Stephen Baxter: Project Hades

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—”