Lex Talionis

                                         (Book Two Of  "The Visit")

                                                                             FOREWORD

                                    (Lex Talionis - Latin;- meaning "The Law of Retaliation" or "An Eye for an Eye")

Lex Talionis, written in 1973, is the second part of the unfinished trilogy.

In fact, this story itself remains uncompleted, because it reached the stage where a counter-weapon was needed, and four years after writing the first part, I still hadn’t come up with a solution. This story therefore ends abruptly as Earth is about feel the devastating effect of  an interplanetary invasion, but the story of the war and its results will have to wait until that counter-weapon is to hand…….

Regretfully, even today,  a satisfactory invention escapes me……

David Barry.

England 2012.

                                                                               PROLOGUE.

The Sphere sped silently through space.

In the still, silent cosmos, the computer scanned unceasingly:-  checking, recalling, correlating the information passed every nanosecond by its sensors. Its memory tapes whirred and it cut in a secondary circuit which would deal with conditions inside the sphere while its primary continued to monitor the passage of the craft. An amber light glowed on the control console, warning the two crew members that they had thirty seconds in which to ensure that they were ensconced in the two atmo-grav cubicles. The computer waited an eternity of thirty seconds, then activated its compensation circuit. That done, it started another check of the internal atmospheric conditions and recorded from its external sensors the signal from its home planet that the craft’s landing was cleared.

Far below, on the small moon Xyphea, Kal waited for the craft, standing arms akimbo, slightly in front of the reception committee on the circular gallery surrounding the landing bay. Beside him, Yama stood with his fingertips pressed one to another, flexing his muscles slightly, his only sign of the tension that screamed within him.   Kal was watching the huge visi-glass above his head, but Yama preferred to stare through the glass at the open port, gaping far above them.

In the sphere, the computer cut in the emergency circuit and then cancelled it immediately, accepting that the impurity in the atmosphere was of negligible significance as far as the safety of the crew was concerned. Eighty feet above the port it activated the information panel on the outside of the craft. In another millisecond it had cleared the final landing procedure, and then waited to perform its final duty.

Kal held his breath as the sphere settled into its grid. As soon as it was down he strode up the catwalk to the sphere and round the inner gallery. Halfway round the craft he stopped and pressed the right hand corner cover over the duplicate panel. The cover dematerialised instantly, revealing two rows of lights and dials and a set of switches. One light glowed amber.

Kal looked back at Yama and spoke in the thin, reedy voice of his kind.

     “Minor impurity,” he said, surprised.

Yama joined him at the panel.

     “It’s of no great importance,” he said, reading the dials. “Let’s contact Zil and Kyne.”

Kal grinned and slapped his friend on the shoulder.

     “The suspense is killing me, too!” he said. “Come,” and he led the way back to the outer gallery. He dropped into the seat below the visi-glass and pressed a switch.

     “Zil!  Kyne!” he called into the glass and the excitement was evident in his voice.

The visi-glass remained blank.

Kal frowned and looked up at Yama. “Strange,” he commented, and repeated his call.

When there was still no reply the gills on his neck began to pulsate rapidly.

     “There’s something wrong here,” he said urgently. “”They should answer without delay. Zil, Kyne, please complete audio-visual contact. Repeat, complete audio-visual contact.”

Still the visi-glass remained blank. Kal swung round sharply.

     “Yama, send someone to fetch The Protector. I think he should be here.”

Without waiting to see that his request was carried out he swung back to the glass and tried unsuccessfully to contact the crew of the sphere again. Then he had to sit and wait. Yama was back in four timeparts.

“The Protector is on Nordia,” he said breathlessly. “Level four, visiting the new hydropons.”

Kal swore. “No visual contact. No audio. What does that suggest?”

“That they are unconscious. Or dead.”

Kal stared at the visi-glass thoughtfully.

“The computer records everything as satisfactory,” he said. “Only a minor atmospheric impurity which is of no consequence to the crew. Why should we be unable to contact them?”

Yama shrugged.  “Computer contact-relay component failure, then,”  he hazarded.

Kal pulled a face.  “Doubtful,” he said.  “Let’s check.”

He left the seat,  walked up the catwalk to the sphere and tried the switches on the panel.

“Everything checks out,” he said, shaking his head.

Yama stared at him.

“Sterilisation?” he asked.

Kal nodded. “At least it will do no harm.”

He set about preparing to sterilise the interior of the sphere and fifteen timeparts later pressed another switch on the duplicate panel. The dormant computer received the command, checked the internal atmosphere one more time, cleared it and dematerialised the door. Its final task completed, it shut down.

Kal was first into the sphere. He stopped at the doorway and Yama saw his gills start to vibrate. He knew there must be something very wrong.

Kal turned to face Yama and the rest of the committee waiting around the gallery. The colour drained from his face.

“They’re both dead!” he said.

                                         *    *    *    *    *    *

The Protector sat at the head of the table.

     “What we have to decide,” he said in a grave voice, “is whether our two emissaries were deliberately killed and returned to us as a gesture of defiance or independence; or whether their deaths are attributable to some accidental cause.  Secondly, whether we should take steps to retaliate for their deaths, no matter what the answer to the first question may be, and safeguard the future of Xyphea and the rebuilding of Nordia. Would you please express your opinion of the first question by means of your vote-switch. If the computer records an even poll,  I shall cast a deciding vote.”

He waited while the twelve council members voted. The computer recorded an equal number of votes for deliberate and for accidental. A light glowed in front of The Protector. No-one knew what anyone else’s vote was. No-one knew what his deciding vote was.

     “Now would you please make your decision on the second question.”

Again, no-one knew what his deciding vote was.

                                                                            Chapter One.

     “We need machines!”

Willie thumped the table angrily and his pencil jumped in fright.

     “I’ll tell you, Dave, exactly what’s going to happen! There’s going to be a war! A nasty, bloody, messy war, and we’re going to lose it the moment they bring that vapour gun to Earth!”

I leaned forward and stubbed out my cigarette. We were sitting in small study-cum-library waiting to be called into the conference. On the table between us was a vase of flowers, two pads, two pencils and an ashtray. Nothing else.

Willie picked up his pencil and started to fiddle with it, glowering at me as he did so.

     “I know, Willie. I believe you, but the object of the exercise from our point of view is to convince that lot in there.”   I jerked my head towards the conference room.

Willie stood up abruptly and began to pace back and forth.

     “The fools!” he said. “Don’t they realise?”

     “Simmer down, Willie,” I said. “Give them a chance. There’s bound to be some support in there. They won’t all refuse to recognise the danger.”

Willie resumed his seat, scratching his little grey beard ruminatively.

     “I suppose you’re right,” he conceded grumpily. “But it makes my blood boil.”

A buzzer sounded somewhere.

     “That’s it,” I said, and stood up.

      “Come on, then,” Willie said and headed for the door. I picked up both pads and pencils and followed him.

The conference room was big. Very big. And so was the table round which the fate of the world as we knew it was probably going to be decided. There must have been close on fifty people in the room, most of them sitting at their assigned places and a few odd ones standing around in private conferences. I was pleased to se that Willie and I were next to each other. At the head of the table sat Marshall, our old acquaintance the Minister for Defence. On his left was the Prime Minister.

     “Why isn’t the PM in the chair?” I asked Willie.

     “Probably because he doesn’t know anything about why we’re here,” the scientist replied.  “Come to that,” he added, sotto voce, “that idiot doesn’t know much at all.”

I nodded. He never did meet Zil and Kyne, I thought. I supposed he was content to let Marshall deal with the meeting and ask questions when he  wanted something clarified. Further speculations were nipped in the bud by Marshall coughing loudly.

     “Gentlemen,” he began, “let us commence this conference, if you please.”

He waited until the remainder of the assembly had sat down and then added officially, “This conference has now come to order.

I pushed Willie’s pad and pencil across to him.

     “Start doodling,” I whispered.

Willie chuckled softly.

     “Gentlemen,” said Marshall, “for the Prime Minister’s benefit I intend to recap on the events that have necessitated this meeting.”  He paused and glanced at his notes.

     “We are all aware that the two visitors from the planet Xyphea, or the moon called Deimos, as we know it,  contracted rabies while on Earth and in consequence the confirmatory signal that should have been transmitted to Deimos during their return journey was never sent. But what some of you here today may not be aware of is the fact that when the craft arrives at its home planet with two dead bodies on board, there is an extremely prevalent chance that the  ah—Nordians?” ---  he looked at Willie who nodded his confirmation ---  “yes, the Nordians will construe their deaths as a hostile movement by us and take certain steps to retaliate.”

     “Why?” This was Kimoto from Japan. He was evidently going to be heckler-in-chief.

     “In order to answer that,” Marshall said, not without a trace of smugness, “I intend playing a recording of part of the conference between Zil and certain representatives of the Earthly people which will leave no room for doubt in your minds that the situation is every bit as grave as I imply.”

He leaned back and switched on the machine which was on a table just behind him.

I remembered the conference only too clearly. I knew the words of that tape recording by heart.

Willie:-  “Tell me Zil, what would happen, but please don’t misunderstand me, if we didn’t –I mean -- er, --”

  Zil:-   “If you didn’t stop the tests?  I think perhaps we would be forced to make the position a little clearer. But now you must not misunderstand me. We do not wish to harm you but it is of great importance to us that Xyphea is not endangered again. If it was, I am very much afraid that the vapouriser would be brought here.”

  Willie:-  “Do you mean you still have the weapon? Even though it destroyed your world?”

   Zil:-  “Yes.  Ironic, is it not?”

If anyone realised that the recording had been subjected to a neat bit of editing, they gave no sign of it.

     “That was a good touch at the end,” whispered Willie suddenly.

     “What was?”

“The ‘ironic is it not’ bit.”

“Oh,” I said

The tape had caused a few murmurs, but Kimoto remained unconvinced, it seemed.

     “Surely, Mr Minister, that is referring to stoppage of the nuclear tests, not Zil’s return to his planet?” he asked innocently.

     “Quite so, Mr Kimoto. But the whole accent of the visit was on speed. Zil had to get away to send that signal. If he didn’t, the Nordians were going to  come looking for him and Zil told us that if they found him dead or incarcerated they would retaliate.”

Kimoto looked like a cat that had just had the cream.

     “Is that on tape?” he asked.

     “Certainly, it is,” Marshall replied.

He switched on the recorder again.

Zil:-  “I have to signal my planet at a certain time and at a certain distance from Earth on my return journey. If I do not, my superiors will assume that I am either dead or incarcerated. If that happens, they will retaliate.”
 

