The Night of the Triffids

'The atom bomb?'

  'Oh, we certainly have those,' the general said crisply, 'but that's too crude a device. A damn sight too mucky as well. What's the point of incinerating the triffids only to be left with a million acres of contaminated soil? No, I'm talking about the ultimate weapon. The weapon that is the oldest known to mankind, as well as being the most powerful.' He smiled a rather hard smile, then inclined his head, inviting me to guess.

  'I'm intrigued. This weapon sounds something pretty special.'

  'Oh, it is.' He leaned forward, enjoying this moment of revelation. 'The weapon is Man himself. Or rather men. And not just men by the dozen, or the thousand. But men - and women! - by the million.' Enthused, he spoke in hushed tones. 'Imagine, if you will, that this city is a huge factory. What it produces, David, is people.'

  'And people are your secret weapon?'

  'Yes, of course. Look, New York is manufacturing people at such a rate that our population will explode.' His yellow eye appeared to burn with a light all its own. 'Within ten years the population will be so great that even a city as great as this will not - cannot - contain it. Its boundaries will burst and people will spill out, hacking and trampling triffids into the dirt where they belong.'

  'But aren't you in danger of expanding the population beyond the limits of self-sufficiency?'

  'Then that threat of famine becomes the spur to drive mankind on.'

  'But surely a slower, more controlled expansion would be a safer-'

  'Safety be damned, man. This is war. Man against triffid. Survival versus extinction. Of course there will be casualties, but with huge reserves of men and women our losses can be replaced in an instant. Wherever a man falls against a triffid, there will be a dozen men to fill the gap.'

  'But isn't increasing the human population going to be a long job?'

  'That's why we have turned procreation into an industrial process,' the general said. 'We bring techniques of mass production to the business of birth.' He touched his fingers, ticking off each point in turn. 'The notion of a woman expending nine months of her valuable childbearing years to produce just one child is unthinkable in the world of today.'

  'You're suggesting that women have litters of babies - like animals?'

  'You call such births litters, which is rather derogatory. We would describe such women as bountiful.'

  'But is it possible to find women capable of bearing twins to order? Surely-'

  'Not twins. I'm talking about triplets or even quads being the norm. In fact, that has been the norm for the last twenty years. Woman receive fertility drugs to produce multiple births.'

  I felt an increasing unease. Hearing this man jubilantly describing how women had been reduced to the level of battery hens had taken quite a lot of the gloss off this community for me.

  'Listen, childbearers are spared the tiring and time-consuming business of raising children. That role is undertaken by women who are either infertile or above childbearing age or suffer some other bar to motherhood.' The general's sharp single good eye read the distaste on my own face. 'You don't approve. Yet I hear your people have their own methods of increasing the birth rate.'

  I thought of the cheerful Mother Houses brimming with happy, much-loved children. 'We do,' I allowed. 'But the manufacturing process is less scientific'

  'You mean it's more haphazard? That you're unable to eliminate birth defects? That one woman squanders nine precious months to produce one child?'

  'It may seem haphazard but it works for us.'

  'And your population is thirty thousand?'

  'Thereabouts.'

  'With, what? - hmm, let's see - fifty per cent of the population being under twenty-five?'

  I nodded.

  'Here,' he said, 'ninety per cent of our population are under the age of twenty-five. So you see, we have an energetic, lively people. Young people with the ambition and the need - yes, the sheer need - to create living space for themselves.' Sighing, the general clasped his hands together in his lap. 'Look at the history books, David. Empires flourished when they had a strong birth rate. On the other hand, empires failed when their birth rate declined. Now, consider how various societies increased their birth rates. In some cultures birth control was banned, in others women who produced large families were handsomely rewarded. Everyone, from pauper to king, did their bit. In short, people equal power. One man can move a stone. A thousand can move a mountain.'

  By the end of this, it had become less a conversation than a political speech delivered by General Fielding. Kerris sat quietly throughout. I wondered then how many she was destined to become mother to? Twenty children? Thirty?

  What's more, I knew General Fielding wanted the Masen-Coker Processor. In turn, I wondered if he'd export his philosophy of population growth, along with his fertility drugs, to my people. That, I can tell you, gave me ample food for thought for the rest of the evening.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  OMEN

  'OK, David. Why the long face?'

