Nuclear Midnight (27 page)

‘We were told that it was total devastation, a nuclear wasteland,’ the woman interrupted. ‘The radiation was so bad that no significant numbers of survivors were left after a few months.’

‘And you swallowed that without question?’

‘Two sectors of the city were completely destroyed, over seven thousand people killed. We had no reason to doubt them.’

Alex could see they were telling the truth as they saw it, but the thought of their living at ease in their plush flats, while the world died overhead grated badly.

‘Don't you care what has happened to the rest of humanity?’ he asked bitterly. ‘What about all your relatives and friends who were not fortunate enough to be picked for this underground city? Has it never occurred to you to go up on the surface and look for yourselves? You've been three years down here, staying put because the military says so. Not very scientific, is it?’

The couple looked perplexed at Alex's harsh words. ‘The authorities have always told us that the few survivors that remained had reverted to total savagery. They said they were diseased and too badly contaminated for medical help,’ Dr Crean said.

‘Do we look like we're too badly contaminated for medical help?’ Alex asked scathingly. ‘Are we your idea of savages? You just don't care, do you?’ he raged, taking a step forward. He could see they were frightened, but was too angry to care. ‘You've no idea what it was like to survive the holocaust. To watch tens of thousands of people die...’

‘Stop it, Alex!’ Elaine cried from behind him, labouring to form the words between her puffed lips. ‘You're no better than they are if you take your anger out on them.’

He turned round sharply.

‘Don't you see?’ she continued. ‘They're just pawns in a game, the same as us. They're just as much victims as we are.’

‘Oh yes,’ Alex went on wildly. ‘It's very convenient, isn't it, to live in comfort and let the lies of the military lap over you? The meek shall inherit the earth, they say. By God, it makes me sick. And don't try to tell me you were forced into submission,’ he continued, turning back sharply to the couple. ‘We’ve seen your little party on the surface. For all we know you could even have dreamed up the slaughter of all the remaining survivors yourselves.’

He began advancing again; the two fell back, almost tripping over the furniture in their haste.

‘STOP IT, STOP IT!’ Elaine cried. ‘CAN'T YOU SEE THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT ANY MORE!’

That hoarse plea came from the heart and stopped Alex in his tracks.

‘You're behaving exactly how the military has told everyone you would behave,’ she went on thickly, seeing she had gained his attention. ‘What do you want to do here, kill innocent people like a wild animal? They aren't your enemies. Their only crime was to obey an authority they had no good reason to doubt.’

Alex closed his eyes hard and then opened them again. The daughter had started to cry. The father was bouncing her in his arms, shielding his wife from a possible onslaught. They clung together, supporting and comforting each other, suddenly he saw they were just frightened and confused humans. He sighed and nodded agreement.

He saw the renewed hope and relief come flooding back into their eyes.

‘What are your names?’ he asked in a more subdued tone.

‘I'm Martin Crean,’ the man replied. ‘And this is my wife Debbie and my daughter Louise.’

A groan from behind turned Alex’s head. The crisis seemed to have exhausted the last of Elaine's strength. She tottered and only by moving fast was he able to catch her as she collapsed in his arms. Everybody helped to carry her to a bedroom and lay her down. Bandages and ointments were brought to dress her wounds.

Later, as she lay sleeping, Alex sat with the couple and told them about himself, and what had brought them to Box. He spared them the details of their treatment at the hands of the military, but he dwelt on the plans for the future that Major Collins had revealed at their interrogation. The Creans seemed genuinely shocked by it all and repeated that the scientists had never been privy to any of this scheming.

‘Scientific parties did go up to the surface about a year back,’ Martin said. ‘They reported that the radiation levels were still extremely high, especially in the cities. They mentioned nothing about large numbers of survivors.’

‘But some of the scientific community at least must be aware of what's going on,’ Alex said. ‘Those parties you mentioned probably engineered the typhus plague. Do you remember any of the names of the men involved?’

Martin left the room and came back with a thin, glossy covered magazine. ‘This is the monthly edition of the ‘Science Bulletin’,’ he said. ‘It reports all the latest scientific discoveries and local news in the colony.’