By God, that recording had certainly been chopped about. Apart from odd sentences left out altogether, Marshall, or someone, had rearranged the snippets in a different order. Then it dawned on me that he must have been expecting just such a response as Kimoto’s, and planned his excerpts accordingly. He succeeded with the Japanese representative, who looked like a little boy receiving a dressing down for smoking in the loo.

     “Round one to us,” murmured Willie.

     “Mr Minister,” said a voice.

Marshall turned deferentially to his superior.   

      “Yes, Prime Minister?”

     “I was given to understand that the sphere was computerised and thus completely programmed to come here, return to Deimos, and consequently, probably send the signal that the craft was returning safely, as well?”

Willie stood up quickly.

     “With your permission, sir?”

The PM nodded.

  “It makes no real difference whether the signal was sent or not, actually,” Willie said seriously.  “The most important point is that when the craft does return to Deimos, its crew will be dead. Need I say more? Think of Zil’s last words.”

We didn’t have to. Marshall rewound the tape and played it again. Willie sat down amid a further murmur.

     “So we are agreed, then,” Marshall said. “There is a ninety-nine percent probability that Zil’s death will be construed as a hostile gesture by us, in retaliation for the deaths of the two men at Salisbury when the sphere was first sighted.”

He made it a statement, and this time no-one argued.

     “Very well then,” said Marshall, shuffling his papers. “The next point is that if we accept that there is going to be retaliation from the Nordians, in what form will it come, and possibly more important, how soon will it come?”

Again Willie stood up.

     “Mr Marshall, Prime Minister, gentlemen. Firstly, I wouldn’t say that either question is more important than the other. It’s no good knowing when they’ll come if we don’t know what weaponry they’ll be using. And knowing your opponent’s weapons is no good if he uses them before you have time to prepare a defence. However, in this case, we do know what their major armament will be. A thing called a vapouriser, or vapour gun. Now, most of you were not present during the conference between Zil and ourselves. But, as you are all aware from newspaper reports, television interviews and the like, those of us who were present were subjected to something called subliminal education. I take it no-one is going to ask for a detailed explanation of the word subliminal, or deny that such an experience was felt by thirty odd people?”

He looked at Kimoto, but neither he nor anyone else offered any objections.

     “Right,” Willie continued. “Then you will also accept that the details of this subliminal experience were accurately reported; are fully substantiated and must be taken as strictly factual.”

There was a murmur of assent. Willie looked directly at the Premier.

     “Well, even though the question has been covered with a fine-tooth comb, I don’t think many people realise exactly what a ghastly weapon this vapour gun is. I can assure you all that Earth has never in its wildest moments dreamed of a weapon to equal it, much less find a defence against it.”

     “Perhaps you would like to tell us something about this vapour gun, then, Professor. And put forward some suggestions for a defence against it,” added the PM, settling himself  so that he could see the scientist more clearly.

     “There is no defence against it,” replied Willie shortly. “But I can certainly explain what the vapouriser does.”

He poured himself a glass of water and took a sip.

     “It’s quite a simple weapon in a way,” he began. “It sprays, or perhaps radiates would be a better word, a fine mist, pink in colour, and about as thick as a light river mist. This spray evaporates hydrogen. On contact with water it absorbs all the hydrogen and leaves just the oxygen and a few other minor gases. When different chemicals are introduced into the path of the vapour the results are slightly different, depending on the chemical. What is of primary importance to us, however, is the effect the vapour has on organic life. From my discussions with Zil, I know that his race is chemically much the same as us. We know the effect of the vapour gun on them. Well, it will be the same on us.  We shall dry up.  Literally.

The trouble is, that owing to the composition and properties of the mist, it is going to be impossible, incontrovertibly impossible, to find an antidote. If organic life, plants, animals, humans, lose their moisture and water content, they die. It’s as simple, gruesomely simple, as that.”

This caused a furore.

     “Are you telling us that we just have to sit here and wait to die?” the Prime Minister asked disbelievingly.

The noise died away and there was silence for a moment. Everyone was watching the little scientist closely.

     “Provisionally, yes,” was his flat response.

He had to stop there and wait for the noise to die down again. When he could make himself heard, Marshall spoke.

     “Please! Gentlemen! I must ask you to contain your comments for the time being,” he said severely. “We are faced with a very difficult situation and outbreaks like this will serve no useful purpose. Now, I’m sure that Professor Wilkes has something up his sleeve. Eh, Professor?”

     “I bloody well have not!” Willie snorted indignantly. “What I do have are a few suggestions that might, and only might, help.”

The Premier waved his hand at the scientist.

     “Then for God’s sake let’s hear them Professor,” he said irritably.

“Certainly, Prime Minister. The first thing is that all living matter, where conceivably possible,      must be removed from the path of the vapour. How we can best do this we shall discuss in detail later on. What is required meanwhile is a machine capable of  replacing hydrogen at the same rate, or almost, as the vapour absorbs it. Otherwise we shall never be able to replace the water that we lose, or suffer the indignities of  a sudden rainstorm. And if you think I’m being melodramatic just imagine a world with no rain, or come to that, no water at all. The planet will die.”

He stopped to let this sink in. A murmur ran round the table. The PM conferred gravely with Marshall. Willie pulled out his cigarettes and lit one.

     “Look at ‘em,” he whispered testily, waving his cigarette. “What did I tell you. None of ‘em had any idea how serious it is. Even now there are some who think we’re making mountains out of molehills.”  

     “Kimoto’s going to be a bugger about this,” I whispered back. “If we can get the Chinese with us, he’ll follow suit. What about the Reds?”

     “They’re alright. That’s their chap over there.”

He pointed down the table to a massive fellow with glasses and a livid scar across his forehead.

     “I spoke to him before the conference. They’re with us all the way. He’s a remarkably nice chap, you know.”

I wanted to ask him if he meant nice for a Russian or just nice, but I didn’t get the chance.

     “Thank you, Professor Wilkes. Has anyone any questions before we move on?” Marshall looked round at everyone.

“How do you propose to make these machines, Professor?” Kimoto asked.

“I intend coming to that later,” said Willie, without standing up.

“Oh. And where do you intend to place them all?”

Willie stood up this time with a dangerous glint in his eye.

     “Damn you, you impudent little squirt!” he roared. “I’ve already explained that we shall have a separate section for dealing with defence systems. If you’re going to stand there and make a monkey out of everything that’s discussed here ----”

     “Professor! Please! Contain yourself!” The PM had risen and was staring white-faced at Willie.  “I really must insist that you apologise to our Japanese representative. Such petty squabbles have no place here!”

     “I’m damned if I’ll apologise!” Wilkes snapped irritably. “We’ve been here twenty minutes already and got precisely nowhere. What does it take to make you stuffed shirts realise that time is at a premium? Everyone else is content to listen and ask questions when it’s absolutely essential to clarify a point, but that slant-eyed little ---”

     “Professor Wilkes!” shouted the PM. “That is enough!”

     “Bloody right it is!” Willie shouted back. “I refuse to stay here and be cross-examined by that little squirt. You can damn well sort out the rotten bloody mess for yourselves! Don’t ask me for any help or suggestions!”

He swept up the pad and pencil in a magnificent gesture of defiance and marched towards the exit. The door, I thought. They’ll let him get to the door and then they’ll call him back.

They let him get to the door and then they called him back, after a hurried consultation between themselves.

     “Professor!” the PM called. “Please sit down. This sort of outburst is getting us nowhere. We realise that your experience of the Nordians is invaluable to us, but we really cannot allow you to continue insulting everybody when they ask questions.”

He turned to Kimoto.

     “And I must ask you to refrain from asking pointless questions which are obviously intended to annoy Professor Wilkes.”

     “I deny that the questions were pointless!” answered the little Japanese sharply.

     “The Professor had already stated that the details of the machine he suggested would be discussed later on,” the PM pointed out mildly. “Now, let us continue with the conference.”

Willie walked back towards his seat.

     “You all want a bloody squib up your asses,” he said loudly.

After that, the discussion moved at a faster rate.

Somebody wanted to know if the Nordians had any other weapons.

     “Not as far as we know,” answered Marshall. “I think we can assume that they will use their vapour gun where ever possible. If they bring another weapon to bear then I’m afraid we shall be back where we started.”

     “Worse, in fact,” put in the Russian in a thick accent. “At least we can devise some sort of defence against the vapour gun, but not  against something which is completely new to us.”

     “Quite so, said Marshall. “Any other points? If not, I suggest that we move on to a plan of defence.”

There were no other points, so we moved on to a plan of defence. This was Marshall’s pigeon.

     “Very well, gentlemen. After a preliminary discussion with  Professor Wilkes and Professor Bergen, the director of Jodrell Bank, we have decided that a central committee should be set up at Jodrell Bank, with a twenty four hour communication relay system between us and the major radio telescopes across the world. The idea is to introduce a communication system that will provide Professor Bergen with a complete picture of Mars and Deimos, twenty four hours a day. At the same time, information concerning the whereabouts of the enemy can be relayed to us there and the necessary counter-measures can be calculated by Professor Wilkes, who will supervise the movement of the machines so as to use them to their fullest effect.”

“Have we any idea where they will hit first?” This was Ho Chin of China with his soft voice.

“We think that London, England will be the first major target,” Marshall said, “mainly because it was here that Zil and Kyne landed and here, by the Nordians reckoning, that they met their deaths. After that they will undoubtedly hit all major cities.”

Willie rose.

     “The alternative to that, of course, being that they will mount a massive attack aimed at all densely populated areas at the same time. We intend to take this alternative as the most likely, since by defending our major cities and industrial towns we shall automatically cover London and the key cities of England.”

He sat down and lit another of his interminable cigarettes.

     “Any comments on this general plan of defence?” Marshall looked round the table.

     “I think it is a most excellent idea,” observed Ho Chin.

Willie and I exchanged glances.

     “Round two to us,”  he whispered.

The Prime Minister stood up.

     “I think the time has come for Professor Wilkes to tell us something of his machine,” he said. “Professor Wilkes?”

     “Um,” said Willie. “Well, really, there’s nothing much to be said about it. When I leave here I shall be going to a further conference with the heads of some of the leading steel industries and some of my scientist colleagues where I hope we shall be able to design a machine that can be produced in great quantities quickly and reasonably cheaply. I don’t even know yet how practical such a machine will be,  let alone spouting a lot of technical jargon which none of you will understand. But I can tell you that the machine must be capable of producing vast quantities of hydrogen to replace that which will be destroyed by the Nordian’s vapour gun.”

He paused and looked around.

