The Unbegotten (18 page)

 

Stefan Andromovitch stood in the Red Square, with the Tomb of Lenin and Stalin a few yards behind him, the onion spires of the Cathedral of St. Basil on his right. The great wall of the Kremlin was lined with troops who stood at attention on either side of the tomb.

Red Square had been cleared of all civilians.

Barriers were at all the approaches, those from the hotels and the Museum on the south to the roads leading towards Gym, the great department store, on the west. The big cobbles of the square itself shone faintly in the first light of dawn.

With Andromovitch were two members of the Presidium, as well as officers of the secret police, the army and representatives of the Communist Party. Also with him were some of the scientists who planned the Russian space probes. A cordon of soldiers was formed about the square, and searchlights shining on the scene were still stronger than the light of dawn.

Inside the Kremlin, Andromovitch knew, were representatives from most European Governments as well as their ambassadors and consuls from far off lands who were already here. Across the world's skies presidents and leaders of nations were already flying, soon to congregate in one of the great halls of the Kremlin's many palaces.

No one knew exactly what to expect.

Aircraft circled the square, their engines roaring, and already spectators were gathering. For news of the powerful
Nega
waves had spread through Russia as if the air itself conveyed the story.

Television and film cameras were placed at various vantage spots in Red Square, on roofs and walls and at windows. Radio commentators and microphones were already in position.

The daylight slowly brightened.

Suddenly there was a curious wind-like sound, as of air rushing through trees. Then what might have been a rocket landed, base first, with no sound on contact. Retractable feet, spread wide to cushion the landing, gradually drew themselves into the base of the capsule, and there was stillness except in the breasts of men, who had been shaken out of their calm by the sudden apparition.

Soldiers moved towards the capsule but before they reached it the door opened and Palfrey stepped out.

He appeared so commonplace and ordinary that it was very much an anti-climax. His hair was awry, he looked as if he had slept in his rumpled clothes, and he might have stepped out of an armchair in his own home. There was no uniform, no space suit, nothing to betray the fact that he had travelled at least a quarter of a million miles since he had stepped into the space capsule.

He blinked about him, half-dazed, and it was some seconds before he espied Stefan Andromovitch. Andromovitch broke ranks and moved towards him with great strides. The cameras whirred or flashed, microphones were switched on, as the leader and the deputy leader of Z5 embraced in Red Square under those thousands of anxious, watching eyes. At last, they drew away from each other, and Stefan asked with quivering intensity, ‘Have you really news, Sap?'

‘Of a kind,' answered Palfrey.

‘Is there hope?' The question seemed to force its way out.

Palfrey knew that Stefan must be under pressure to ask these questions at this moment, for nothing could be said until he had discussed the ultimatum with the leaders of nations. He saw pleading in Stefan's eyes, a desperate plea for an answer.

He said crisply, ‘Hope for the living, yes. For the future, possibly.'

‘Are you sure?' Stefan barked.

‘I'm quite sure,' Palfrey declared. ‘Quite, quite sure.'

 

Question and answer swept round the world. There was hope for the living but much less hope for those unborn. On screens and from microphones the brief question and answer came, and then the world waited as Palfrey and Andromovitch were led towards the wide gates and went to join the assembly behind the Kremlin walls.

 

 

The great assembly listened to Palfrey as he told them exactly what the Master had said, what he himself had seen and promised to do. He spoke from the stage of the New Kremlin Theatre, with the great chandeliers glistening above the heads of the people who sat in the auditorium, elbow to elbow. All colours and all races were together, there was no division of black or white, or East or West.

Palfrey had never known an assemblage so subdued, as if without hope. There had been many threats to the world, threats of great calamity, and even of extinction. Always when he had reported, there had been individuals who had shouted defiance.

‘We will never give in.'

‘We must fight back.'

‘We must destroy them.'

But no such cries were made. There was a mood of utter defeatism when Palfrey had finished. From here and there came a subdued attempt to break through this.

‘We must do something,' or, ‘There must be something we can do.'

A woman, one of a dozen in an assemblage of over a thousand, said in a very clear voice, ‘This is the first time I've ever known men acknowledge such need of women.'

Somewhere near by an elderly woman was crying, quite shamelessly. A man called out in a husky voice, ‘It is beyond the imagination. No more children to be born into this world.'

‘Palfrey,' a man called. He was South African or Rhodesian. ‘Palfrey!'

‘Yes?' Palfrey looked across at him.

‘You've never sounded so absolutely hopeless before. Isn't there
any
way you can prevent this appalling disaster?'

‘I can see none,' Palfrey answered flatly. ‘I've explored every possible way and I think the Master's stranglehold is complete. I've considered every possibility, and I'm here to ask for suggestions from you.' When there was no response at all, he turned to Andromovitch. ‘Have you any ideas, Stefan?'

The huge man shook his head with great sadness.

A man beside him spoke in Russian, and Stefan translated into English sentence by sentence. Everyone in the great theatre strained forward to look at the speaker and to hear Stefan.

