When the Tripods Came (6 page)

The Trippy Show was taken off the air, but came back, and the new broadcasts were traced to high-orbit satellites. The government tried jamming, but they switched frequency—and went on switching as fast as the jammer could chase them round.

Martha said they should stop television.

Pa said, “They can’t.”

“Why not? They did during the war.”

I wanted to ask which war—the Boer or the Crimean? It was amazing how old people could talk about The War, as though that meant something.

Pa said, “It wasn’t the major channel of communication then; that was radio. You have to remember that even when I was little, less than one house in a hundred, probably, had a TV set. If they stopped it now, there’d be panic.”

“They’ll have to do
something.
Mrs. Golightly says her maid’s Tripped. Yesterday she was rambling on about the Tripod, and this morning she didn’t turn up for work.”

“If nothing worse happens to us than losing the daily help, we’ll not be doing badly.”

I’d just come in from school. I said, “I meant to tell you—Andy’s mother’s gone.”

Martha demanded, “Are you sure?”

“The house was empty when he got home yesterday. He thought she might be visiting, but she didn’t come back. And didn’t leave a note as she usually does when she goes off.”

Martha looked shocked. “Do you mean he’s in the house on his own?”

“I suppose so. He can look after himself.”

She turned to Pa. “Go and get him. He’d better stay with us while this is on.”

“I was going to ring Ilse.”

She looked at him in exasperation. “That can wait.”

I knew Pa was comfortably off, though he spent a lot of time moaning about money and tax bills; and I supposed Martha was fairly rich. But my Uncle Ian was a real tycoon. He ran several companies in London—all sorts of things from coffee to property development—and they had a Rolls, and a Porsche, and one of those fantastic little MR-2 sports cars for the shopping. He and Aunt Caroline (Pa’s sister) spent a lot of time jetting around. He was tied in with a company in Tokyo and another in New York, and in between they lived in a real mansion in the Cotswolds, with indoor and outdoor swimming pools, tennis courts, half a dozen stables, and grounds that stretched for miles.

They had two children: Verity, who was seventeen, and Nathanael, a year older than me. (They really did call him Nathanael, even sitting round the swimming pool.) He looked like his father, with a thin, pale face and gingery hair and a weedy, slouching body, though without the potbelly Uncle Ian had got from living rich around the world. Verity was redheaded, too, but pretty.

We didn’t see much of them, for a number of reasons. One was they made Ilse feel uncomfortable; another was that Martha disapproved of the way they lived. A third was
because
of the way they lived. You had to feel like a poor relation because you were. This didn’t worry me too much. I envied Nathanael some of the things he took for granted (like the swimming pools), but I wouldn’t have wanted them if it meant being like Nathanael, and I managed to
convince myself the two went together. I might have liked Verity if she’d ever paid me any attention, but she didn’t.

Pa had telephoned Aunt Caroline after what happened with Angela, partly as a warning. From what he said to Martha, I gathered she’d not been very interested; Nathanael and Verity were safe at their expensive boarding schools (Eton in Nathanael’s case), and she and Ian didn’t watch television. She said the Tripod business was a nuisance, all the same. They’d been planning a trip to Los Angeles—Ian was setting up a company there—but he’d decided it was best to wait till things sorted themselves out.

It was a very different Aunt Caroline who telephoned while Pa was fetching Andy. At first I couldn’t make out what she was saying, her voice was so choked. It gradually emerged that though television had been banned at Eton since the second Tripod invasion, someone had been operating a set illicitly. A master had found it tuned to the Trippy Show and confiscated it, but a dozen boys had run away during the night. Nathanael was one of them.

Ian had set off at once to look for him. The nearest Tripod was on Farnham Common, not far from Eton, and they thought that was where they’d be heading. She was worried about Ian, too, now.

She was still on the telephone when Pa came back with Andy. He listened to her and made big brother noises. I heard him say, “Ian will be all right, Caro.
I’m sure of it. And Nathanael. It’s not as if they’re in physical danger. It’s been a week now, and nothing terrible’s happened. It’s just a silly business which will blow itself out. Have a drink, and try to relax. All right, have
another
drink. There are times when getting drunk’s not a bad idea.”

