Stephen Baxter - Project Hades

Thelma said, “So we can’t even talk to them?”

“Afraid not. And I wouldn’t advise striking out by yourselves; there are roadblocks everywhere. Could be tricky to resolve. There’s even talk of storming the fence.”

Buck said, “Hmm. With Americans inside, Brits outside?”

“Yes. But it is an atomic base, and we need to get a grip on events. I’ve told my chaps to do nothing until I get back. Which might be a while, unfortunately.”

Thelma said, “Why’s that?”

“Because of all this lot. Seems the Cheviot has blown its top. I mean the mountain itself. Rivers of lava pouring down the valleys. Quakes and tremors everywhere, the ground opening up, and so forth—quite a mess.”

Winston said, “That’s impossible. The volcanoes around here have been extinct for hundreds of millions of years.”

“Yes, well, tell that to the mountains. Anyhow the emergency services are getting their act together. But all these people can’t just keep walking. We need to set up refugee receiving centres—strung out along the roads, you see. And the first priority is to get the road cleared so traffic can pass. For now our duty is here. Right, come on, Sergeant Grady. You there, police constable! Start shifting these people.”

Thelma said, “Oh, how very frustrating.”

Hope said, “You’ll get to your Doctor Jones in the end.”

“Yes, but will we be in time?”

Jones let the metal wall panel fall to the floor, wincing at the noise. “Right, just climb through here and we’re in.”

Clare clambered through the hole. “You were right, Doctor Jones. This is the computer room.”

“And nobody around. Good. Now, that hatch down to the control room was under that bit of carpet over there as I recall.”

Clare lifted the carpet. “Got it. Now all we have to do—”

“Clare, wait. Think. You can’t just march in with your warrant card in your hand. If we lift that hatch and Godwin’s there, our welcome will be a bullet, like poor Major Crowne. We need to find a sneakier way in.”

“Like what?” She glanced up at a grille on the wall. “How about the ventilation shafts?”

He smiled. “You’ve been reading too many thrillers. Hear the hum of the fans? You’d be chopped liver before you got three yards. No, there’s a better way. What else must connect this room with Godwin’s centre?”

She looked around. “The computers?”

He snapped his fingers. “Exactly!”

“You’re not serious. You want us to crawl through the computers?”

Jones said, “But those big boxes are almost empty inside. Come here. Help me get the cover off this processor cabinet. Have you got that threepenny bit?” They hastily unscrewed the panel. “Oof. It’s heavy. Right, in we go. See—this thing’s the size of a wardrobe, and there’s not much inside but this rack of metallic cores, these bundles of wires—aha. And a hatch in the floor. See? It’s clearly connected to sister units down below.”

“I feel like a rat crawling behind a skirting board.”

“Sooner a humble rat than a great man like the Commodore, eh?” He started working on the hatch. “Come on, Constable Clare. And watch out for rat traps.”

In the command centre, Godwin loomed over Tremayne’s shoulder. “Ah, Tremayne. Good to see you back at work.”

“Just ensuring the seismometric systems are functioning. There’s rather a lot of data to be gathered tonight. Shame to waste the opportunity. But I remain concerned about Doctor Jones and that WPC.”

“They’re contained. They’ll come to no harm if they behave themselves.”

“I don’t believe I can trust you anymore, Godwin.”

“That’s rather melodramatic, Tremayne.”

“Melodramatic? I saw you kill a man—a fellow officer! And what is the purpose of this extra control room Doctor Jones spoke of?”

“You believe him about that, do you?”

“Implicitly.”

“Very well. I’ll escort you there for a look around. I suppose that will maximise your utility to the project, at this point. Look—you go ahead.” He handed over magnetic and manual keys, and a map. “I need to brief Captain Greengage, who’s now the senior American officer on the base. The perimeter must remain secured. Then I’ll meet you.”

Tremayne took the keys. “Good. We need to talk, above all else—and work together.”

The covert control room was unmanned, though relays clattered and tape decks whirred.

Clare said, “Look at all these flashing lights.”

“Yes. This computer suite seems to be working on something, doesn’t it? Let’s hope we can work out what. Righty-ho, let’s see what’s what.” From a deep pocket in his trenchcoat he pulled out a spare set of reading glasses and began to throw switches.

Clare paced around. “All those glowing points on the map. Are they the same as the Project Hades bomb sites? You remember, Major Crowne marked that map when the Magmoids first attacked.”

“I do indeed remember. You’re right, Clare. This room is obviously somehow central to the control of Project Hades as a whole.”

“Secret underground lairs. Wall maps of the world. It is like something out of a thriller, isn’t it?”

“Yes, there is something cartoonish about Godwin. Often is with men like that. Doesn’t make them any less dangerous, though… Aha! I thought so. Clare, come here. This control panel with the big red buttons.”

“Here?”

“When this lever is thrown, these computers—well, they take over the ones upstairs. Locking out any other commands.”

“So from down here you are in control of the base.”

Jones said, “Total control, yes. And through a few handy communications links, you’re in control of rather more than just Aldmoor. Watch the map when I implement this test.” He turned the switch.

“Blimey. All those bomb emplacements have turned green.”

“Green for primed, I presume. You see what this means, Clare. From within this room, you could control all of Project Hades—a worldwide suite of nuclear weapons of immense power.”

“My God. And Godwin has all this in his hands!”

“Yes. Well, I rather suspected something like this. The question is what Godwin intended to do with the power he was to grab—and what he intends now that the Magmoids have shown up. But there’s something I still haven’t worked out. See this display?” It was a bank of pulsing lamps. “I can tell that this computer suite is busily reprogramming itself. Which means, presumably, that the whole of Project Hades, the global network of bombs, is being reconfigured.”

“Reconfigured? To do what?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t imagine we’ll like the answer when we have it.”

“Here’s something I do recognise, on this screen. These numbers, ticking down.”

“A countdown clock. You’re right. Seems we’re not done with fireworks tonight. Godwin’s setting something off. But what?”

“Perhaps you should ask him,” said John Tremayne.

Jones whirled, startled. Neither he nor Clare had heard him come in. “All right, Tremayne, you caught us bang to rights. What are you going to do about it?”

Tremayne said, “As I said. We’ll ask the Commodore.”

“Don’t be a fool, man. This might be our only chance to stop him! If you can show me how to disable this system—”

“I gave my word that I would work with the man, and so I will. The presumption of innocence—eh, Jones?” He turned on an intercom. “This is John Tremayne in the control room. Could you hurry down, please, Commodore?”

The road was still jammed with people, despite the efforts of the police and troops to clear the carriageway. To the din of helicopters and truck engines and angry shouts was added the wail of babies crying.