Stephen Baxter - Project Hades

Phillips led the party back into the truck. “Phew. It’s nice to get back in here for a break.”

Thelma said, “Tough going, is it, Captain?”

“Civilians! No matter how many times I implore them to be patient, how many times I tell them that supplies are on the way, but the lorries just can’t get through because half the bridges are down or the roads are swamped with molten lava—”

Hope said, “Ay, but you should be sorting it out yourself.”

“Now really, Mrs. Stubbins—”

Thelma said, “No, let her speak. What do you mean, Mrs. Stubbins?”

“I can hear babbies crying. What’s being done for them?”

Phillips said, “Nothing. I mean, we have nothing to give them.”

“Oh, cobblers, bonny lad. Look—where’s the nearest fresh water?”

“A tanker truck’s on the way.”

Hope said, “A tanker truck? What do you want that for?”

Winston said, “Actually, there’s a stream just down this bank.”

“Right, there you go. Get down there and set up some kind of shelter.”

Phillips said, “We don’t have any tents.”

“Then use your noggin.”

Buck said, “I guess we could use the tarpaulin off this truck.”

“Exactly. There’s a start. Now go down the line of people and pick out the most vulnerable. The old folk. The young mums with the bairns. Get them down to the shelter and start sharing out the powdered milk and Farley’s Rusks.”

Phillips asked, “What powdered milk?”

Hope said, “The tins they’ll all be carrying in their suitcases, that’s what. You’ve got a thousand people on the road out there with half their homes on their backs or in their cars. Set your tame coppers to asking. They’ll need some hot water, of course. Surely the British Army can manage to gather a bit of firewood.”

“Yes, all right, Mrs. Stubbins—”

“Next the doctors can take a look at them.”

“What doctors?”

“I’m willing to bet my best false teeth that somewhere in this mob there’s a GP. Just find him, man.”

“Well. Is that all?”

“No, that’s just the start. Then we’ve got to think about the soup kitchens. Ee, man, you wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in an air raid. Give me a hand, our Winston, I’ll get down and sort it out meself. Come on, Captain Phillips.”

Phillips followed, grumbling, “A remarkable woman, Miss Bennet.”

Thelma said, “Isn’t she just. With a heart as stout as England itself. Come on, Captain, as long as we’re stuck here I’ll help you get organised.”

Godwin entered the control room, revolver in hand. “So our mice escaped from their cage once again. I believe I’ve been tolerant enough of you two—”

Tremayne said, “Commodore. They’re not to be harmed. I called you here; I gave them up to you. I kept my word to you. Now you must behave honourably.”

Godwin laughed. “You really are an idealist, aren’t you, Tremayne?”

“An idealist who built your bombs for you. But I don’t recognise what you’ve done with my project. And I don’t know what you intend to do with it now. Godwin! Tell us the truth. What have you done with Project Hades?”

“Do you know, I rather doubt that even you are capable of understanding, Tremayne.”

“What? Oh, this is all—”

Clare said quickly, “Professor Tremayne. Why don’t you tell us what Project Hades is supposed to be?”

Tremayne took a deep breath. “A test programme. That’s all. A series of high-energy bombs to be set off underground, at locations scattered throughout the world.”

Jones indicated the world map. “And why these specific locations?”

“We’re testing different geological types. Where the bombs might be used for mining, for instance. Or—”

“Oh, I doubt that was the real intention of those who funded you. Tell me, Tremayne. Were these proposed sites screened at all?”

“Screened?”

“By, oh I don’t know, let’s say some cabal of military officers?”

“There was a high-level vetting process, yes. The sites had to be chosen for safety, of course, and so as not to set off our enemies’ warning systems.”

“Or so you were told.”

“Yes—so I was told. Now I find I’m rather suspicious about the military’s involvement. Godwin?”

Godwin said, “You’ll know soon anyhow. Project Hades, Professor, has evolved far beyond your petty dreams of mining and excavation. There is a committee of us who were always able to see a much greater potential.”

Jones said, “A committee, eh? Of more tin soldiers like you?”

“We’ve representatives from all the British forces, and others around the allied world—in the Pentagon, the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe, the French, the Japanese. Senior military officers, Professor Tremayne, hardened by experience of war—and deeply concerned by the current international situation.”

Tremayne said, “And who is this committee answerable to, Godwin? Which elected government?”

“Elected governments have proven themselves incapable of responding appropriately to the current emergency. Surely that’s clear to an intelligent man like you. Take the posture of Eisenhower himself, who will not even consider any plans for waging limited nuclear war—he will sanction nothing but an all-out assault, should the allies be attacked.”

“But there’s a logic to it, man,” Jones snapped. “And remember Eisenhower is a rather more senior soldier than you. Eisenhower knows you can’t win a nuclear war—but you can’t banish the weapons from existence. All you can do is design a system to ensure that the weapons are never used. Churchill talked of finding hope in the ‘universality of potential destruction.’ ”

“And you believe the weapons will never be used, do you? Jones, never in human history have we invented a weapon that wasn’t used to its fullest in the end.”

Tremayne said, “Apart from gas in the second war battlefields. Apart from—”

“Yes, yes. My point is that this policy of assured destruction can lead only to global catastrophe—or weakness in the face of an enemy stronger-willed than our own vacillating politicians.”

Tremayne said, “And so this military conspiracy is grabbing power.”

“Not a conspiracy. An international organisation of the informed and concerned.”

Jones said, “Which has now taken control of this bomb network—or rather you have, Godwin.”

“This wasn’t the intention. The emergency with your Magmoids, Jones, has forced this decisive action on me.”

Tremayne said, “Decisive? Treacherous, Godwin! Treacherous!”

Jones said, “And what are you going to do with your network of bombs? Tell us, Commodore!”

Out by the blocked road, fires had been lit and kettles whistled, and somewhere somebody had organised a sing-song.

Buck found Phillips. “Sir, you Brits never cease to amaze me.”

“Spirit of the Blitz, eh, Sergeant Grady?”

“Listen, Captain, there are some bits of good news. The aid convoys are getting through, at last.”

“Well, about time.”

“But the news from Aldmoor isn’t so good. Still that stand-off developing there.”

“All right. I know the roads have been cleared, more or less. We can afford to leave this lot for now, I think. You get the truck ready. I’ll find Miss Bennet.”

Clare murmured, “Doctor Jones. Look. This other clock has started clicking over.”

“Yes. Once again we’re in the middle of a countdown—with only minutes to go. But a countdown to what?”

Godwin said now, “It had to be done this way, Tremayne. The bombs had to be planted, the control network established, in utter secrecy—even before the first test explosion, tonight. Surely you can see that.”