     “But, gentlemen, this machine will not, I repeat not, win the war.”

I knew what was coming because I’d been present when all this was discussed before. Everyone else, however, looked rightfully indignant at the suggestion that we’d lost the war before it had even begun.

     “Then you’re implying once again that there is no defence whatsoever,”  Marshall queried.

     “Oh, I don’t know!” said Willie testily. “There has to be an answer, but I’m damned if I know what it is. Listen.”

He sat down.

     “I’m going to go over what will happen when one wisp, just one wisp the proportionate size of this pencil, is released into our atmosphere. I have discovered that the vapour must produce some sort of chemical reaction with hydrogen. I don’t mean that it is a living thing, I mean that as opposed to an organic reaction, this is a chemical transition that shields hydrogen atoms and molecules and so renders them useless, or non-existent. The vapour then absorbs these molecules into itself. And the more it absorbs the bigger it becomes and the more density it acquires,  and the more energy it produces to propel itself forward in search of more hydrogen to absorb, and so on, ad infinitum. I’m afraid that we’re going to have it demonstrated to us in no uncertain terms that perpetual motion can and does exist, to a slight extent after an initial push to get the thing started.”

He picked up his pencil again and held it in front of him.

     “Now, take our tiny wisp of mist. When it hits our atmosphere it will absorb its own density of hydrogen. Then it will expand. How much I’m not exactly sure, but I should say it will be no less, certainly, than its own density again. So now one pencil has become two, which will absorb its own mass again, and become four, and so on, exponentially.”

He dropped the pencil on the table and leaned back.

     “The other factor that is unknown to us is how long this reaction will take. Again, the natural assumption is that it will be slower than on Nordia, because our atmosphere is thicker than theirs was. But for all we know they may have adapted the vapour to offset that and react as fast, or even faster, than it did during their own war. We have no way of knowing.”

He poured himself some more water. I lit a cigarette. No-one said anything for a moment; they just looked at one another, then Ho Chin spoke.

     “But surely, Professor, your machine will be the vapour gun’s equal if it produces hydrogen at the same rate it is lost?”

     “No, no, no!” Willie slapped his thigh impatiently. “You miss the point, my dear fellow.”

Unable to sit still any longer he stood up and walked up and down the length of the table.

     “Let me take things a little slower,” he said. “Suppose we have a hydrogen producing machine with an infinitely adjustable rate of production. Now, sitting on a grass hillock is a vapour gun. It expels our pencil of mist. Before we go any further we will assume that the gun is destroyed before it has a chance to radiate any more vapour. So all we have is a tiny wisp of hydrogen absorbing vapour. Everybody follow?”

They nodded, completely unaware of anything except the scientist’s voice.

     “Well,” Willie continued, “we shall take our defensive measures step by step. If we shoot a stream of hydrogen directly into the vapour it will merely absorb it.  If we shoot it just in front the vapour will absorb the hydrogen in the air first, then the hydrogen we are directing at it, by which time it will have increased its capacity by as much of  the amount of gas it absorbed before it hit our stream of hydrogen. Does everybody understand? Good. Now, if we direct a jet or stream of hydrogen behind the vapour it will certainly replace that which has been lost, but it won’t decrease the impact of the vapour in front of it. Follow? So as the vapour moves on we shall have to produce more and more gas to replace that which the vapour is absorbing. Remember this is just from one tiny wisp of mist. And we don’t know that the vapour will only travel in one direction. It might expand in a three hundred and sixty degree radius, absorbing any gas we direct at it in any and every direction. Think what will happen when there are, say,  fifty machines in the British Isles, each radiating vapour continuously!”

     “But then I don’t see the point of your machine at all, Professor,” said Kimoto with a frown.

Willie swung round and slapped his hand on the table.

     “The only way we can use such a machine is on the defensive,” he said. “At least it will help to replace the hydrogen we shall be losing.”

He returned to his seat and plumped down heavily. Everybody was watching him.

     “What we cannot do,” he finished softly, “is to arrest the vapour’s progress, or subdue its destructive power.”

There was a long silence. One or two people conferred with their neighbours, but for the most part they just sat and stared.

     “Well done, Willie,” I whispered sarcastically. “That’s really socking it to ‘em, boy! You know what they’ll say now? What are we going to do?”

     “What are we going to do?” asked Powell, the American.

     “I think we must get our priorities straight,” said the PM gravely. “It is my considered opinion that we must manufacture as many of these hydrogen producing machines as quickly as possible. Does anyone disagree with this?”

     “On the contrary, I agree it is a priority,” said Ho Chin.

     “What actually happens when the vapour touches something?” This was from Sanson, the Minister for Science.

     “It all depends on what it touches,” Willie repeated. “Since its primary aim is to evaporate water by removing the hydrogen I can answer for animals and humans, trees and plants. They will all literally dry up.”

     “What about the seas?” asked the Home Secretary in an awed voice. “What will happen when the vapour reaches the oceans?”

     “Hmmph!” Willie snorted. “You’ll see a sight that will outstrip all the film companies’ special effects departments put together! As I said, it rather depends on how fast the mist works, but the end result will be just the same. As hydrogen is absorbed the oxygen and remaining carbon dioxide will explode upwards as they are displaced by the onward travelling vapour. More seawater will rush in to fill the gap, so to speak, and the process will repeat itself. Ad infinitum.”

His eyes took on a slightly glazed look.

     “What a sight! It should be most interesting! It will, of course, leave a salt precipitate ---”

     “Yes, yes! I’m sure it will,” the Premier interrupted drily. “But I wish to return to your point about removing living matter from the path of the mist. Just how do you propose to do that? Or perhaps you have something on that point, Minister?” He turned to Marshall.

     “Um, well, yes, I have,” said Marshall. “The moment a sphere is sighted above Earth, small villages, hamlets, lone farmhouses and suchlike will be evacuated and the people housed at the nearest large town. This applies to everyone,” he added, looking round. “I’m not just referring to England. However, to continue. The large towns will be in constant communication with their nearest radio telescope, as far as that arrangement is practical, and certainly in contact with Jodrell Bank, twenty four hours a day. Military detachments will be in charge of  the towns. Everything from food to transport and communications to – to midwifery, will be their responsibility.”

This produced a few smiles. Marshall went on.

     “Those cities that are in direct contact with a radio telescope will be alerted as soon as there is a sphere approaching their area, and the Commanding Officer will see to it that the populace is removed as far away from danger as possible. Transport must be on hand for the purpose. The less fortunate places will have to receive their alerts from Jodrell Bank, which, while being a delay of only two or three minutes, may mean the difference between life or death. That’s the general idea, anyway. Oh, I almost forgot. One thing that must be decided immediately is whether such things as rare animals or rare scientific specimens, notes, or even half completed experiments are going to be allowed during the evacuation. If so, where does one draw the line?”

     “That,” agreed the Minister for Science, “is a problem.” He shook his head. “I vote nothing should be allowed. It is more important to keep the spark of human life alight than anything else. I think that must be the priority in this case. Human life is resourceful enough to manage after all this is over.”

     “If there’s any human life left, of course,” observed Ho Chin to no-one in particular.

     “Very concisely put,” approved Willie.

     “Excuse me, Professor,” said a thin man at the far end of the table. “I’m Fitzgibbons of the Ministry of Technology. The Minister was taken ill at the last moment and couldn’t attend. Can you tell us if the vapour is subject to wind movement? If so, couldn’t we try and control it that way somehow?”

There were murmurs of ‘jolly good!’  And ‘well done!’

     “A very interesting point, Mr Fitzgubbins,” said Willie.

     “Fitzgibbons,” the little man corrected hastily.

     “Oh, I beg yours,” the scientist apologised. “Still, whatever your name is, it’s a very good point. I regret to say I don’t know if it’s affected by wind. I would think not,” he added thoughtfully. “And in any case, the frustrating part about the whole thing is that even if we can control its movements we still won’t be able to diminish its power. Once it starts, that’s it.”

He paused, then shook his head.

     “I had an idea there for a moment, but I’m afraid it won’t work.”

“What was it?” asked the Prime Minister. “Perhaps someone else will become inspired if you tell us.”

     “Well, I had thought that if we could box the vapour in, somehow, it would build up and eventually be lost to space,” Willie explained, “but it’s quite impossible. And that is based upon the supposition that the vapour is controllable in such a fashion. If we depend on that for a defence and then find we’ve made a mistake,  we’ll never live long enough to make another one.”

     “Hmm,” the Russian mused in his deep voice. “It would appear then Professor, that prevention will be not only better than a cure, but the only answer.”

     “Hit the spheres before they have a chance to land and set up any machines, you mean?” Marshall asked.

     “Exactly so.”

     “Yes, I think that is certainly going to have to be our prime defence,” commented the PM.

     “And if one gets through?” enquired Willie. “Just one? By the way, I’ve been thinking about Mr Fitzgaboons’ question concerning movement. When we saw the war on Nordia through Zil’s subliminal projector, the mist appeared to move in only one direction. But then, we saw only a small area at a time, so that is no criterion. According to my calculations the vapour probably will spread in all directions at once. And that includes upwards and downwards. Which further complicates things. On the other hand, it does inform us that the stuff will die from the centre out, so to speak.”   He pondered for a moment.

     “An interesting point, and one to bear in mind at all times,” he said.

     “But of no use at the moment as we have no idea what will dispose of it,” the Russian finished for him.

     “Precisely,” the scientist agreed absently.

     “No chance of contacting them, or waving the proverbial white flag?” Powell suggested hopefully.

     “None,” Willie answered flatly.

There was a pause.

     “To sum up, then,” said Marshall, “all military bases must be alerted and told to stand by. The question is, do they assume their positions immediately or ---”

     “Yes!” Wilkes interrupted. Marshall looked annoyed but kept silent as Willie continued.

     “If we wait until a sphere is sighted before we give the order to move, it will be too late. It is vital that any craft is destroyed before it has a chance to land. The Nordians won’t be able to activate the vapour guns from the atmosphere. They themselves will have to get well clear before they are caught in their own vapour. This will give us a few more precious moments. All our military equipment, tanks, ground to air missiles, anything and everything must be in complete readiness for an attack. Worldwide communication relay centres must be set up. I suggest the radio and TV stations are commandeered and kept at a stand-by position. Normal transmissions can continue until the Nordians are first sighted.”

     “Very well, gentlemen. If we are all agreed on the basic structure of our defence and there are no more relevant points I feel that we should deal with each representative in turn, and plan in detail how each nation should best carry out these plans.”  Marshall shuffled his papers and looked round enquiringly. There were a few murmured consultations and then began the task of preparing the massive defence system for each country.

