Fred Hoyle - A for Andromeda

At Thorness the speakers were carrying the count-down, and launching teams worked briskly round the bases of the rockets on the cliff-top. At zero the “first throw” was to be fired and, if that failed, the second, and, if necessary, the third, with fresh flight calculations made according to their take-off time. Andromeda had held that there was no need for this but the others were all too conscious of human fallibility. Neither Geers nor any of his superiors could afford a fiasco.

The count-down ran out to single figures and to nought. In the grey morning light of the promontory the take-off rockets of the first flight suddenly bloomed red. The air filled with noise, the earth shook, and the tall thin pencil slipped up into the sky. Within a few seconds it was gone beyond the clouds. In the control-rooms, the operations-room and the observatory, anxious faces watched its trace appear on the cathode screens. Only Andromeda seemed unconcerned and confident.

At Bouldershaw, Reinhart, Harvey and their team watched the two traces of target and interceptor slowly converging and heard the blip-blip-blip of the satellite ringing louder and clearer in their ears as it approached. Then the traces met and at the same moment the noise stopped.

Reinhart swung round to Harvey and thumped him, wildly and uncharacteristically, on the back.

“We’ve done it... !”

“A hit!” Geers picked up his telephone for London. Andromeda turned away from her control-room screen as though something quite unimportant were over. In London, Vandenberg turned to his British colleagues in the ops room.

“Well, what do you know?” he said.

That evening an official statement was made to the press:

“ The Ministry of Defence has announced that an orbital missile has been intercepted by a new British rocket three hundred and seventy miles above this country. The remains of the missile, which is of unknown origin, and of the interceptor, were burnt out on re-entering the earth’s atmosphere, but the interception was followed on auto-radar equipment and can, say the Ministry, be verified in minute detail. ”

An almost audible collective sigh of relief rose from Whitehall, accompanied by a glow of self-congratulation. The Cabinet held an unusually happy meeting and within a week the Prime Minister was sending again for Burdett.

The Minister of Defence presented himself neat and smiling, in an aura of confidence and after-shave lotion.

“Any new traces?” asked the Prime Minister.

“Not one.”

“Nothing in orbit?”

“Nothing’s been over this country, sir, since the interception.”

“Good.” The Prime Minister mused. “Reinhart was due for a knighthood anyway.”

“And Geers?”

“Oh yes. C.B.E. probably.”

Burdett prepared for business. “And the computer and its, er, agent, sir?”

“We might make the young lady a Dame,” said the Prime Minister with one of his camouflage twinkles.

“I mean,” asked Burdett, “what happens to them? The Ministry of Science want them to revert.”

The Prime Minister continued to look amused. “We can’t have that, can we?” he said.

“We’ve a heavy military programme for it.”

“Also a heavy economic one.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean,” said the Prime Minister seriously, “that if this particular combination can achieve that for us, it can achieve a lot of other things. Of course it must still work on defence, but at the same time it has a very great industrial potential. We want to be rich, you know, as well as strong. The scientists have given us—and I’m very grateful to them—the most advanced thinking instrument in the world. It’s going to make it possible for us to leap forward, as a country, in a great many fields. And about time too.”

“Are you going to keep it in your own hands, sir?” Burdett spoke with a mixture of irritation and deference.

“Yes. I shall make a statement to the nation in the near future.”

“You’re not going to make it public?”

“Don’t flap, man.” The Prime Minister regarded him blandly. “I shall say something about the effects, but the means will remain top secret. That’ll be your responsibility.”

Burdett nodded. “What can I tell Vandenberg?”

“Tell him to rest his feet. No, you can say to him that we’re going to be a great little country again, but we’ll continue to co-operate with our allies. With any allies we can get, in fact.” He paused for a moment while Burdett waited politely. “I shall go to Thorness myself as soon as I can.”

The visit was arranged in a few days—it was obviously priority in the Prime Minister’s mind. Judy and Quadring had some difficulty in concealing it from the press, for public curiosity was at its height; but in the end it was laid on with due secrecy and the compound and its inhabitants were quietly and discreetly groomed. Geers had changed distinctly since his success. Confidence was something new to him. It was as though he had taken the chips off his shoulder and put them away. He was brisk but affable, and he not only allowed Dawnay and Fleming access to the computer again but urged them to be on parade for the Prime Minister’s tour. He wanted everyone, he said, to have their due.

Fleming had private doubts about this window-dressing but kept them to himself; at least there might be an opportunity to speak. He arrived in the computer building early on the day of the visit, and found Andromeda waiting there alone. She also appeared transformed. Her long hair had been brushed back from her face and, instead of her usual simple frock, she wore a sort of Grecian garment which clung to her breasts and thighs and floated away behind her.

“Phew!” he said. “Something human’ll happen to you if you go round like that.”

“You mean these clothes?” she asked with faint interest.

“You’ll make one hell of an impression, but then you already have. There’ll be no holding you now, will there?” he asked sourly. Andromeda glanced at him without replying. “He’ll probably ask you to take over Number Ten, and I suppose you think we’ll sleep easy in our beds, now we’ve seen how powerful you are. I suppose you think we’re all fools.”

“You are not a fool,” she said.

“If I weren’t a fool, you wouldn’t be here now! You shoot down a little bit of metal from the sky—chickenfecd when you know how—and suddenly you’re in a commanding position.”

“That was intended.” She faced him expressionlessly.

“And what’s intended next?”

“It depends on the programme.”

“Yes.” He advanced towards her. “You’re a slave, aren’t you?”

“Why don’t you go?” she asked.

“Go?”

“Now. While you can.”

“Make me!” He stared at her, hard and hostile, but she turned her head away.

“I may have to,” she said.

He stood, challenging her to go on, but she would not be drawn. After a few seconds he looked at his watch and grunted.

“I wish this diplomatic circus would come and get it over.”

When the Prime Minister did arrive, he was escorted by officials, politicians and Scotland Yard heavies. Geers led him in. They were followed by Burdett and Hunter and by a train of lesser beings, dwindling away to Judy, who came at the end and closed doors behind them. Geers indicated the control-room with a sweep of his arm.

“This is the actual computer, sir.”

“Quite incomprehensible to me,” said the Prime Minister, as if this were an advantage. He caught sight of Andromeda. “Hallo, young lady. Congratulations.”

He walked towards her with his hand outstretched, and she took and shook it stiffly.

“You understand all this?” he asked her.