  Midnight. We walked along Fifth Avenue arm in arm, the endless traffic producing a dazzling - even dizzying - river of light. A car motor seized with a clang, stopping it dead in the traffic. Horns sounded.

  'David?' Kerris prompted.

  'Oh, nothing.'

  'Clearly you find nothing disheartening?'

  'Well, it's all this business about…' I began peevishly, then trailed off with a shrug.

  'Didn't you like my father?'

  'No… I mean, it's not your father. He's an extraordinary man.' I stopped short of saying that I actually liked him. I had sensed an icy ruthlessness behind the professional smile. 'It's just this production of human babies on what amounts to an industrial scale - which I find unusual, to say the least.'

  'I can't say I've ever really thought about it. But then, this is a foreign land to you, Mr Masen.'

  'And foreigners do things differently, Miss Baedekker.' I smiled. 'Yes, but it's just the thought that one day you… well, dash it all, Kerris, I simply don't like the idea of you mothering Heaven knows how many children.'

  She stopped suddenly and looked at me with those green eyes. Then she put her hand to her mouth and laughed.

  'What's wrong?' I asked, puzzled.

  'David… oh, David. You've a lot to learn. Me with dozens of children? That's ridiculous.'

  'Why? Your father said-'

  'No. David, listen.' She wiped away tears of laughter. 'I don't have the Mother Card.'

  'Mother Card?'

  'Yes. Girls are assessed at thirteen, then they receive their Life Certificates. I have a Career Card, which means I went to college to study for, as the name implies, a career suited to me. Other girls become professional mothers.'

  'Oh.'

  'And they have comfortable rooms, eat well, watch TV until it comes out of their ears. It's not a bad life, being a professional Mother, you know?'

  'I see.'

  'Another thing you should know.' She gave my arm a squeeze. 'When I decide the time is right to have children of my own. I'll get 'em in the old-fashioned way.'

  Here was the rub. General Fielding's vision of what amounted to a tidal wave of human beings sweeping away the triffid menace had made me uneasy. Especially when I heard about multiple births promoted by the intensive use of fertility drugs. After all, a bitch forced to have litters of pups too frequently is destined for premature death. But, distasteful as the general's strategy was to me, I knew it had its merits. It made what I'd hitherto considered the Isle of Wight's impressive birth rate look paltry by comparison. If we were to wage war against the titanic number of triffids, we would need an army of equally titanic proportions. More importantly, General Fielding was driving his community to expand into the triffid-held mainland; to reconquer the world for the human race. While we, on our little island off the coast of England, were content to slumber away our days in blissful ignorance of what was happening in the outside world. We were static, some might even say slothful; we had no plan to re-establi
sh communities on the mainland. My mind returned to the conversation with my father on that fateful evening just a few weeks ago. When he had warned that the island community that he had helped to found faced the real danger of withering away. Although veiled from the population's eyes at the moment, the truth was that the Isle of Wight's peaceful isolation would one day become its nemesis.

  Kerris noticed my gloomy expression. Gently, she tugged my arm. 'Time for coffee and some very gooey doughnuts,' she said firmly. 'Then bed.'

  ***

  Time passed pleasantly. However, I began to feel a twinge of guilt at my idleness during those days with Kerris. I decided that I should tackle the question of my return to the Isle of Wight. I also decided that I would invite Kerris Baedekker to come with me.

  But, as happens so many times in life, plans were overtaken by events. My lotus-eating days were drawing to an end. In that great city minds coolly devised their strategies. And, like a pawn on a chessboard, I would be moved yet again.

  On the afternoon after my first meeting with Kerris's father, General Fielding, I was busily trying to settle scores with one Gabriel Deeds. Some hope! Again his massive forearm smash sent the table-tennis ball ricocheting from the table to smash against the ceiling of the YMCA hall where we played.

  In that gentle voice of his he said, 'My point, I think, Mr Masen.'

  'Your point,' I agreed, breathless.

  I told him I planned to request a lift home at the earliest possible opportunity.

  'That would depend on sailing schedules,' Gabriel told me as he pulled a fresh ball from a carton to replace the one now lying shattered on the floor. 'Atlantic crossings aren't at all frequent yet.'