The conference at this point began to become slightly less interesting for me, although, of course, Willie was dragged right into the middle of it. At the end of three hours I was screaming with boredom. I could take no real active part in the discussions, other than when someone asked me for information on troop deployments, or some detail of my time spent with the alien during his visit, and I didn’t even have Willie to discuss the situation with. There was a point I wanted to make but I didn’t get the chance until there was a break for coffee and sandwiches. At least, some of us took a break;- the rest carried on and ate and drank as they worked.

I grabbed Willie with one hand, a pile of sandwiches with the other, which I thrust into Willie’s hand minus the refinement of a plate, and two coffees. In a quiet corner of the room I sat him down and then stood in front of him, like a scolding father.

     “Can you clear your mind of all this for five minutes?” I asked, sounding as brusque as I could.

Willie stopped chewing a sandwich and looked up at me sharply.

     “Something wrong?” he enquired.

     “One or two points,” I conceded, adroitly removing a squashed sandwich from his hand. I took a hefty bite and went on.

     “One, can’t you estimate at all how long it will be before they come? Two --” I paused and looked at him thoughtfully. “Don’t interrupt this, because I’m not sure how to say it, but I think it’s very important. There’s no chance that those two aliens did not die, is there?  I mean – couldn’t they have counteracted the rabies with some medicine in their Sphere? And thus arrived home alive and well?  Or, failing that, isn’t it possible that the people back on Nordia or Xyphea, whichever it is,  could have realised that their deaths were an accident either due to disease, or through unknown causes?”

Willie munched away for a few moments, staring at his shoes.

     “Taking your last point first,” he said, swallowing the last mouthful of the last sandwich, “it’s possible that they realised the cause of death was an accident due to illness. If their technology is so far in advance of ours, it’s reasonable to presume their diagnostic capabilities are, too. But I doubt that it would make the slightest difference. They were dead, that’s the point. No, I don’t think they could have counteracted against the virus. It’s probably unknown to them, and it was too late in the day for that, anyway.”

He reached for the coffee.

     “And in answer to your first point, let me put it this way. I’m a worried man. If the steps being implemented here today --”  he waved the cup vaguely,  “-- aren’t in complete readiness in seven days I shall be even more worried. That does not mean the Nordians will arrive in seven days. It might be seven hours, seven weeks, or – seven years.” He drank his coffee.

     “Okay,” I said slowly, looking carefully at the ceiling, “now you agree that the Nordians might realise that the accident was an accident, not wilful murder on our part. So suppose, just suppose, they decide to send two more ambassadors, friendly ones, or even six, or more; scientists, social experts and the like.”

I dropped my gaze and looked hard at Willie.

     “What will happen when they discover all these warlike preparations? What will they think? That we’ve tricked them? That they’ve sent their best brains to a world technologically behind them, only to be massacred as soon as they appear? In other words, Willie, what happens if they’re friendly, and we attack their spheres?”

The coffee was cold, but I drank it anyway. Willie stared at me for a long time. Then he looked down at the floor.

     “Then may God have mercy on us,” he said.

                                                                           CHAPTER TWO

Everything was ready in seven days. That’s how long it took to prepare the world for a war against an undefeatable weapon. The world took the news quite well. The suicide rate went up and there was panic in a few of those places where temperaments tended to be on the neurotic side. There was a sudden shortage of things like fridges, washing machines, cars and other metal or plastic objects. The factories had been commandeered to produce more sinister goods. In some places there was a mass exodus for the hills until the military got organised and clamped down. Leaflets, news bulletins, posters, media reports, all were intensified, all giving detailed instructions for the public, assuring them that everything that could be done, was being done. Most people could see that for themselves. I never saw the words ‘undefeatable weapon’ appear anywhere.

The World Defence System evolved from the conference and Willie was the scientific advisor. He was a lot of other things as well, not the least of which was the guiding force, but scientific advisor was the title they gave him.

The first hint I had of anything amiss was when I was called into the Old Man’s office one day. After the preamble I was told, rather than invited, to sit, and told, rather than invited, to look at some documents. They were letters. The first was headed ‘The Order of the Second Coming’ and it was short and to the point.

There is too much sin in the world. Our lifetime has been spent preparing for the Second Coming, but now we are forced to realise that there will not be a Second Coming. In His Almighty wisdom, He has seen fit to destroy that which He created. Let no mortal being try to stop him.

Another was unheaded and unsigned.

This is best for all humanity. For their sakes, stop Professor Wilkes. If you don’t, we will. Let us die in peace.

A third was either from a woman, or a homosexual.

I’m sure that the Professor is a lovely man, although I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting him. I’m sure his work is admirable, but don’t you think it really would be a good idea if he were stopped? After all, one man cannot do very much against a whole planet, can he? If he won’t stop when you ask him, - well, we’re all going to die soon, aren’t we?

There were a lot more. Some were typed, some written, a few were printed. They came, translated, in every language imaginable:- English, Serbo-Croat, Hindustani, Indian, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Spanish, Urdu, and yet more. Some were from obvious crackpots, some were from religious sects. One letter, beautifully scripted, was written by a group of Tibetan monks.

But they all carried the same message. Stop preparing for war against the Nordians, or, stop Professor Wilkes and his colleagues devising a weapon to beat them. Some were polite and respectful, others were full of menace or outright threats, some were pitiful, others plain obscene. I dropped the letters on the desk and looked up at the Brigadier who was staring fixedly at me.

     “Well?” he demanded curtly.

I stopped in the middle of lighting a cigarette.

     “Don’t look at me!” I protested. “I didn’t write them.”

The Old Man glared at me.

     “Sorry, Dad. I agree. They are over the top. But why are you showing them to me?”

The Brigadier relaxed slightly Whether it was because I called him Dad, which I don’t often do, I wasn’t sure.

     “It’s quite simple,” he said, shuffling papers unnecessarily. “We’ve got a little job for you. As you’re involved with these blasted creatures as much as anybody, you might as well do something useful while you’re traipsing round getting under everyone’s feet.”

     “Really,” I said cautiously. “And what is this little vocational gem that you have up your sleeve?”

He stopped shuffling and looked straight at me.

     “Guard Wilkes,” he said.

     “Eh!”

I sat up straighter.

     “What do you mean, guard Wilkes? You want me to be his bodyguard? He – he won’t stand for all that sort of rubbish!”  I gestured towards the letters. “He’ll laugh himself silly if I show him these!”

     “You’re not going to show him anything. Just watch him. Use what morsel of intelligence you possess and which you used to wangle yourself into your present rank! If you think anything fishy is going on, or if any strangers start demanding to see him, shut the door firmly in their faces. Watch packages, parcels, that sort of thing. Ask for credentials where applicable.”

“Alright, alright,” I said. “You sound like M.”

The Old Man frowned.

     “Who the hell is  ----”

     “Never mind,” I interrupted hastily. “Character from a book.”

The frown turned into another glare.

     “I don’t see that I can help in this,”  I grumbled. “I mean – I like Willie and all that. He’s about the only person that’ll solve this defence thing. And he’s a nice fellow. But as for trailing along behind him like a little dog…..think of all those bloody conferences and whatnots he goes to…..” I groaned loudly.

     “I’ve got an alternative,” the Old Man said pleasantly.

     “Which is?” I enquired suspiciously.

     “You can blasted well go and earn your title and your pay and spend some time in an under-developed country somewhere, evacuating the women and their horrible little brats from their stinking hovels--”

I know my father.  “Alright,” I said quietly. “I’ll go.”

     “What!”

He stared at me for a full minute while I smoked placidly. I enjoyed the last drag and stubbed out the last inch.

     “Come on,” I said, leaning forward. “I daresay you’d love to see me out in some steaming jungle, or sweltering in some savannah somewhere, but don’t try and tell me you’ve got that lined up, because for a start that’s not your way, and secondly you wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on me out there.” I sat back comfortably.

     “You insolent young pup!” he roared. “I’ll strip you to Private if you talk to me like that!”

I waited.

     “I take it you’ll keep an eye on the Professor, then,” he finished quietly.

I nodded. “I’ll do my best. But I want to know something. Is this a military operation, or am I doing someone a favour?”

     “Well, it’s not exactly what I would call a ---”

     “Good. Because I want to make something clear. If something does happen and Willie is got at, or – or anything, I’m not going to be court-martialled for negligence. I’ll do my best, but I’m not a Secret Service agent. As long as that’s understood?”

He stared at me again for a few moments.

     “Alright, Son. Just do your best. That’s all I ask.”

I left his office feeling somewhat disturbed. Things must be pretty bad. The Old Man never, never, calls me Son.

The next day there was a parcel for Willie. I called the bomb squad in and after half an hour they brought the parcel to me. It was a box full of test tubes.

Willie had indeed laughed when I told him. He seemed to find it highly amusing that anyone should try to kill him. But he didn’t object when I refused to let him open any mail.

The next five weeks were hectic ones. We were lucky to sleep five hours at a time. If it wasn’t conferences it was experiments, and if not that then endless visitors asking technical advice or endless visits to the Prime Minister to report progress.

Right from the word go the radio telescopes scanned the heavens unceasingly, looking for some sign that would warn us that the war had begun. Willie wasn’t having much success with his machine. Possibly because he was only devoting half his time and attention to it. The other half was going towards devising a way of nullifying the effects of the vapour or finding some way of controlling it.

He had a team of  forty two volunteers working in a sealed laboratory, trying to make the vapour themselves, talking all the while into microphones scattered around the place which were connected to banks of recorders in another room;- the idea being that if we knew approximately what the catalyst agent was, assuming there was one, we could find a solution twice as easily. The microphones and recorders were a constant reminder of how sinister and devastating those experiments might turn out to be….

Almost before I knew it, two weeks had gone by. During the latter half of the last week I had again broached Willie on the subject of the Nordians sending more emissaries. He didn’t think it likely but pointed out that if the telescopes picked up only one or two Spheres it must be considered as a possibility. On the other hand, if there were twenty, or two hundred Spheres……

There were at least four parcels a day for Willie in the first week and after two days the bomb squad took up residence with us at Jodrell Bank. There was never anything in the parcels to warrant their time and nerves though. I heard nothing more from any source about doing Willie in or stopping the defence preparations. I suppose all the letters went to the Old Man but he never contacted me to find out if anything was happening.