‘Is it not possible with all our resources to trace the satellite—Is this not an occasion when the Americans and ourselves should work together and destroy the satellite?—Would the Americans agree?'

A man called from the audience, ‘We'd certainly go along with that. Anything is worth a try.'

Palfrey could not see who was speaking, but he had no doubt at all that the White House and the Kremlin would agree to work together – they had a common interest in the survival of the human race even if the day came when they tried to destroy each other.

A tremor of hope seemed to run through the assembly.

‘If it could be traced—'

‘Would our war-head missiles be trained on it—'

‘Can
it be traced?'

One of the men with Stefan, Cossokov, a vice-chairman of the Presidium, rapped on the table with his gavel.

‘Please ask your questions to me,' he rebuked.

In a flash Palfrey's thoughts were taken back to the Council meeting at Middlecombe, to the West Country chairman in his heavy tweeds, calling for questions through the chair. That seemed to have happened a whole decade ago.

‘I just want to know,
can
it be traced?' a man called.

A heavily-built man next to the chairman whispered in the other's ear, and all attention was soon riveted on him. Never had Palfrey known an audience so much on edge, switching its attention from one speaker to the next – as if they were watching the ball in a match at Wimbledon.

‘Comrade Vassilov,' the chairman said.

‘Gentlemen.' Vassilov had a gentle voice which would not have been heard but for the microphone in front of Cossokov. ‘I can answer that question. Yes, this satellite could be traced. It could perhaps be destroyed. But from what Dr. Palfrey has said there is no way of being sure that it would not complete its task before this happened. Any satellite which can be controlled as this one would undoubtedly be able to take unusually effective evasive action. I have already a report on the capsule in which Dr. Palfrey travelled here. It is of greatly advanced design, we have no small capsules which are comparable. It can be used—it has already been used—as an offensive weapon, and it can almost certainly be used defensively also. The chances of our destroying this satellite before it destroys us are small. indeed, are negligible.'

There was a sudden, very noticeable change of mood, which showed in the tones of many voices, in eyes, on a hundred faces, as if suddenly hope had been reborn.

‘If there is
any
chance—'

‘We ought to try everything!'

‘How long would you take—'

‘Gentlemen,' interrupted the chairman with a heavy blow of his gavel. ‘We must not all talk at once. Dr. Palfrey, you have perhaps something to say at this stage?'

‘When the Master told me that he could add bacteria to the
Nega
waves which would quickly spread death over all the Earth, I believed him,' Palfrey said simply. ‘I don't see how we can defeat the man who calls himself the Master.'

A man screamed, ‘
But there must be a way
!'

‘There is a way for those of us who are alive to stay alive,' Palfrey stated. ‘God knows I wish I hadn't got to say it but I don't see any alternative but capitulation.'

This time, no one spoke.

He knew what many were thinking. that with space probes, space stations on the way to the moon and every conceivable form of anti-warhead weapon available, there must be a way of locating and destroying the satellite
Nega.
There must be . . .

But could they find it in time?

 

In the satellite, Joyce Morgan and Reginald Maddern sat in front of a small television screen, watching and listening with their hearts in their mouths. They could see Palfrey and the others on the platform and through microphones plugged into their ears, could hear every word. Stefan's strong and handsome face showed vividly, so did the strength in Palfrey's, even though he had obviously no hope at all. They heard him say, ‘—I don't see any alternative but capitulation.' Maddern closed his eyes, and Joyce said in a husky voice, ‘Oh, Sap, Sap, what's happened to you?'

Maddern said, ‘Isn't he usually like this?'

‘Like this? He's the most courageous man I know. He
never
gives up hope.'

Maddern glanced at her as if in surprise and then edged towards her. He spoke so low that she could hardly hear.

‘Is
he hopeless?'

‘I don't understand you.'

‘You've worked for him so long that you ought to know,' said Maddern, still in that low-pitched voice. ‘Isn't he up to some little game of his own?'

Joyce didn't reply as she looked into his eyes, but after a while she said huskily, ‘He could be. Yes, he could be.'

They fell silent, and the voices came again from the theatre in the Kremlin.

 

Palfrey was watching the assembly closely, wondering how many of these people had the faintest idea what the odds were. There was a kind of artificial vitality among everyone now, the Russian had lit the fires of hope, and everyone was adding fuel. Yet there was really only the one hope – that the planet could be destroyed from within. As it controlled the satellites, its destruction would be the end of the
Nega
galaxy.

If he could get back to Nega taking with him an explosive strong enough for complete destruction, then there was hope for the world. If the chance were one in a million, it had to be taken. In the meantime it was better to allow these delegates to talk, better that he should be pessimistic and urge surrender. This way he would be more likely to retain the Master's confidence, and without that strange man's trust, he could never go back.

There were Joyce and Maddern, of course, two precious lives which might have to be sacrificed, with his own, to save the lives of millions upon millions. But there was no other choice.