He didn’t look so cheerful when he came away from the telephone. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “They called the police as soon as they heard from school, and the police didn’t even pretend to help—told Ian they’d given up handling missing persons calls. There were too many of them.”

Andy nodded. “That’s what they told me. And some police are Tripping. The policeman at Little Ittery’s gone.”

That was a village five miles away. Pa said, “Try not to worry about your mother. As I told my sister, it’s not as though anything terrible’s happening. Nobody’s been hurt. And hypnotic effects don’t last. They had a doctor on the radio this morning saying he expected people to start trickling back home any time now.”

I asked, “What about Angela?”

“What about her?”

“Dr. Monmouth hypnotized her. Might that not last?”

“That’s different. He hypnotized her to dehypnotize her. If we find her glued to the tube again there might be reason to worry, but I’ve seen no sign of that.”

Nor had I. I’d noticed that if anyone left the TV switched on—as Martha sometimes did when she was going out, to deter burglars—Angela switched it off.

• • •

I wasn’t all that delighted about Andy staying with us. I liked him well enough, but the thought of having him twenty-four hours a day, sharing a room, didn’t make me jump for joy.

That evening he got to bed first and was reading a book. That suited me, but when I got back from the bathroom, he put the book down.

“It’s raining,” he said. “And blowing up a storm. I wonder where Miranda is.”

Even though I called Ilse by her name, it seemed wrong, his saying Miranda. After all, she was his real mother, not his stepmother. I’d never been able to work out how he really felt about her. He could talk about her weird ideas—like painting all the ceilings black—in a faintly amused way, as though she were a character in a play. At the same time, when she wasn’t storming at him, he was affectionate in a way I couldn’t be to anyone, let alone Use. He was always hugging her.

I said lamely, “She’ll be all right.”

“It’s funny.” He lay looking at the ceiling. “When she’s gone off somewhere before, there’ve been times I hoped she wouldn’t come back.”

He spoke in his usual calm way. This time I didn’t know what to say, and didn’t try.

After a while he went on, “Of course, she’d gone those times because she wanted to. I didn’t have to
worry, because she was doing her own thing. I don’t feel she is now.” He paused. “I’ve been wondering if I ought to go and look for her, like your uncle with Nathanael.”

I said, “You’d never find her, and if you did, what good would it do? Angela was little enough to be dragged back, and we had Dr. Monmouth round the corner. What could you do against a mob of Trippies?”

He nodded. “Not much, I suppose. But she’s part of it at this moment. It’s happening to her. All the mad things she did . . . And now . . . can she do anything except wave a banner and hail the Tripod?”

“It doesn’t mean she’s unhappy. Angela wasn’t.” I wouldn’t have called it happy, either, but I didn’t say that.

Andy looked at me. “What if it were Ilse?”

I thought about it and was aware of different feelings which I couldn’t sort out. I could imagine how Pa would feel, though.

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

Andy said, “I don’t know, either. I just wish I could work out what it’s supposed to be
for
. We know now that it’s definitely linked with the Tripods, and that the people who thought up the TV show were among the first Trippies. Whatever sent the Tripods obviously monitored our television, worked out which was the most effective production center, and somehow beamed hypnotic directives into it. But what’s their motivation?”

“One theory is that they come from a swamp
planet,” I said, “because the only sensible reason for Tripods would be to cross marshland.”

“So what sort of creature are they—intelligent giant frogs, or newts? Pigs, maybe; the pig’s a swamp animal. No one knows. Maybe no one ever will. And no one has the faintest idea how their minds work. We saw what the first Tripod did to the farmhouse. This second lot seem to be doing nothing except hypnotizing people into liking them. Could that be it? They just want to be liked?”

“They’re not winning as far as I’m concerned. Anyway, Pa’s right. Hypnosis doesn’t last. They’ll start drifting back soon.”

I punched my pillow and settled down. Andy was silent, and I wondered if he was still brooding about Miranda. I started thinking about Ilse and his question about how I’d feel if it had been her. But I didn’t like the thoughts that came into my head, so I shut them out.