Jodrell Bank was the scene of all sorts of comings and goings. The main thing was that a huge operations room had been built of precast sections in two days flat. It was hermetically sealed by quadruple sets of airlocks and was divided to provide living accommodation for sixty odd people. There were also storerooms, recreation rooms, restaurant, luxurious toilet facilities plus a large conference room and the main Ops room itself. This was to be the heart and lungs of the defence system. Thirty six huge radio transmitters and receivers were linked so as to provide communication with all the major capitals of the world including Moscow and Shanghai, and they in turn were linked up to the various towns within a certain radius so that almost any town of any reasonable size could contact the capital instantly, whereupon they would relay the message to us.

During the testing of the arrangement we discovered that the longest time lag between the start of a message and the time we received it was two minutes thirty seven seconds, which is a tribute to Willie who conceived the idea and to the operators of the transmitters, who evidently realised the urgency of the situation.

The builders were still hard at work adding annexes here, there and everywhere. I lost track of what all the buildings were for, but the idea behind it all was to build a massive, college sized fallout shelter, not, of course against fallout, but against penetration of the vapour. Against one wall of the Ops room a huge, illuminated map was installed. It covered the globe and behind it were sets of coloured lights. To start with the whole map was green, which, we all agreed, was a reasonable colour to start with. Next, was blue. These lights would illuminate when a Sphere, or Spheres, were sighted over that particular area. There was some rather heated argument about how large these areas should be, but as the map itself was forty feet long by twenty feet high, the argument was eventually settled.  This caused the electricians to swear profusely, both at the map and us, but eventually the job was completed. Three men were needed to work the banks of switches and it took them two days to master them.

Blue, then, was for a Sphere sighted somewhere within that region. If the Sphere was successful in discharging any vapour the area affected would be shown in red, which again seemed the obvious choice, and lastly there was a spare colour;- pink,  which we hoped to use if the vapour had either passed over, or dissolved, or disappeared from, any area. Willie wasn’t hopeful about that.

     “Marshall’s bloody mad,” was his lucid comment. “How the hell are we going to know whether the bloody vapour’s gone or not? I’m damn sure I’m not going to go waltzing into an affected area to find out if it’s still lethal or not.

I think, secretly however, he was hoping that some way would be found to discover if the vapour had, in fact, disappeared, or somehow lost its destructive power. Another thing Willie was desperately anxious about was getting hold of a vapour gun.

     “If only we can capture one,” he would say, “we could perhaps back-engineer it and then find a nullifying agent, so that if any more get through we can stop ‘em before they start, so to speak.”

     “Without killing yourself in the most hideous way imaginable?” I queried sceptically.

Wilkes shrugged.

     “And from what you say you must be expecting some of the Spheres to get through,” I added.

Willie looked at me tiredly.

     “They must,” he said simply. “I can think of no way to stop them. If they concentrate a force above Washington, let’s say, so that we are hard pressed and have to send in reinforcements from somewhere else, they only need to get one through above the Sahara, or Siberia, or some such God-forsaken place, and that’ll be it.”

He was right, of course. Our position was hopeless from the start, but Willie had already demonstrated that from the beginning  of all our preparations.

One lives in hope. Or, while there’s life there’s hope. Or, where there’s a will there’s a way, as the many and varied sayings go.

One problem we had which was far more difficult to get around was that of contacting tiny villages, settlements, camps and whatnot, all over the world.  Willie and I were discussing it one day in the Ops room.

     “Look at this, Dave,” Willie said. He moved over to the map, which was still in the throes of being wired up. “Look at all these tiny places.” He pointed to a few names on the map. “All these areas of the Congo. Loja. Kabinda. Kikwit. Half these places we’ve never heard of, but that doesn’t mean they should be left in total ignorance of what is to come.”

He moved a few feet and studied South America.

“There’s all the Amazon Basin and in Brasil, Barra, Salto Martius, all these tiny villages. The Australian outback, where half the time a man sees his nearest neighbour once a fortnight or more.  Central India, Asia, the Sudan.”  He ran a hand through his hair.

     “God, Dave. There must be thousands of people who will never know that the Nordians exist, let alone landed here. And they’ll never know where that vapour came from, or who was responsible for their miserable lives being wiped out in such a ghastly fashion.”

     “Hang on a minute, Willie,” I objected. “Don’t forget that every possible means are being used  to notify people such as these. Helicopters for inaccessible places, planes, ships in some cases. Not to mention leaflet dropping by air, radio, TV and all the rest of it. And anyway, don’t you think it’s more important to notify civilised communities and get them organised? We’ve enough problems already without worrying  about the Amazon jungle or the Bedouin camps in the Sahara. Now don’t lecture me on race relations!”

I held up my hand as I saw a dangerous gleam in his eye.

    “Perhaps I’ve expressed myself badly. Of course I don’t think the English or the Yanks or the Reds have got any more right to survive than the pygmies of Southern Africa, any more than I think that the West has a better right to survive than the East, but, -- damn it all, Willie, you have to draw a line somewhere. The technological know-how of what most people would call a ‘civilised’ nation is going to be vastly more valuable to whatever is left of humanity than the knowledge of  how to stab an elephant from underneath the belly, or how to ride a camel through a sandstorm.”

     “Yes, yes. I realise that,” Willie said irritably. He sank into a convenient chair. “But it goes against the grain to sit back and do all you can for your fellow countrymen and yet know that on the other side of the world hundreds of people are dying because your fellow countrymen, civilised fellow countrymen, haven’t been able to devise a way of communicating with them satisfactorily. Land on the moon, orbit Mars, yes. Communicate with the other side of the planet, no. Farm fish and food from the seas, yes. Talk to Amazonians, Bedouin Arabs, no.”

     “Ah! But,” I argued, accepting a cigarette from him, “if you tried to warn the Bedouins about the war, they’d probably slice your head off first, then argue amongst themselves all night as to why you came and what you wanted.”

     Possibly,” agreed Willie, blowing a cloud of smoke.

     “And,” I added, “ one man can’t take the troubles of the whole world on his shoulders.”

I lit my cigarette as Willie looked at me and chuckled.

     “You’re good for my morale, Dave. You’re like a brick wall. You rebound my arguments so that I can see both sides of the question. If you didn’t, I’d probably be just another testy, old, biased, egghead.”

     “Oh!” I said airily, looking at the ceiling. “So at the moment you’re not a testy, biased old egghead, is that it?”

Willie studied the end of his cigarette.

     “No,” he replied modestly. “I don’t think I am.”  His eyes twinkled. “If I was, I doubt a, whether you’d spend so much time listening to me, and b, whether you would have agreed to act as my personal bodyguard.”

I waved my hand at him.

     “Oh rubbish, Willie. We both agreed it was unnecessary.”

     “Yes, we did,” Willie agreed. “So we did. But you’re still here.”

I couldn’t think of an answer to that so I shut up. Willie rose and dusted ash from his trousers.

     “Well, I can’t stand here yakking all day. I must go to the laboratory and see how they’re getting on with this vapour.”

He hurried out, leaving the door wide open. A cold draught caused a shiver to run up and down my spine. Or was it only the cold? Willie’s last remark had brought the war back into the same room as us, again. I shut the door and listened to the operators at the transmitters conferring with their counterparts all over the world.

     “Hallo, sector two.”

That was Alaska and the west coast of Canada as far as Vancouver. Victoria Island and Winnipeg were the easternmost points.

     “Confirming all clear at present. Time, fourteen twenty seven hours.”

     “Hallo, hallo, Charlie? How’s tricks?”

Colloquial version of sector three. Eastern Canada, Hudson Bay and Greenland.

     “Okay, fella. Gotcha. All clear sector seven.”

West of a line from Seattle to the Honduras.

     “Confirmed, sector ten. Time, fourteen twenty eight hours. Enjoy your party.” Australia.

And so on. Most of the operators seemed to be on friendly terms with their opposite numbers. Even sector twenty eight which was the USSR, or at least the west of it. Moscow were quite chatty at times. There wasn’t really a great deal to do now, except wait, and hope, and perhaps pray.

Willie was tied up with his experiments and everybody else seemed to be able to find something that needed their urgent personal attention. I decided that it was time I fortified the inner man and made my way to the canteen – sorry, restaurant. After all, it did have a carpet, and waitresses. I mention the waitresses because they were well worth a mention. They would have done credit to any beauty competition. And besides, I happened to have a particular favourite. Karen, her name was. I’ve always considered Karen a sexy name. It put me in mind of long legs, tanned body, shapely figure and lots more things as well.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the favouritism was not reciprocated. Or perhaps my opening gambit of  ‘what the hell is a nice girl like you doing waitressing in a place like this?’ was too unoriginal for her or something. Anyway, her reply to that was a cool ‘like most people here, trying to stay alive’.  That had been three days ago. I thought perhaps I might now risk another try.

It seemed a good omen that there were only five people in the restaurant. It seated sixty. Karen was sipping a cup of coffee by the counter. When you’re preparing for an interplanetary war you tend to let some things get a bit lax. Unless you happen to be a Brigadier. And an Armstrong to boot. I waved to her as I sat down and to my surprise got a cheerful smile in return. In that case, I thought, I’ll treat myself to a steak, rare, instead of steak, pie.

     “Hallo,” I said intelligently as she came over to my table. “Not busy today?”

She shrugged. “You’ve missed the crowd.”

I nearly said ‘good, I can have you all to myself’, but resisted the impulse. As a matter of fact I didn’t have a chance to say anything.

     “You work with Professor Wilkes, don’t you?” she went on.

     “Ah! Got your spies out, have you?”

Pleasant chuckle.

     “No. I overheard him talking about the young captain who was assigned to protect him from all evildoers.”

I looked blank.  “There are plenty of captains round here. A multitude of them, in fact.”

     “I know. But someone else told me that you were in charge of security for the Ops room.”

     “What!” I yelped.

It wasn’t meant to be a yelp. It just came out that way.

     “Who told you that?”

Karen put a delightfully slim finger alongside a delightfully pert nose.

     “Well, look here,” I said severely, “ you tell them from me, seriously now, that I am not, repeat not, in charge of any security at all.” I fiddled with the pepper pot. “ I just happen to be doing someone a favour while I’m here, in keeping an eye on Willie. Er, Professor Wilkes, that is.”

     “Yes, sir,” said Karen in mock severity.

     “No, I mean it. I’m not going to be saddled with any more responsibility.”

     “Alright. I’ll tell them. Now, are you eating, or just chatting up the staff?”

I ordered and she disappeared behind the counter. Now, I thought. One doesn’t know how much free time one is going to have in the near future, since the proverbial balloon is due to go up at any time, so one might as well devote one’s time to the expedient chatting-up and possibly seduction of any suitable personages. I may be a captain, but I’m also a man. An invitation to coffee, perhaps, or even to eat? But there was another thought worrying me. When Karen came back with my lunch, my carefully expressed invitation to share the culinary delights of the place went by the board.