On the cover was an aerial shot of London in ruins. The place where the Houses of Parliament had once stood was shown as a huge frozen lake, which must have measured half a kilometre across. All around the lake the surface was levelled except for the distant jagged outline of suburbs. It was head-lined: ‘The Death of Great Britain’. A footnote at the bottom of the page read: ‘Full details on page four’. Alex opened the magazine at the article. The pages were liberally splashed with more pictures of London and other major cities. Selective radiation counts, records of vegetation re-growth and animal life were given for eight other cities. There was no mention of survivors, only graphic details of the numbers of dead and speculation on the possible diseases which would have wiped out the remainder of the population. The whole tone of the article left the reader with the impression that nothing could have survived the holocaust and remained human.

Alex looked up frowning. ‘And everybody believes this?’

‘Yes,’ Martin replied.

‘Well, they have been misinformed. We have no intention of standing by and letting the military pursue their final solution.’

‘What will you do?’

It was easier to put the question than to form an effective answer to it. ‘I'll warn the colonies,’ Alex said vaguely.

‘And what will they do?’

‘I don't know.’ He began to feel pressured and irritated. ‘Together we should be able to work out some strategy to stop them.’

‘Do you have any idea,’ Martin went on, ‘of the scale of the military arsenal in this city?

Alex nodded grimly. The Major had spilled out the frightening details in the moments before he had shot him.

‘You can't hope to win against such a force. Nevertheless,’ Martin continued, ‘we scientists are not without influence. I'm a member of a committee, which reviews the progress of all the research projects in the city. My fellow members hold powerful positions within the main frame of the government. I'm sure that if they were told of the attack they would take steps to stop it.’

Alex was caught flat footed by the offer. It was more than he could have dared hope for and, glancing at Martin's face, he could see he was being sincere. It was an open face, guileless, a little naive, like his own used to be. The face of one who, still in spite of everything, believed in heroic values. Or, to put it another way and less kindly; a dangerous innocent.

‘You realise what the military will do to you if they catch you interfering with their plans, don't you? Elaine and I got away but if they caught you they would tear you apart.’

Martin winced, and glanced quickly across at his wife. ‘I'm aware of the risk,’ he said. ‘But in spite of your poor opinion of me, I do care about what happens to the survivors. We can't just stand by and let this happen, no more than you can.’

Alex nodded. He was growing to like the good doctor and he was sure he could trust him. It was, in any case, no time for looking on the dark side. He felt in his back pocket and pulled out a wad of badly crumpled papers and a note pad. ‘You'll be interested in these. They confirm everything I've told you. I got them from Major Collin’s desk. There are personal communications between him and the Commander-in Chief, setting out the attack strategy; with detailed requirements of military vehicles, personnel and objectives…it's all there.’

‘May I see?’ Martin examined the papers carefully, turning over page after page. When he looked up again, his eyes were glowing with excitement. ‘This is dynamite,’ he said. ‘Will you allow me to take copies? The copier is just down the hall. Wait till I show these to the committee!’

‘Sure, copy them if you like,’ Alex said. ‘But how can you be sure that the members of the committee aren't in league with the military?’

‘I can't,’ Martin admitted. ‘I can only speak for them as colleagues, and to my mind, decent ones at that. I happen to know the scientists who were involved with that article, and none of them are on the committee.’

The next day Alex slept in, and when he awoke, at ten o’clock, he could not for a moment imagine where he was. Then Debbie Crean, the doctor's wife, came in bringing a hot drink and the news that the military had scaled down their search; no doubt they assumed that the two intruders had already got away. Martin had gone off to work and Elaine had had a peaceful night, although she was stiff and sore from the ill treatment she had received.

It was a touching moment for Alex when he realised how easily the Creans could have betrayed them while they slept. Fate had thrown them in with people who were not, like Major Collins, scalped of all human decency. It gave him hope, despite the ominous signs, that a genuinely free society could one day be built.

Martin came in later with news that he had managed to convene an emergency meeting of the science committee for nine o'clock the following morning. He had kept his reasons for making this unusual request deliberately vague, saying only that he had discovered something the military had done that would affect the whole city.

Alex was very pleased and suggested that to increase the impact, he and Elaine should be present at the meeting, to be able to amplify and verify statements as required. Martin, to his surprise, absolutely condemned the idea.

‘The evidence should speak for itself,’ he said firmly. ‘It would be better to say that you had escaped to the surface. Then, if anything goes wrong, at least they won't come looking for you. It will also allow me time to assess their reaction. If it's favourable, I can produce you later to back up my claims.’

This was the first clear evidence Alex had as to Martin's doubts about the loyalties of some of the committee members.

