. In nine years I have grown rather fond of them. And, in spite of what my wife says, I think I have come as near friendship with them as possible.'

He allowed another, and longer, pause, and shook his head.

'It is the right step,' he repeated. 'But, of course, our authorities will not be able to bring themselves to take it – for which I am personally thankful because I can see no practical course open to them which would not involve the destruction of all of us in the village, as well.' He stopped and looked about him at Midwich resting quietly in the afternoon sun. 'I am getting to be an old man, and I shall not live much longer in any case, but I have a younger wife, and a young son; and I should like to think, too, that all this will go on as long as it may. No, the authorities will argue, no doubt; but if the Children want to go, they'll go. Humanitarianism will triumph over biological duty – is that probity, would you say? Or is it decadence? But so the evil day will be put off – for how long, I wonder...?'

Back at Kyle Manor tea was ready, but after one cup Bernard rose, and made his farewells to the Zellabys.

'I shan't learn any more by staying longer,' he said. 'The sooner I present the Children's demands to my incredulous superiors, the sooner we shall get things moving. I have no doubt your arguments are right, on their plane, Mr Zellaby, but I personally shall work to get the Children anywhere out of this country, and quickly. I have seen a number of unpleasant sights in my life, but none that has ever been such a clear warning as the degradation of your Chief Constable. I'll keep you informed how it goes, of course.'

He looked at me.

'Coming with me, Richard?'

I hesitated. Janet was still in Scotland, and not due back for a couple of days yet. There was nothing that needed my presence in London, and I was finding the problem of the Midwich Children far more fascinating than anything I was likely to encounter there. Angela noticed.

'Do stay if you would like to,' she said. 'I think we'd both be rather glad of some company just now.'

I judged that she meant it, and accepted.

'Anyway,' I added, to Bernard. 'We don't even know that your new courier status includes a companion. If I were to try to come with you we'd probably find that I am still under the ban.'

'Oh, yes, that ridiculous ban,' said Zellaby. 'I must talk to them seriously about that – a quite absurd panic measure on their part.'

We accompanied Bernard to the door, and watched him set off down the drive, with a wave of his hand.

'Yes. Game to the Children, I think,' Zellaby said again, as the car turned out into the road. 'And set, too... later on...?' He shrugged faintly, and shook his head.

'My dear,' said Zellaby, looking along the breakfast table at his wife, 'if you happen to be going into Trayne this morning, will you get one of those large jars of bullseyes?'

Angela switched her attention from the toaster to her husband.

'Darling,' she said, though without endearment, 'in the first place, if you recall yesterday, you will remember that there is no question of going to Trayne. In the second, I have no inclination to provide the Children with sweets. In the third, if this means that you are proposing to go and show them films at The Grange this evening, I strongly protest.'

'The ban,' said Zellaby, 'is raised. I pointed out to them last night that it was really rather silly and ill-considered. Their hostages cannot make a concerted flight without word reaching them, if only through Miss Lamb, or Miss Ogle. Everybody is inconvenienced to no purpose; only half, or a quarter, of the village makes as good a shield for them as the whole of it. And furthermore, that I proposed to cancel my lecture on the Aegean Islands this evening if half of them were going to be out making a nuisance of themselves on the roads and paths.'

'And they just agreed?' asked Angela.

'Of course. They're not stupid, you know. They are very susceptible to reasoned argument.'

'Well, really! After all we've been through -'

'But they are,' protested Zellaby. 'When they are jittery, or startled, they do foolish things, but don't we all? And because they are young they over-reach themselves, but don't all the young? Also, they are anxious and nervous – and shouldn't we be nervous if the threat of what happened at Gizhinsk were hanging over us?'

'Gordon,' his wife said, 'I don't understand you. The Children are responsible for the loss of six lives. They have killed these six people whom we knew well, and hurt a lot more, some of them badly. At any time the same thing may happen to any of us. Are you defending that?'

'Of course not, my dear. I am simply explaining that they can make mistakes when they are alarmed, just as we can. One day they will have to fight us for their lives; they know that, and out of nervousness they made the mistake of thinking that the time had come.'

'So now all we have to do is to say: "We're so sorry you killed six people by mistake. Let's forget all about it." '

'What else do you suggest? Would you prefer to antagonize them?' asked Zellaby.

'Of course not, but if the law can't touch them as you say it can't – though I really don't see what good the law is if it can't admit what everybody knows – but even if it can't, it doesn't mean we've got to take no notice and pretend it never happened. There are social sanctions, as well as legal ones.'

'I should' be careful, my dear. We have just been shown that the sanction of power can override both,' Zellaby told her seriously.

Angela looked at him with a puzzled expression.

'Gordon, I don't understand you,' she repeated. 'We think alike about so many things. We share the same principles, but now I seem to have lost you. We can't just ignore what has happened: it would be as bad as condoning it.'

'You and I, my dear, are using different yardsticks. You are judging by social rules, and finding crime. I am considering an elemental struggle, and finding no crime – just grim, primeval danger.' The tone in which he said the last words was so different from his usual manner that it startled both of us into staring at him. For the first time in my knowledge I saw another Zellaby – the one whose incisive hints of his existence made the Works more than they seemed – showing clearly through, and seeming younger than, the familiar, dilettante spinner of words. Then he slipped back to his usual style. 'The wise lamb does not enrage the lion,' he said. 'It placates him, plays for time, and hopes for the best. The Children like bullseyes, and will be expecting them.'