     “This, this, informant of yours,” I demanded indignantly. “What else did they have to say?”

Karen considered for a moment.  “Well, nothing really. Only your name.”

     “Oh! I see! My name! Did they tell you what colour pyjamas I happen to wear, or that I was married?”

     “No-ooo,” answered Karen thoughtfully. “I don’t think they knew about your pyjamas. But, er, - they did say you were unattached.  They must have been wrong.”

     “Yes. Well.” I jabbed at the unoffending steak with unnecessary violence. “There you are then.”

     “Mmmm,” Karen agreed.  “Here I am, standing talking to a married man.”

She turned and began to walk away. My slim chances were fast becoming negligible to the nth degree.

     “Wait!” I called, swallowing hastily. “I, er-  I am unattached. I’m afraid I sort of got a bit het up there.”

Karen came back and stood in front of me.

     “But damn it, you shouldn’t go spying behind a chap’s back.”

     “Now you sound like a pompous old colonel or something. And anyway, why shouldn’t I spy on you?”

She leaned forward.

     “Who was it that sauntered into the kitchen on Monday, on the pretext of asking the chef about the lunch menu, and then proceeded to pump him for all they were worth about me?”

She straightened up.  “The only thing you didn’t ask him was what my vital statistics are, and that only because I came on duty and you had to make a quick exit!”

Suddenly I wasn’t hungry. I pushed the plate aside.

     “So you’ve discovered my little, - er -- ”

Karen nodded.  “The chef and I are great friends,” she confirmed.

     “Oh.”

We looked at one another.

     “Truce?” I suggested tentatively.

She pulled a face.  “I suppose so. You stop spying on me and I’ll stop spying on you.”

Here the conversation flagged slightly. In order to breach the gap, I said, “Mind you, if there’s anything you want to know you can always ask me.”

     “Like what?”

I winced at her bluntness.

     “I don’t know. Anything.”  I offered her a cigarette.

     “Well, for a start, what’s the matter with the steak?”

     “I get distracted from my food very easily.”

Karen nodded again and blew a jet of smoke past my right ear.

     “I’ll tell the chef.”

     “What I ate was delicious.”

     “I’ll tell him that as well.”

     “Do you tell the chef everything?” I enquired interestedly.

     “I leave out the juicy bits.”

     “That’s a relief,” I said, and meant it.  “How about two coffees?”

     “Are you expecting somebody?” Karen asked.

     “The second cup,” I explained, “is for you.”

She turned and walked off.

     “Gallant with it,” she said over her shoulder.

I seemed to be getting nowhere fast. Perhaps it would be better if I left it until tomorrow, I thought. The coffees arrived.

     “Sit down,” I invited.

     “Won’t you get into trouble?”

     “I doubt it, but if I do, it will have been worth it.”

     “You flatter me.”

     “Not as much as I would if I had the chance.”

She chose to ignore this.  “Can I ask you about your work?”

     “It isn’t very interesting,” I said.

     “But what do you actually do?”

     “Well, I keep an eye on Willie, as you know, and co-ordinate between him and anybody who wants him. Generally supervise the Ops room communications staff when he’s not there. That’s about all.”

     “So you’re not terribly busy, then?”

I held up my hand.

     “Whoa! I wouldn’t say that! I have enough to do. I have to attend all the conferences that Willie goes to. That’s pretty time consuming in itself.”

     “Why do you have to go?”

     “Well, I was there when the first Nordians came,” I said. “Sometimes they ask me to confirm a point or clarify it.”

     “I see.”  She stirred her coffee thoughtfully. “You hear so many rumours. Is it is as bad as they say, Dave?”

That was the first time she had called me by name. I found I liked it. I would have been disappointed if I hadn’t.

     “It is, Karen. Every bit as bad.”

There was a short silence. Karen drank some coffee but her eyes were on places far away.

     “What a terrible way to go,” she sighed.

     “You’ve got froth on your lips,” I said. “Now don’t start getting all morbid. We should be alright here. The place is airtight four times over.”

     “But how long will we have to stay here?”

     “That I can’t answer,” I replied slowly. “Even Willie doesn’t know how long the vapour holds its strength. But he’s working on it.”  A thought struck me. “Where are your folks?”

     “Haven’t any.”

     “Oh. Were you hatched?”

     “I mean, they’re dead.”

     “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to cheer you up. It’s a good job you’ve got a sense of humour.”

She gave me a sad little smile.

     “Thanks. I know you were.”  She finished her coffee. “I must go.”

I looked at my watch.

     “Me too.” I gulped my coffee and stood up. “When you’re free, come to the Ops room and I’ll show you round. If you’re interested, of course?”

     “Thanks. I will. That’s where it’s all going to happen, isn’t it?”

We walked over to the door. I noticed a little smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

     “By the way, Dave, there is one question you can answer for me.”

     “Fire away,” I invited.

     “What colour pyjamas do you wear?”

Now, my girl, I thought, I shall get my own back. I waited until I was half out the door then I turned to face her.

     “As a matter of fact,” I leered, “I don’t wear pyjamas.”

     “I guessed as much,” she said.


The following Wednesday, the middle of the sixth week after the conference, Karen came to look round the Ops room. Rather to my surprise she seemed genuinely interested in what was going on and stopped to talk to some of the radio operators about their work. This worked out very well, as it boosted the men’s morale to have a long-legged sexy female coming to chat to them  and the women operators seemed pleased to see a female visitor. I felt as if I was escorting Royalty or some such personage on a guided tour as I waited for her to say a few words to each operator.

She studied the huge wall map closely and commented that we’d got even the remotest parts of the globe covered well.

     “We have to,” I explained. “There’s absolutely no way to tell where the Spheres will land and we must have an accurate record of the affected areas.”

I was interrupted by a commotion on the other side of the room.

     “Excuse me, sir,” a voice called urgently. Before I had time to think about moving I had covered the distance between me and the operator and was standing next to him.

     “What is it?” I demanded sharply.

     “Got a report from sector two,” said the operator. “Just a moment, sir.”

He turned back to the radio and exchanged a few words with his counterpart.

     “Sphere sighted at fifteen forty seven hours. ETA oh four fifty six hours Friday.”

There was a dead silence in the room for a full minute. A pin dropping would have sounded like Bow Bells.

     “That Sphere ain’t half bloody moving, sir,”  the operator glanced at Karen and blushed, “begging your pardon, ma’am, if it’s going to get here on Friday.”

     “Right,” I said crisply. “Start the procedure as arranged. You!” I called to a Private standing near the door. “My compliments to the Brigadier and inform him of this development. The operator will give you the details. Then find Professor Wilkes and tell him.”

Karen had come to stand next to me. “Ought I to go, Dave?” she asked worriedly.

I considered.  “Yes, perhaps you had. I’ll see you later. And Karen.” I put my hand on her arm. “I think you’ve just witnessed the beginning of the end.”

She left without a word.

The Old Man and Willie arrived together.

     “One Sphere only?” asked Willie.

I nodded. “So far. No reports of any other sightings yet.”

The Brigadier motioned us away from the radio men.

     “You realise what this could mean?”

     “Another emissary,” I said.

He nodded. “The question now arises, do we risk letting it land, or send up an ICBM and blast it to hell and back?”

     “Oh, God! At least I don’t have to make that decision.” Willie rubbed his face wearily and added, “Better call an emergency meeting, I suppose. We’ve got, what about thirty six hours and someone’s got to do a hell of a lot of thinking in that time.”

He and the Old Man left to arrange the meeting. I stayed in the Ops room and tried to figure out what to do. It was impossible.

Theory A meant that the Nordians were sending another diplomatic party. That meant they would land, make friends, everybody happy, yes? Or we would annihilate them in a split second, blasting them across space in a cloud of  atomic particles to drift for eternity.

Theory B meant that it was a single craft with a vapouriser, either sent as an experiment to see what our reaction would be to it when it landed, and possibly radio controlled so that the vapour gun  could be activated if we were hostile, or, -- bluff and counter-bluff here, --  a single craft with a vapour gun which the Nordians might hope we would think was another ambassador and allow to land, only to discover too late that the craft carried something far more deadly.

The whole thing was highly confusing and I was mightily glad that it wasn’t me who had to decide which it was. A messenger reported that the emergency meeting had been called for eighteen hundred hours and I would be notified if my presence was required. Privately, I doubted it. What they had to discuss was nothing to do with me or my work. I don’t push nasty little red buttons.

By six o’ clock nothing had come through, and as Willie had agreed that nothing was liable to happen to him within the confines of the operations area, I left strict instructions that I was to be contacted if anything further developed and went off to the restaurant. There was no-one there. Which was a pity because I hadn’t got the foggiest notion where Karen lived.

When I got home, which was a small flat allocated to me in one of the huge prefabricated buildings,  she was waiting outside the door.

     “Ah!” I greeted her cheerfully. “The fly has walked into the spider’s web, then?”

     “I’m not inside yet,” she countered.

I opened the door and stood to one side to let her through.

     “Is it safe?”

     “The building? Yes, well, I shouldn’t think it will collapse about our ears, anyway.”

     “I wasn’t referring to the building,” she said patiently.

     “I’ll give you a saucepan to hold if it’ll make you feel happier.”

She went inside. I followed and shut the door.

     “Take a pew,” I invited, sweeping some papers off an armchair. “Been waiting long?”

     “The Ops room told me you’d gone when I phoned them,” she said absently. “What a mess!” She surveyed the room critically.

     “Yes,” I agreed sadly. “It lacks a woman’s touch.” I nearly added ‘so do I’ but managed to stop myself in time.

     “And to what do we owe this pleasure?” I asked, instead.

She paused before answering, then said slowly, “It’s just occurred to me that you wouldn’t have a saucepan because you eat in the restaurant.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, would a bookend do instead?”

She gave me a funny look. “I’ll tidy up this mess as best I can while you  make some coffee.”

I nodded and moved towards the door to the kitchenette.

     “And take a cold shower,” she added wickedly.

Twenty minutes later the place looked a whole lot better, which is to say that all the papers were stacked in a pile in one corner, all the washing up was in the sink, the ashtrays had been emptied, the books piled neatly on the table and the empty beer bottles were in the dustbin. Typical bachelor, that’s me.

I set two cups of coffee down on the table. “You do realise that I’ll never be able to find anything now you’ve been around,” I said conversationally.

