John Christopher - The Death of Grass

He turned to the mechanic who was working beside him. “How’s she coming now?”

“Bit better. Clear it this morning, I reckon.”

“I’ll be back later on.”

Roger was waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder.

John said: “Dropped in to see what kind of a mess we were in?”

Roger did not smile. He glanced round the busy levels of the site.

“Anywhere we can talk privately?”

John shrugged. “I could clear the manager out of his cubbyhole. But there’s a little pub just across the road, which would be better.”

“Anywhere you like. But right away. O.K.?”

Roger’s face was as mild and relaxed as ever, but his voice was sharp and urgent. They went across the road together. “The Grapes’ had a small private bar which was not much used and now, at eleven-thirty, was empty.

John got double whiskies for them both and brought them to the table, in the corner farthest from the bar, where Roger was sitting. He asked:

“Bad news?”

“We’ve got to move,” Roger said. He had a drink of whisky. The balloon’s up. {63} 63 balloon’s up, The: The crisis has occurred. ”

“How?”

“The bastards!” Roger said. “The bloody murdering bastards. We aren’t like the Asiatics. We’re true-blue {64} 64 true-blue: loyal Englishmen and we play cricket.”

His anger, bitter and savage, with nothing feigned in it, brought home to John the awareness of crisis. He said sharply:

“What is it? What’s happening?”

Roger finished his drink. The barmaid passed through their section of the bar and he called for two more doubles. When he had got them, he said:

“First things first—game, set, and match {65} 65 game, set and match: the final game in the final set, which clinches the victory (tennis) to Chung-Li. We’ve lost.”

“What about the counter-virus?”

“Funny things, viruses,” Roger said. “They stand in time’s eye like principalities and powers, only on a shorter scale. All-conquering for a century, or for three or four months, and then—washed out. You don’t often get a Rome, holding its power for half a millennium {66} 66 millennium: one thousand years .”

“Well?”

“The Chung-Li virus is a Rome. If the counter-virus had been even a France or a Spain it would have been all right. But it was only a Sweden. It still exists, but in the mild and modified form that viruses usually relapse into. It won’t touch Chung-Li.”

“When did this happen?”

“God knows. Some time ago. They managed to keep it quiet while they were trying to re-breed the virulent strain.”

“They’ve not abandoned the attempt, surely?”

“I don’t know. I suppose not. It doesn’t matter.”

“Surely it matters.”

“For the last month,” Roger said, “this country has been living on current supplies of food, with less than half a week’s stocks behind us. In fact, we’ve been relying absolutely on the food ships from America and the Commonwealth. I knew this before, but I didn’t think it important. The food has been pledged to us.”

The barmaid returned and began to polish the bar counter; she was whistling a popular song. Roger dropped his voice.

“My mistake was pardonable, I think. In normal circumstances the pledges would have been honoured. Too much of the world had vanished into barbarism already; people were willing to make some sacrifices to save the rest.

“But charity still begins at home. That’s why I said it doesn’t matter whether they do succeed in getting the counter-virus back in shape. The fact is that the people who’ve got the food don’t believe they will. And as a result, they want to make sure they aren’t giving away stuff they will need themselves next winter. The last foodship from the other side of the Atlantic docked at Liverpool yesterday. There may be some still on the seas from Australasia, and they may or may not be recalled home before they reach us.”

John said: “I see.” He looked at Roger. “Is that what you meant about murdering bastards? But they do have to look after their own people. It’s hard on us…”

“No, that wasn’t what I meant I told you I had a pipe-line {67} 67 pipe-line: channel of communication up to the top. It was Haggerty, the P.M.”s secretary. I did him a good turn a few years ago. He’s done me a damn sight better turn in giving me the lowdown on what’s happening.

“Everything’s been at top-Governmental level. Our people knew what was going to happen a week ago. They’ve been trying to get the food-suppliers to change their minds—and hoping for a miracle, I suppose. But all they did get was secrecy—an undertaking that they would not be embarrassed in any steps they thought necessary for internal control by the news being spread round the world. That suited everybody’s book—the people across the ocean will have some measures of their own to take before the news breaks—not comparable with ours, of course, but best-prepared undisturbed.”

“And our measures?” John asked. “What are they?”

“The Government fell yesterday. Welling has taken over, but Lucas is still in the Cabinet. It’s very much a palace revolution {68} 68 palace revolution: having limited effects, not changing the ultimate power . Lucas doesn’t want the blood on his hands—that’s all.”

“Blood?”

“These islands hold about fifty-four million people. About forty-five million of them live in England. If a third of that number could be supported on a diet of roots, we should be doing well. The only difficulty is—how do you select the survivors?”

John said grimly: “I should have thought it was obvious—they select themselves.”

“It’s a wasteful method, and destructive of good order and discipline. We’ve taken our discipline fairly lightly in this country, but its roots run deep. It’s always likely to rise in a crisis.”

“Welling—” John said, “I’ve never cared for the sound of him.”

“The time throws up the man. I don’t like the swine myself, but something like him was inevitable. Lucas could never make up his mind about anything.” Roger looked straight ahead. “The Army is moving into position today on the outskirts of London and all other major population centres. The roads will be closed from dawn tomorrow.”

John said: “If that’s the best he can think of… no army in the world would stop a city from bursting out under pressure of hunger. What does he think he’s going to gain?”

Time. Enough of that precious commodity to complete the preparations for his second line of action.”

“And that is?”

“Atom bombs for the small cities, hydrogen bombs for places like Liverpool, Birmingham, Glasgow, Leeds—and two or three of them for London. It doesn’t matter about wasting them—they won’t be needed in the foreseeable future.”

For a moment, John was silent Then he said slowly:

“I can’t believe that No one could do that.”

“Lucas couldn’t. Lucas always was the common man’s Prime Minister—suburban constraints and suburban prejudices and emotions. But Lucas will stand by as a member of Welling’s Cabinet, ostentatiously washing his hands {69} 69 washing his hands: keeping himself clean (not being held responsible for the shedding of blood) while the plans go forward. What else do you expect of the common man?”

“They will never get people to man the planes.”

“We’re in a new era,” Roger said. “Or a very old one. Wide loyalties are civilized luxuries. Loyalties are going to be narrow from now on, and the narrower the fiercer. If it were the only way of saving Olivia and Steve, I’d man one of those planes myself.”