He had to get back to Nega.

And he had to take with him something which could destroy the planet and everything in it.

 

A man in the audience stood up and called in a penetrating voice, ‘We're getting nowhere, Mr. Chairman. We have now to decide what to do.'

‘We can make no decisions,' retorted the chairman. ‘We can only take recommendations back to our governments. Isn't that so, Dr. Palfrey?'

‘Of course,' Palfrey agreed. ‘I must return to London soon, each delegate to his own government. I hope all the official responses will be sent to me. I can't be sure but I believe that the man who calls himself the Master will allow us at least four days in which to decide.'

‘Four
days
,' the man with the penetrating voice called out.

‘Four days' echoed like a sigh about the theatre . . .

‘Four days,' remarked the Master to Joyce and Maddern. ‘Yes. It is reasonable. And it is reasonable that Dr. Palfrey should return to London, to collect the messages. I need to send Azran with a message, too – that any country which decided to defy me would be given no choice to live. It must be all or none. All or none,' he added and turned away.

When they were alone, Joyce said in a hopeless voice, ‘How I hope you're right about Sap.'

‘Don't you know him well enough to be sure?' asked Maddern.

‘Not now,' she confessed. ‘As I've told you, I think he's changed very much. Or—I've changed.' She placed her hands in Maddern's and went on, ‘It's so strange, I can hardly believe it's true. Until a few weeks ago I was hopelessly in love with him. I was desperately hurt whenever he left me to come away, hurt that he did not feel the same way towards me as I did towards him. Life was all hurt. I knew that by working for him I was sublimating my love for him – that serving him was a way of living for him. And now I don't feel like that at all.'

‘How do you feel?' asked Maddern, gently.

‘Numbed, where Sap is concerned,' she said. ‘For the first time ever I came to the conclusion that his tactics were wrong over this case, and I—'

She began to cry.

Maddern said gently, ‘Don't cry, darling. Please don't cry.'

When she went on crying, he said in great distress, ‘Joyce, don't upset yourself so. Sap isn't almighty. It's no crime to differ with him, and he would be the last to blame you.'

“Would he?' she whispered.

‘Of course he would.'

‘Reggie,' she said with an obvious effort, ‘was he right?'

‘About not telling the truth? Yes.'

‘You're sure?'

‘As far as I can be sure of anything,' Maddern answered.

‘Oh, God,' she said. ‘Oh, God. If only there was a way I could make up to him. If only there was a way!'

Maddern put his arms round her and held her very close. Her shoulders, her body, was heaving as she tried to choke back sobs. After a while, he began to frown, and soon he was staring at the back of her head, at the dark hair so lightly touched with grey.

‘Joyce,' he said slowly.

She muttered, ‘Yes?'

‘Joyce, did you release that Press statement?'

After a long time, she answered in an anguished voice, ‘Yes. I slipped it in with others which had come to the Operations Room for vetting—we were keeping close surveillance on the South-West. I was so sure that it had to be done. And he vacillated so much. I felt as I've never felt before against him, that he couldn't always be right, that he must have made mistakes in the past, and would again. And—this was something which only the women could decide.
I
believed the women of the world would want to know the truth. But I was wrong. They've had more pain and suffering in the past few days than in their whole normal lives. When I told the women of the world that there was a real risk that they would never bear children again there was such anguished weeping everywhere. It was a terrible mistake, and I betrayed Sap.'

‘Joyce,' Maddern said. ‘Oh, Joyce.'

His hands moved round her and he drew her towards him and comforted her, while down on Earth the women cried, some aloud but most in silence, until woman after woman began to say the same thing, all over the world.

‘I would rather die than have no children.'

‘
I would rather die
.'

This wail, and it was a wail indeed, grew louder as the hours passed. It reached Palfrey's ears when he was back in London. He landed in the capsule in Green Park, opposite the Élite Hotel, beneath which was Z5's headquarters. He heard it as he crossed Piccadilly towards the side street which led to the hotel. He heard it in the lobby of the hotel, from the old as well as the young, and he heard it when he stepped out of the elevator at the Operations Room. For messages were being relayed from all parts of the world – messages of anguish.

Palfrey went along to his own room, acutely aware of the fact that Joyce wasn't here; it was amazing how much he had come to depend on her, to trust her.

Then he opened the door to his own apartment and saw Azran sitting in his big chair, legs tucked up beneath her, sipping a cool drink. She did not get up when he entered, but smiled brightly at him.

‘I am to wait with you until you have the replies,' she said. ‘And I have one other instruction from the Master.'

‘Oh, have you?' asked Palfrey gruffly. ‘What is it?'

‘He wishes you to find out who released the news and so forced this situation so quickly. If he finds out, he will kill the traitor.'

‘I can understand it,' Palfrey said. ‘I think I would kill him myself, too.'

 

‘What am I going to do?' sobbed Joyce. ‘What am I going to do?'