     “At least it’s fit for visitors now, compared to what it was before.”

     “Oh. Are you coming again, then?”

     “That depends,” she said drily.

A sudden silence fell.

     “I meant it depends on you,”  Karen said awkwardly,  looking at her coffee.  “Sorry. I didn’t mean ---”

     “I know,” I said wearily. Silence again as we drank our coffee.

     “Some more?”

She nodded. “Isn’t there anything we can do?” She followed me into the kitchenette.

“Not really. Willie is trying to come up with something but it seems hopeless.” I paused.  “Karen, if you could have seen that mind film thing……it was unbelievable.”

I made the coffee.

     “Well, if you can’t stop the Spheres and you can’t stop the vapour, it seems to me that you’ll have to learn to live with it, or in it, until it goes and you can re-inhabit the towns and cities again. After all, there’s no vapour now on Mars, or Nordia, or whatever it’s called, is there?”

     “True. But don’t forget that their war was millennia ago. Exactly how long, we don’t know. And we don’t know how long the vapour retains its power.”

We sipped coffee for a while.

     “Of course, I’m not a scientist,” she said, “but I should think it loses its power as soon as it runs out of whatever it is it eats.”

     “Hydrogen.”

     “Mmm. Yes. Well,  as soon as it’s had all the hydrogen, what can it do?”

I pondered this.

     “Not being a scientist myself either, I’m not sure. I’ll ask Willie.”

We returned to the  other room and sat down. There were only two armchairs and no sofa, damn it.

     “Anyway,” I said, “I think I’ll stroll over to the Ops room and see what’s new, and find out if the meeting’s over. Fancy a walk?”

     “Suits me.”

There was nothing new and the meeting was still in progress.

     “That’s that,” I said as we left the Ops room. “How about a nice romantic walk home along the picturesque precast concrete corridors?”

Karen chuckled.

     “If you think they’re romantic, I’d hate to see you in a park or on a lake.”

That reminded us that we would probably never see a park or a lake again and the conversation after that was somewhat strained. I left Karen at her door and walked home thoughtfully. I had the peculiar feeling I’d missed something important but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what it was.

I was woken at seven thirty the following morning and asked to report to the Ops room. The realisation that I would miss breakfast was offset by some speculation about why I was wanted. Willie was already there.

     “Morning, Dave. Had a good breakfast? Good. I wanted to tell you what was decided at the conference.”

     “No,” I said shortly. “I have not had breakfast. But I daresay I can listen as well on an empty stomach.”

     “Hmmm. Well, anyway, it ended up as a vote, as we might have expected.” Willie looked at me carefully. “They’re going to hit it, Dave.”

I didn’t feel anything.

     “I suppose it’s the best way,” I said at last. “Better than taking the risk of it landing.”

Willie nodded.    “Certainly. I must admit I – er – I voted that way.”

It was my turn to nod.  “No further developments?”

     “None. The Sphere is still due to hit earth’s atmosphere at four fifty six a.m. The Americans will hit it at two eighteen.”

I suddenly remembered Karen’s idea.

     “Willie, I was talking to Karen last night.”

His eyebrows shot up.  “I wouldn’t let your father know about that.”

I shook my head. “I’m not telling him. I’m telling you.”

     “Hmmm. Nice opportunity for a little blackmail. Go on.”

     “She said something about living with, or in, the vapour. She also suggested that the vapour would lose its power when it had absorbed all the hydrogen. Anything to it, d’you think?”

Willie rubbed his bewhiskered chin ruminatively.

     “It’s a reasonable argument, but the snag is, at what rate will it lose its power in any given, defined, area,  and how long will that take? Could be days, months, years.”

     “I know it seems silly,” I went on cautiously, “but wouldn’t it be possible to sort of live out the worst part somehow and then wait for it to disperse before we started off again?”

Willie sighed.

     “Start off with what, Dave? You know yourself that there would be no water, no plants, nothing. It’d be like trying to live in the Sahara. No, I’m afraid it’s not practical or possible.”

But I’d stopped listening. As a natural event I was remembering the rest of my conversation with Karen. Fancy a walk? Suits me. Suits. Suits!

That’s what I was trying to figure out last night.

     “Listen, Willie! I’ve just had a brainwave.”

     “Huh!  ’Bout time somebody had one!” Willie snorted. “I expect it’s already been thought of, but let’s hear it.”

That sobered me up. He was probably right. There were far more brilliant minds than mine thinking about how to get out of this mess and, as Willie had said, somebody had assuredly already thought of it.

     “Well, come on man! Let’s have it!” Willie leaned forward impatiently.

     “Oh. Well, as you say, it’s probably not so good after all, but I was just thinking of suits.”

     “Suits?” Willie echoed blankly. “What the hell are you blathering about? What suits?”

     “Astronauts’ suits. For getting into the vapour and perhaps getting hold of a gun….”

I trailed off, taken aback by the look on Willie’s face.

     “Suits!” he choked. “Divers’  suits. Quarantine suits, but with their own air supply. By God, Dave! You might have just got something after all!”

And with that he shot out of the room.

There was nothing much doing after this bit of excitement so I decided I’d try for some breakfast anyway. As I headed for the restaurant I made up my mind not to say anything to Karen about the suits until I’d heard from Willie, but, as it turned out,  she wasn’t there and didn’t come on duty until twelve o‘clock. A large helping of ham and eggs, toast and marmalade and several cups of coffee made the world seem a slightly better place. A consultation with my watch informed me that it was twenty to nine so I called for a final coffee and decided that this morning I would hunt out the Old Man and find out if there were any startling developments that I should know about. I was just about to leave the table and head for his office when Willie walked into the restaurant, looked round, waved a hand at me and came charging over.

     “By God, you have got something with that idea of yours, Dave!” he began. He plumped heavily into a chair opposite me. “What we’re going to do,” he continued, “is to ask for volunteers to don the astronauts’ type of suits and then go into the vapour and try to reach the gun. If they can put it out of action somehow even if it means blowing it up, we might just stand a chance.”

     “Hang on a minute,” I said quickly. “Do you mean to sit there and tell me that no-one has thought of  this already?”

     “Nope. They haven’t. Incredible though it is, we’ve all been so het up about the vapour and its effects, how to stop it spreading, how to negate its impact and so on, that not one person figured out that we might actually be able to get into the blasted stuff and knock out the guns.”

I stared at him disbelievingly. He leaned back and regarded me thoughtfully.

     “Mind you,” he added,  “that doesn’t solve matters by a long chalk. We still have our original problem, - that is, how to stop the vapour spreading. And, of course, once it starts, things will be just as hopeless as before. We shall still lose all biological life as we know it.”

     “Hmmm.” I stirred my cup of cold coffee.

Willie sighed and suddenly seemed very old and tired.

     “I can’t see any answer to this, you know. Except one.”

I looked up at him.  “What’s that?”

     “Let things take their course. Cram as many people into this type of shelter as we can and hope  for the best. There are several hundreds of this type of  enormous thingummies being built, plus of course there are ordinary fallout shelters which are probably just as good.”

I nodded thoughtfully.

     “Who decides who goes in and who stays out, Willie?”

The little scientist shook his head.

     “It wouldn’t work that way. Heads of state and their technological advisors are automatically safe because that’s the way things have been for years and years. But when it comes to the public,” he gave a shrug and shook his head again, “it would be a case of first come, first served.”

     “There’d be riots,” I said.

     “There will be anyway, most likely,” Willie said heavily.

He fell silent and I think he was probably imagining the same things as I was:-- hundreds of people in densely populated towns and cities trying vainly to get away from the pink mist as it curled inexorably nearer, beating on the doors of shelters pleading to be let in, only to be told that this shelter was full, and try someplace else, buddy.”

     “It doesn’t bear thinking about, Willie.”

     “The whole bloody issue doesn’t bear thinking about,” answered Willie morosely. “But we have to think about it. We have to go on planning and scheming and hoping and praying until there’s no time left or until we’re all dead.”

Somebody tapped me on the shoulder. I managed not to jump more than about four feet, and swivelled round in my seat. A young Private stood there.

     “Damn it all!” I snapped. “Do you always address your officers like that?”

He jumped to attention and saluted.

     “Sir!  Begging the Captain’s pardon, sir! I –er, -- I –er --”

     “Alright! What is it, soldier?”

He shot one arm out and presented me with a folded bit of paper. I took it with a nod and he saluted again and turned away.

     “What’s that? A love letter?” Willie chuckled.

     “No. It’s not,” I said. “It’s the big one, Willie. They’ve picked up more Spheres heading for Earth. They estimate about four to five hundred of them.”
 

                                                                                 Chapter 3

The tiny dot of white light moved slowly across the screen from the top, heading down at a tangent towards the nine o’clock position. Another tiny spot of light travelled out from the centre of the screen towards a point midway between ten and eleven o’clock. Slowly, slowly they moved, the distance between them narrowing as they converged. The second spot of light touched the first dot at its bottom-most point, the two blips merged together, became very bright, and then there was nothing.

I straightened my cramped back and looked round the Ops room. All around, people were watching radar screens and scanner monitors. I’d been staring at this one for twenty minutes and my neck and back ached. I moved over to where Wilkes was standing, near the wall map.

     “That’s it, then,” I commented.

     “Mmmm.” Willie nodded. “One down, five hundred to go.”

     “How many do you think will get through?”

     “Impossible to say.” He rubbed his chin. “I suppose a rough estimate would be about fifty to eighty.”

I whistled. “As many as that!”

The scientist snorted derisively. “They only need one, let’s face it. I’m being pessimistic.”

     “I’m thinking of the havoc fifty of these bloody things will wreak.”

Willie turned and studied the map.

     “The question now is, where will the blasted things make for?”

He went off into a reverie, muttering to himself.

As it was now two thirty in the morning I decided that I would grab some sleep while I could since it might be a long time before I had a chance to sleep again. On the other hand, of course,  I might find myself having a rest of a more permanent kind in the near future. No, that wasn’t very likely, I thought. Everyone in the complex should be safe enough. I detailed a Sergeant to take over my duties and left the hive of nocturnal activity to its buzzing. I was just getting undressed and looking forward to a quick drink before bed when there was a knock at the door.

     “Who is it?”

     “Me.”

     “Oh.”

I flung a bathrobe on and went to let her in.

     “My God! Perhaps I’d better have the bookend this time!”

     “That’s your fault for knocking on bachelors’ doors at half past two in the morning.”

     “I didn’t know if you’d be awake.”

     “I’ve only just got in.”

I closed the door, decided not to lock it, and turned to face her.