Martin left for the meeting early the next morning, and in good spirits, promising to return as soon as he could to bring them the results. But when he did come back, it was with such a trailing step and sorrowful face that Alex knew at once the news was bad. He sat thoughtfully in a chair and for a moment, saying nothing. ‘I'm convinced that most of them knew about the plans before I told them,’ he finally lamented.

‘What happened?’ Alex asked.

‘Oh, they were very clever. They pretended to be astonished, but it wasn't long before they were reasoning away everything I could put before them. It's a game we play in academic circles, only this time it was no game. They questioned my sanity, they threw in charges of forgery, they disputed the figures, hinted that it would be dangerous to upset the 'delicate balance of our relationship with the military, as they put it, by publishing such a vicious slander, and so on, and so on.’ Martin shook his head wearily. ‘In the end, all I could do was gather up my papers and come home.’

‘I'm so sorry,’ Alex sighed. ‘How will this affect your position now?’

‘Oh, I'm sure they will be engineering my removal from the committee as I speak. But that's not the point, and I'm not finished yet,’ Martin said, pulling out his mobile phone. ‘We've started something now that we couldn't possibly stop, even if we wanted to,’ he continued. ‘It was clear that I was treading on some pretty important toes in that meeting. The military will be hearing from them very soon. I've no doubt about that. The only way we can stop them now is if we can get your story in a newspaper. Get it out in the open where the authorities can't stop it.’

Martin found the number he wanted. ‘I'm going to ask to see the editor of 'The Chronicle' this afternoon. It's the most popular civilian run newspaper in the city,’ he explained. ‘Until we can get this story onto the streets, none of us will be safe.’

He began talking into his phone, giving his name and speaking in a sharp, authoritative tone to a number of people.

‘They'll see us at three this afternoon,’ he said after the call. ‘When this gets out the military will find that they don’t have the final say on everything.’

Alex and Elaine nodded, however neither felt terribly convinced.

CHAPTER 13

It was obvious that the flat was no longer a secure refuge for any of them. Mrs. Crean and her daughter were therefore packed off at once to stay with friends in another sector, while Martin, Alex and Elaine collected their belongings and prepared to leave for the meeting. It was still some hours before the appointed time, but mingling with the crowds seemed to them a less vulnerable option than hanging around the flat, waiting any moment for the doorbell to ring.

As they had time to kill, Martin, having conducted them to the central business area, suggested that he show them around. Since their battered faces would have immediately drawn attention, Elaine and Alex opted for the hooded garments they had taken from the train passengers a few days earlier.

The complex was vast, a technical and engineering marvel which couldn't fail to impress. Above them, over one hundred metres high, the roof converged into a glistening dome. At its apex, an intense shaft of light from the surface diffused through a series of huge, transparent filters, bathing everything in a soft golden light. Directly beneath the dome was an expanse of greenery which Alex estimated could not have been less than half a kilometre across. Like another Garden of Eden, it was filled with every conceivable type of flora, from large oaks and beech trees, down to the smallest daisy and buttercup, a reserve or ark of natural life, which was both a solace to the spirit and the seedbed of a regenerated world. Eight floors of tiled walkways, tinted glass and colourful shop displays surrounded this garden. Balconies protruded from these tiled walkways filled with tables and chairs, where people sat sipping drinks and eating meals. The murmur of their voices on so many levels reminded Alex of a vast indoor shopping in pre-holocaust times.

Like children let loose in paradise, Alex and Elaine dived into the wonderful garden. They wandered amongst the huge variety of trees and shrubs, sniffing the sweet scent of the flowers that had long since vanished from the face of the land, and feeling the texture of healthy trees again. Finally, when they had trodden every pathway they could find, Martin led them to one of the balcony cafes several floors above. There they sat and sipped coffee and ate cakes.

Martin was delighted with Alex and Elaine's reaction. Their excitement had lifted his mood and he began to talk more freely about the city. He spoke of its vast scientific laboratories, its advanced horticultural gardens where hydroponic techniques were used to produce a rich diversity of fruits and vegetables capable of tolerance to high radiation levels. And all the time, scientists were improving crop yields with genetically engineered hybrid plants. Advanced gene splitting techniques had already produced leaner cows, with more meat per kilo. They were even well advanced in producing synthetic meat which looked and tasted like the real thing and could be manufactured from amino acid mixtures. Trout and salmon had been bred to the size of small sharks; sheep had coats which grew continuously so their wool could be sheared three or four times a year. The list was so long and impressive that Alex could not keep track of it all. For the first time he understood something of the deep pride these people took in their city. He even began to share it. In such a place it would be easy to forget the flickering dismal light of the outside world.