• • •

Next day was Saturday. Pa was off selling another house. People had to live somewhere, he said, Tripods or no Tripods. Martha had driven in to the shop and taken Angela. And Andy had cycled home to pick up clothes he’d forgotten the previous day.

I wandered down the garden, which had fruit trees at the bottom. Most of the apples had been picked, but there was one old tree which still had a few. Sitting on a branch and eating an apple, I thought about Ilse again. Pa had been on the telephone
to her before breakfast, urging her to come back. Afterwards he said the Swiss couldn’t believe what was happening in the rest of the world. Apparently there were no Tripods in their country, and almost no Tripping.

He and Andy got into an argument about national characteristics. It wasn’t the sort of thing that interested me, and I didn’t pay too much attention. What I did notice was the way Pa talked to him—naturally, not going into silences and then talking too fast to make up for it. I’d left them talking. I wondered how it was he seemed able to talk easily to everyone but me.

As I tossed the apple core away, I heard a car draw up outside the house. My first thought was Pa, but the engine note was too deep for the Renault. Not Martha’s Jaguar, either. I dropped out of the tree and headed back. Uncle Ian’s Rolls was in the drive, and he and Nathanael beside it. Uncle Ian was wearing casual-expensive gear, blue slacks and silk roll-neck shirt, soft Gucci shoes, and a big hat. I didn’t think they went with the black executive briefcase he was carrying. Nathanael had a hat, too, a woolly thing. Uncle Ian waved at me, smiling.

“I was beginning to think everyone was out.”

I led the way in, explaining about the others. Surreptitiously I glanced at Nathanael. He seemed all right. Knowing Uncle Ian, he would have called someone in from Harley Street to dehypnotize him. But how had he got him back? Probably by hiring a
bunch of heavies. Martha said he mixed with some funny people.

What was more puzzling was their being here, a hundred miles south of Ardaker Manor. I would have expected them to go home first. I took them into the sitting room and told Uncle Ian to pour himself a drink, as Pa would have done, and asked politely what had brought them.

He was still smiling. “There was someone I had to see, in Taunton. It’s not much of a detour, so I thought I’d drop in on you.”

“What about Aunt Caroline?”

He looked surprised. “What about her?”

“She was—well, worried.” I glanced at my cousin, who was smiling, too—unusual for him. And neither had taken his hat off. “About Nathanael.”

“Oh, that. I rang her. She knows everything’s all right.”

I was still puzzled. Although the whiskey decanter was staring him in the face, he hadn’t even looked at it. He was a pretty heavy drinker and I would have expected him to pour himself a big one, after a long drive. He walked over and put a hand on my arm.

“What you have to realize, Laurie, is that everything really
is
all right, in the biggest possible way. I’m glad we found you on your own. It makes explanations easier.”

Alarm bells started to go off when he touched me. In the past I wasn’t sure he’d even noticed I was there. His manner, I realized, was altogether too affable,
almost ingratiating. Nothing like the way the Ardakers normally treated their poor relations.

I said, “Probably better to wait till Pa gets back. You can explain it to him, too.”

He paid no attention. “A new world is dawning, you know. A world of peace and happiness.”

It was all wrong. The only kind of peace and happiness he’d ever been interested in was the peace and happiness of making another fortune. I had a quick look in the direction of the door and saw, with a sinking feeling, that Nathanael was standing between it and me.

Uncle Ian went on, “It’s something you have to experience to understand, but once you have, everything else is like a bad dream. For thousands of years men have fought one another, killing and torturing and enslaving. That’s all gone. The Tripods are bringing peace and freedom.”

“Hail the Tripod,” Nathanael said.

I said, “That’s very interesting.”

I was wondering where the real threat lay. It was clear that far from Nathanael having been dehypnotized, his father had Tripped, too. But if all that meant was a lecture on the goodness of the Tripods, I could put up with it. I had a feeling, though, that something more serious was in view: They were looking for converts. The question was how they proposed to go about the converting. I doubted if it would just be talk. By sitting me down in front of a TV screen and forcing me to watch a Trippy Show?
But I’d watched it before and hadn’t Tripped. Or by hypnotizing me some other way? Dr. Monmouth had said no one could be hypnotized against their will. If I was determined to resist, I could. Couldn’t I?