     “Well, they wiped it out. Kerbam! Just like that.”

She didn’t say anything. I moved away from the door and went to pour a drink.

     “Not that it did any good, mind. There’s more on the way.”

I heard her give a little gasp.

     “How many?” she whispered.

I handed her a large whisky.

     “Drink this. Five hundred, give or take a few.”

She went as white as a sheet.

     “I’m sorry,” I apologised. “Perhaps I should have said it differently.”

She took a swallow of her drink and stared at the floor.

     “Will they get many of them?”

     “Most. About fifty to eighty may get through. That’s the estimate.”

She laughed, a harsh, bitter laugh, and unknowingly echoed Willie’s words.

     “It only needs one.” The rest of the drink went in one gulp. “Can I have another?”

I took the glass and refilled it and the second drink went the same way as the first.

     “I feel better now.”

     “Good. I thought for a moment there that you’d come here to get drunk.”

     “I didn’t come for that.”

     “Something else, then,” I prompted.

     “Just to find out the latest news. I didn’t expect that.”

My back still ached a bit, so I unpropped the sideboard and sat in an armchair.

     “The latest news,” I said slowly, looking at my own glass,  “is that the Spheres will arrive on Sunday evening at about nine p.m., our time.”

She dropped into the other chair.

     “What’ll happen then?”

     “Some will be destroyed. Some will get through and then we shall start receiving alerts about the vapour, where it’s going, how fast, and so on. From that information we shall be able to plan out who should be evacuated from where and how quickly. After that, we wait.”

     “We wait,” she repeated dully. “For how long, Dave?”

I shrugged. Suddenly I didn’t feel like talking about it. And despite my feelings about Karen, I decided I didn’t feel like company, either.

     “Anyway, if you don’t mind, Karen, I’m tired. I must get some sleep.”

     “There’s something I want to ask you before I go.”

I waited.

     “What does the Brigadier think about us?”

     “The Old Man? I don’t think he knows. Why?”

     “Would you be in trouble if he found out?”

I lolled comfortably in the armchair and thought about it.

     “No, I don’t think so. I haven’t done anything that could be construed as a breach of security, or anything like that. As long as I don’t mix business and pleasure, and business comes first, I don’t see that he could complain.”

She looked relieved.

     “I’m glad. I thought perhaps, you know, people ---”

I stood up.  “Don’t worry. You come and visit me any time you like.”

She smiled and rose.

“Will you be up for breakfast?”

“I doubt it.”

The smile turned into a grin. “Then I’ll come and cook something for you specially.”

After she had gone I recorked the Scotch, turned out the light and got into bed.  I lay for a while, thinking of what was to come, how bad it would be, and where it would end. Then I thought, how the hell can she cook breakfast……there’s no cooker in the flat.

American, Russian and Chinese ICBMs engaged four hundred and twenty five Nordian spheres at eight thirty two p.m. on Sunday  February 26th.

Of the four hundred and twenty five they destroyed three hundred and six. A second salvo of missiles fired six minutes later accounted for a further one hundred and one. The remaining eighteen spread out from their original V shaped formation and adopted a series of trajectories just above the atmosphere, which would encompass the entire globe of Earth.

I stood in the Ops room near one of the map tables in the middle of the room. Shirt-sleeved men and women scurried about collecting details of the movement of the spheres from the radio operators and making minute alterations to the blue buttons on the tables that represented the paths of the spheres. Willie Wilkes stood next to me, rubbing his chin in that thoughtful mannerism of his.

     “This is too easy,” he said. “There should be no problem knocking out these last eighteen. What’ll happen then, though, I wonder. Surely the Nordians can’t have risked everything in one fell swoop and hoped that one Sphere would get through undamaged.”

     “Perhaps they wanted to see what our prime defences would be,” I suggested.  “They may well send up another five hundred spheres and adopt a different tactic.”

     “Could be.” Willie watched as one of the men moved two of the buttons. “That V formation is what I would have expected. Say we’d knocked off the whole lot except for the one in the middle at the back. That’s all they would have needed.”

     “Perhaps that was the idea,” I ventured. “But in view of the fact that there were eighteen left, they decided to try and push all of them through.”

Willie chewed his lip and nodded. “Of course. As many as they can. We’ll find out soon enough.”

A woman placed a little magnetic card next to one of the blue buttons. It gave the height and speed of the Sphere.

     “Hallo!” said Willie sharply. “This one’s started to lose height.” He examined the map carefully. “Looks like the States, but there’s plenty of time for it to alter course.”

He pulled a notepad towards him and did some rapid calculations.

     “At this rate it’ll arrive over the States in about twenty six minutes.” He turned to a radio operator. “Tell McGovern to knock that one out if he wants to eat breakfast.”

Somebody came and removed three buttons.

     “Three down, fifteen to go,” said a new voice and I looked up to see the Old Man standing on the other side of the table. “Watch out for the ones heading for uninhabited areas. There’s one that looks as if it’s going for Siberia.”

Willie lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke across the table.

     “We have a new problem,” he said quietly.  “I’ve been watching the trajectories of these three.” He pointed. “They’re dodging about.”

     “How d’you mean?” the Old Man queried.

Willie drew an odd shaped lightning flash on his notepad.

     “Every so often, at random intervals they take a sort of sidestep, so to speak. Look.”

He dropped the pad on the table. The little drawing showed that the spheres were indeed moving to one side or the other before continuing on their original trajectories.

     “It varies from up, down, left, right or any combination of them,” said Willie.

The Old Man waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. We can alter the course of the ICBMs to match.”      “But more chance of a near miss than a hit if they time their move right,” Willie pointed out. “There’s going to be a moment,” the scientist elucidated, “when the time factor will outweigh the radio signal factor and your ground to missile signal will deflect the rocket too late and it’ll overshoot its target. Isn’t that so?”

The Old Man grimaced. “Yes.”

     “In that case we shall be in trouble,” Willie finished and folded his arms.

     “Hmmm.” The Brigadier stared at the table. “Better have a word with McGovern.”

He hurried away in search of the radio operator who was in contact with the commander in charge of the American missile deployments. A pretty young girl removed another button.

 A great burly fellow with hands the size of hams scooped up three more and moved another one.

     “Eleven left,” I observed helpfully. “What about giving them numbers?”

The business of allocating numerical values and informing the radio and radar operators which number Sphere they were tracking took ten minutes. When we returned to the map table there were only four left.

     “Ah! That’s a bit more manageable!” Willie surveyed the table with a pleased expression. “Now, if McGovern and Nickolenki and Wong Ho can try just a little bit harder, we might be home and dry.”

The table was now surrounded by people; operators whose spheres had been destroyed and thus who had no need to man their stations for a brief while, men who had buttons to move, the three wall map operators, everyone, in fact, who had nothing to do at that particular moment. The spheres that remained were numbers two, five, six and nine. Since there was such a crush round the table and since the tension in the room was an almost palpable thing, the radio operators were calling out instructions in case the map men couldn’t reach the relevant buttons.

“Two out!” called a voice.

“Number two out,” confirmed a map man and swept up the button.

“Number nine now bearing 406 by 272.”

I moved button number nine to its new position.

     “Number five out!”

The confirmation was drowned out by a resounding cheer.

     “That leaves six and nine,” commented Willie. “Siberia and the Sahara if their present courses remain unchanged.”

     “They got the one over the States, then” I observed.

     “Obviously.” Willie nodded.

     “Six out!”

Another cheer and all eyes turned to the operator for North East Asia. The man had his headphones clamped tightly over his head and the sweat glistened on his forehead. A silence fell in the room, disturbed only by the rustling of papers and the shuffle of feet. The radio operator slammed one hand down on his desk and yanked his headphones from his head with the other.

     “Nine out! Nine out!” he yelled.

Pandemonium broke loose in the Ops room. Scanner and radio operators clapped each other on the back, other men shook hands with Willie and a few grabbed me and started pumping my arm until it went numb. Over which was the noise of several scores of people cheering and shouting. Eventually it died down and the men drifted back to their places to resume contact with their foreign counterparts.

     “That’s it, then,” I said. “There won’t be a war.”

Willie’s eyes were alight. “No, Dave, it doesn’t look as if there will be. God knows it was easy enough, which should make any scientific man worth his salt suspicious, but we got’em all!”

     “Professor!” The Old Man had appeared and was shaking Willie by the hand. “Congratulations! So we didn’t need your machines after all.”

     “Just as well,” the scientist smiled drily. “They aren’t ready, in any case.”

This little tête-a-tête was disturbed by a sudden electric tension in the room. The Brigadier, myself and Willie glanced at the corner of the room at the same moment, as did every other person in the room. Time stopped for a moment as some sixty people all turned to stare at one spot. The spot was a radio operator and he was clutching his headphones to his head as if his life depended on them. It dawned on me that the cue for this mass examination of one man was his agonised, half strangled shout which had permeated our consciousness a mere three seconds ago.

The operator turned to face the room. His face was white.

     “Corrections!” he said hoarsely. He swallowed and tried again. “Corrections to earlier reports. Spheres numbered two and six have not, I repeat, not been destroyed. They --” he gulped and took a deep breath.

     “They dropped below radar level and hedge-hopped. They are now travelling in opposite directions towards each of the Polar ice-caps.”

The Old Man, Willie and I stared at each other.

     “Dear God!” Willie’s face blanched and he gasped for breath. “It’s uninhabited there!  If the vapour is released……..those huge areas of ice and water !…….”

    

 

                                                         AUTHOR'S AFTERWORD

So there you have it.

A cliff-hanger ending, yes, but not by choice.

It was at this stage that I needed some way for those people to protect themselves.

And save the planet?

Who knows?

The story has been scanned into  computer format with only minor changes to the grammar and the occasional word replacement. In all other respects the story is in its original 1970s form.

Now, in this modern, digital age, the story would not work at all, of course.

With the staggering advances in science and technology, not to mention military hardware and software, telescopes would have seen the original visitors long before they got anywhere near Earth. And any monitoring equipment today could pinpoint any galactic craft to within a few metres, never mind which continent they were overflying. It is also quite possible that science today could indeed devise a way of preventing the loss of hydrogen in our atmosphere, or even replace it as it vanished.

But it was fun to write at the time.

I still regret though,  that I couldn’t finish the three novellas……….

David Barry.

England. 2012.

© Copyright David Barry 1973.  

© Scanned copy copyright David Barry 2012.

©   No part of this story or its subsequent screenplay or synopsis may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, by any means or in any form, including electronically, either wholly or in part, without written permission from the copyright holders.