Stephen Baxter - Project Hades

Without warning Godwin punched him in the mouth. Jones staggered back, the pain exploding.

Crowne cried, “Commodore Godwin!”

Tremayne said, “Calm, calm, bang, eh, Godwin?”

Jones gasped for breath, trembling, and he looked at the blood on his hand. “Well, Cassius Clay would have won the gold medal twice over with that one. Is that your only response, Commodore? Violence?”

Tremayne said, “But what would you have us do, Jones?”

“I’d evacuate the base, for a start—”

Godwin snapped, “This base stays manned if I have to lock the doors myself. All this is an irrelevance. The project is everything. And the project will continue.”

“Yes, but what project? Whose project?”

Buck said now, “Umm, actually—look at this. The seismic signals are dying away. Things are calming down.”

Godwin said, “Well, well. So much for your prophecies of doom, Jones?”

“That’s absurd. Let me see that. Oh, get your hands off me, Sergeant! Tremayne? What do you make of this?” He waved a heap of paper, summarising the seismic results he’d retrieved below.

Tremayne flicked through the sheets and compared them with the oscilloscope traces. “Locally, yes, the signal is dying. But look at this spike over here.”

“Yes, that’s it. There’s the ninety-minute response all right. But the epicentre isn’t here as I expected. It’s about thirty miles southeast.”

A telephone jangled. Grady picked it up and listened. “Doctor Jones. It’s for you!”

Godwin said, “Oh, good grief—”

Jones snatched the phone. “Hello? Hello!”

Thelma’s voice, relayed through a small speaker, was barely audible. “Jones? Is that you?”

“It’s a dreadful line. Where are you?”

“We’re in—” She was interrupted by a series of beeps. “Oh, for heaven’s sake—have you got another sixpence, Winston? We’re still in the city. We’ve got the data you wanted. It’s all kicking off here, Jones. Earth tremors, damage to the buildings, cracked roads—”

Tremayne said, “Jones. Look at this map. That epicentre. Thirty miles southeast. That’s the city. Newcastle.”

Jones said, “Oh, my word. That’s it. They aren’t targeting the base. They’re attacking the nearest population centre. Thelma, can you hear me? You’ve got to get out of there. Never mind the data. Just get out of the city, get out!”

There was a roar, distorted by the phone line. “Jones? I think—” The line went dead.

“Thelma? Thelma!”

0135.

“Winston!”

“Here, Thelma. I’m under a hod-load of bricks.”

“Wait, don’t move, I’m coming.” She dug into the heap of bricks with her bare hands until she had uncovered his face and shoulders. Winston stirred and at last was able to sit up. “Are you hurt?”

“It all sort of washed over me. What about you?”

“The telephone kiosk fell over on top of me. I think it saved me. The phone was cut off, though. There. Can you stand up?”

He struggled to his feet. “I’m a bit dusty—the bike! Clare’s going to kill me.”

“It’s still here, where we left it. And here’s the rucksack with the data.”

“That bike’s better off than we are.”

There was a distant explosion; they both flinched.

Winston said, “Look, Thelma, I know how important it is to get back to the base and report in to Doctor Jones. We’re on a sort of mission. But—”

“You’re worried about your mother.”

“You saw how she’s fixed. She’s not going to be able to cope with this lot by herself.”

“Then we’ll go and get her.”

“Are you sure? I thought you’d argue.”

Thelma smiled. “Not me. We’ll save your mother, then we’ll save the world. And besides, you’re the one with the bike. Now, come on, give me that rucksack. I suppose that ugly beast is going to start, is it?”

She was answered by a roar as the engine kicked in.

The Hades command centre hummed with tension; information poured in via the phone lines and teletypes.

Major Crowne said, “There’s no news coming out of Newcastle.”

Clare asked, “Have you got through to the police control centre?”

“Constable, the emergency services are trying to work their way in. There’s clearly a major human disaster unfolding in there.”

Jones cried, “I told you so!”

Godwin said, “Be silent, man. What’s going on further afield, Major Crowne?”

“It’s sketchy. Lots of disruptions to the comms globally. It’s going to take a while to put it all together.”

Tremayne said, “I suppose you’d say we have another ninety minutes’ grace, Jones.”

“Precisely. Ninety minutes until the next wave of attacks.”

Godwin said, “Attacks? We’re dealing with a geological phenomenon, not a purposeful foe.”

“Oh, you know that, do you?”

Tremayne said, “Godwin, he could be right, at least about some of this. It might be wise to suspend the programme until we’re absolutely sure we know what we’re dealing with. If there is a connection between the Hades detonations and these geological upheavals—”

“I rather think that’s my call, don’t you think?”

Jones said, “Then make the right call, man, for once in your life.”

Tremayne sighed. “And what would you have us do, Jones?”

“Do what good scientists always do. Gather data. First we need to establish just what has happened in Newcastle, and any other problem areas around the country—around the world, if necessary—I presume your communications here are capable of that. Second, Tremayne, you and I need to work on the seismic data you’ve got heaped up down in your computer centre, but never bothered to interpret properly, if I may say so. I hope to prove once and for all what we’re facing here. And finally I need Thelma and Winston brought back here safely. The data they are bringing back has a broader base than the monitoring you’ve done here.”

“All right, Jones, we’ll do things your way—for now.”

Godwin said, “Well, I won’t stop you, if you stay out of the way of the project. But I think you’re a pack of fools, wasting time and resources.”

Jones snapped back, “Yes, well, you would think that, wouldn’t you?”

Crowne put in, “About your friends, Doctor Jones. I’ll detail Sergeant Grady to bring them in.”

Tremayne nodded. “Good. Sergeant, hook up with Captain Phillips; the British forces outside will be able to help.”

Buck said, “Yes, sir. But how will I find them? Things sound kind of chaotic out there.”

Jones asked, “Clare, does Winston have any family?”

“Yes, his mother. She lives alone in Gateshead.”

“Give the details to Sergeant Grady. Then plot a straight-line course from there back to the base. Sergeant, they’ll be somewhere on that line. I know Thelma. Right, Tremayne, got your slide rule oiled?”

The door was half off its hinges, with loose bricks and tiles heaped up against it. In the distance, sirens wailed.

Winston scrambled over the rubble. “Mum. Mum! Thelma, the house is shaken to bits.”

“Where will your mother be?”

“It’s the small hours. She’d have been asleep, in the bedroom upstairs.”

“Winston, the roof’s gone. There is no upstairs.”

“Oh no, oh God—”

“Now take it easy. Think, Winston. Where was the bedroom?”

“Over the parlour. Through here.” He forced his way through heaps of plaster and timber. “Mum? Are you here?

Her voice was faint. “Winston? That you? Ee, man, what’s going on? Are the Jerries starting up again?”

“Mum, are you hurt?”

“Well, me leg got squashed. Good news is it’s me wooden one. And me bed came right through the ceiling. Soft landing, like. Always was a lucky bugger, me.”