The head office of the newspaper was on the sixth floor of the complex. Martin guided them into a small, tastefully decorated office with oak panelled walls and a thick piled carpet. A woman sat typing in front of a large computer screen, occasionally stopping every now and then to put her finger on a page of hand-written text. She smiled briefly when she noticed them. ‘Oh, I'm sorry. It's always murder trying to type other people's handwriting.’ She resembled a porcelain doll, not that she looked particularly fragile, or beautiful. But her lavish use of makeup made her appear so. Every feature was emphasised, the thick glossy lips, cheeks heightened by a dab of rouge, large innocent eyes with immaculate eye shadow. Alex couldn’t help staring.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

‘We have an appointment with the editor,’ Martin replied.

‘May I have your name?’

‘Doctor Crean.’

She wriggled out of her chair. ‘I'll see if Mr. Casey is free.’ In a few moments she returned. ‘This way please.’

They followed her past several large, noisy offices until she stopped at a door marked 'Chief Editor'.

She knocked and put her head around the door. ‘They're here, Mr. Casey.’

They were ushered into another, much larger office. A man with greying temples and thinning hair was leaning over a desk at the far end, studying what looked to be the layout of a newspaper. He came forward.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said. With a gesture he included a small, middle aged woman sitting at the desk. ‘This is Denise Boswell, my assistant editor, and I'm William Casey.’

He stepped forward and shook Martin's hand. Martin then introduced Alex and Elaine. Both were wearing the tracksuits they had taken from the people on the train. Elaine had kept on her hood as they entered the office, so when he looked closely at her, he got rather a shock.

‘We're what your military would term 'mutants',’ Alex said bluntly, watching his reaction. ‘They did that to her when they questioned us.’

The editor gave him a startled look, as if unsure whether to listen any further or to yell for help. ‘Are you the two that escaped?’ he asked after a pause.

Alex nodded.

‘We have a story that we want you to print,’ Martin said. ‘It concerns military plans to wipe out tens of thousands of survivors on the surface.’

‘But there's nobody left on the surface.’

Alex smiled. ‘There are over sixty thousand people in two large, well established colonies, with many more in smaller ones.’

The editor frowned and turned to his assistant as if for her support, but she just shrugged.

‘Do you have proof of what you say?’ he asked at length.

Martin held up his briefcase. ‘Proof of the military’s plans to clear the surface of mutants in official documents, specific down to the smallest details.’

He drew out the papers and handed them a copy each. While they read, Alex went on to describe the condition of the colonies, how Elaine and he had been interrogated in 15G and what the Major had told them. It was plain from their faces that he was laying before them facts and circumstances of which they had no conception.

Martin took over next, to unfold what had happened at the Science Committee meeting, their apathy, and why it was so urgent that this whole matter be brought to the public's attention. It was gratifying to him to find in the editor, and his assistant, a much more attentive and responsive audience.

‘Well, that's quite a frightening scenario all in all,’ the editor concluded, after looking through several pages of notes he had taken during the course of the questioning. ‘The authorities certainly seem to be up to something.’

‘I think that's an understatement,’ Martin said sternly, ‘considering what we have told you, it's quite clear they don’t deserve our trust. Not only are they cold bloodedly planning this massacre, they have also been lying to us all this time.’

‘Yes, yes, I appreciate that,’ the editor said quickly. ‘But what I mean is this is going to be no ordinary story. Your story has massive consequences and I hardly need to add that they will include the future of this newspaper, if we get it wrong.’ He shuffled some of the documents again and then cleared his throat. ‘The key issue, really,’ he went on after a moment, fixing his eyes firmly on Alex, ‘is how many survivors still remain. These documents are not specific on numbers. The military will simply argue that the numbers are all exaggerated and this attack is merely a mopping up operation to remove dangerous mobs.’

‘But look at the amount of weaponry and the numbers of troops involved,’ Alex pointed out. ‘And why, if it's little more than a policing exercise, should they plan to devote four months to the sweep? You can't tell me that's just to dispose of a few ragged bands of survivors.’

The editor nodded. ‘Yes, that's a good point. We can definitely build on that. But to revert to what I said earlier when I mentioned the closing down of this newspaper. If these people really are as ruthless as you say, they're not going to be satisfied with that. All our lives could well be in danger.’

‘So you aren't going to publish this?’ Alex asked.

‘I didn't say that,’ the editor replied firmly. ‘I think it would be criminal not to publish, but we must face the consequences squarely. After all, the people of this city owe their lives to the military for inviting them down here in the first place. There may be strains in the military civilian relationship, but there's also a substantial sense of loyalty.’

‘You think the people won't believe it?’

‘I think there's a strong possibility that we could be accused of grotesque exaggeration. If there's even a hint of that, we'll be laughed out of court.  The whole thing will likely blow up in our faces.’

‘Then we'll have to present the evidence in such a way that the public are compelled to see the gravity of the situation.’ This was the assistant editor's first substantial contribution to the discussion. ‘If we are going to expose the military, we may as well clean the cupboard right out and use all the disappearances, falsified scientific reports and so forth to build up a concrete case against them.’

‘Yes,’ the editor looked thoughtful, ‘what is the position of the scientific community?’ he asked Martin. ‘Where do they stand? And is it correct that certain of your colleagues are publishing statements at variance with the true substance of their work? These are very damaging rumours, if true.’

‘Not in my department,’ Martin said firmly, ‘I'm glad to say. But yes, it is possible that work in certain fields has been pushed beyond what they are willing to admit to, though I have to say that I have no firm evidence of this.’

‘What fields do you have in mind?’

‘Well, I suppose that molecular biology is the obvious one. I can't imagine they will have given up manipulating the human genome, as they were doing pre-war for instance.’

‘Human cloning? That sort of thing?’

Martin shrugged. ‘Possibly, although it’s more likely that they are still trying to track down specific gene families. For example, those involved with intelligence or exceptional athletic ability.’

‘And what will they do with these genes families once they find them?’ Alex asked.

‘Nothing much in the days of pre-war, but the deliberate selection for intelligence and athletic traits is now possible. There is no telling what research is being undertaken with the military in the driving seat.’

‘But wouldn't the scientists themselves object to such manipulation?’ Elaine asked.

‘Some may have already done so.’ The editor opened a filing cabinet behind the desk and pulled out a manila folder. ‘This is a recent request from friends and relatives to publish a description of a missing scientist.’ He pushed an A4 sheet of paper in front of them. ‘The military, of course, washed their hands of any responsibility for his disappearance. They say he probably wandered off when he was on the surface and got killed by mutants, but it's more likely he found out something the military didn't want him to, or objected too strongly to a particular line of research.’

He pulled out another folder. ‘There are three years of disappearances catalogued here, over one hundred missing persons.’ He slapped the folder on the desk. ‘To date, five have turned out to be murders, the rest remain unsolved.’

‘Your achievement,’ Miss Boswell said, turning to Alex and Elaine, ‘is to have provided us, at last, with the hard evidence we need to present a strong case against the military. They must be stopped, and by devoting the whole paper to them, we might even stir up public opinion and begin the process of bringing them back within the law. I can't see why this could not be done.’

Alex looked at their determined faces and knew that the publication was now unstoppable. But in his excitement he did not lose sight of the time factor. ‘Don't forget, the military’s plan is to be activated in a little over a month,’ he reminded them.

‘Things move fast when there's enough public pressure,’ Miss Boswell told him confidently. ‘If we can really make it buzz, we might be able to stop them inside a week. I propose that we print our allegations in the day after tomorrow's issue. That gives us one clear day to collect the evidence and present our arguments as clearly and convincingly as possible.’

With the agreement of everyone present, the setting up of the special edition began at once. Tables were cleared, the various documents were spread out, food and drink were brought in to sustain them in their labours. The editor and Miss Boswell undertook to do all the writing themselves, as even their key reporters were not to be trusted with so delicate an assignment. No detail was to be left out, and the perspective was widened to include a critique of the military from the first days of the holocaust. The brutality of the work camps was vividly described, and the unimaginable horrors of the engineered plagues. The same thread was tightly woven into each article: the calculated murder of the survivors by whatever means possible. All disappearances in the city since the holocaust were re-examined in the light of the new theory, and in most cases there were links or reasons, especially dissident activity, to suggest that the military may have been involved. Lastly the fragile trust between the scientists and the general population was shattered by allegations levelled at the scientific community as a whole. The much-vaunted research was portrayed as being honed towards one goal, the creation of a genetically superior being at any cost. In these terms, the inhabitants of the city could be seen as little more than an exploitable pool, a convenient bank of resources, as much a part of a giant experiment as the monstrous fish and the genetically engineered crops.