  'But I saw some big flying boats in the harbour. They'd get me home in less than twenty hours.'

  Gabriel looked round to make sure we weren't overheard. 'Those flying boats…' He dropped his voice to a whisper, as if sharing a risque joke with me. '… They're for show.'

  'For show? They looked perfectly serviceable to me.'

  'With the right fuel, maybe.'

  'They're not converted to run on wood alcohol?'

  'They are, but the fuel isn't sufficiently refined for an airplane engine.' He served. 'You could get one of those babies into the air, then do a circuit of the island. Just.'

  I returned the ball with a deceptive spin that caught him by surprise. 'Good stroke, Mr Masen.' He gave a little shrug. 'But it would be suicide to attempt an Atlantic crossing in one of those planes. You've seen how our cars run on a wing and a prayer. That fuel's so rough it's got teeth. Plays merry hell with the cylinders. Two thousand miles and - bang.' He timed the word to coincide with the return stroke of the bat. 'The pistons lock up tight.'

  My only alternative now was to press for a crossing by boat. But as it was, fate dealt its coincidence card.

  Kerris breezed into the hall. 'Hello, Gabriel. Good afternoon, David. I was told I'd find you here.'

  'And good afternoon to you. You must have spies everywhere,' I added jokingly. 'How did you know I'd be here?'

  'Ah, simplicity itself. I telephoned your hotel. The desk clerk told me that she'd seen you leave with a table-tennis bat in your hand and a rather desperate look in your eye.' She shot a grin at Gabriel. 'Is he losing terribly?'

  Gabriel shrugged. 'This young man is a mere six games down now.'

  'The gap is closing,' I protested with mock hurt.

  'Slowly it is, David. Slowly.'

  'David, listen.' Kerris looked flushed, as if she'd been hurrying. 'I've some news for you. There's been a meeting at the Research Department and the director has authorized a new trip to Europe. It's also been decided to include a diplomatic mission to the Isle of Wight.' She smiled. 'You're going home, David. The ship sails the day after tomorrow.'

  Surprised, I looked at her. 'So soon?'

  Gabriel nodded at me. 'You got your trip after all, David. Congratulations.'

  This was, as New Yorkers say, a whole new ball game. Something in my expression gave me away. Kerris tilted her head to one side. 'Aren't you pleased?'

  'Yes. Of course… only I hadn't expected things to move so quickly.' I met her gaze. 'But I'll only go on one condition, Kerris.'

  'And that condition is?'

  'That you come with me.'

  ***

  It was Gabriel Deeds who suggested the farewell drink. The night before the sailing Kerris and I walked into a blues club that looked out across the water towards the Statue of Liberty. Silent lightning flickered around the metal giant. Electricity charged the humid air. Kerris commented that a storm was brewing out at sea. Her stunning dress of some shimmering red material complemented the climatic fireworks offshore.

  Finding a vacant table, I ordered drinks for Kerris and myself and had one sent to Gabriel on stage where he was busying himself, plugging cables into amplifiers and tuning his guitar. He looked across the room, acknowledging me by raising the glass.

  People thronged the club. Conversation bubbled in a lively fashion. For the first time since General Fielding had enthused to me about the process of multiple births I noticed a pair of identical twins in the club. Having noticed one pair, suddenly they seemed everywhere and I quickly counted a dozen sets. Not that it affected the merry air of the club. In the corner a pair of twin teenage girls, together with their companions, celebrated their shared birthday with champagne.

  'Aren't you going to miss all this?' I asked Kerris.

  'I'm sure I'll adjust,' she said, smiling, her green eyes gleaming at me in the gloom of the club. 'Besides, I'm looking forward to seeing how you live across there. This is going to mark a new beginning for both our peoples.'

  'I'll drink to that.' We clinked glasses.

  At that moment the band started to play. At that volume speaking became impossible. Instead, my eyes flitted from the musicians to Kerris's face, shining with a beautiful glow in the lights of the stage. And all the while that magical music soared and dipped, with Gabriel's guitar sounding by turn angelic or demonic. I allowed myself to be transported by it. As I closed my eyes, it took me on a cosmic sleigh ride. Once more I discerned the soulful yearning in the guitar notes. A sense of uttermost longing.

  I felt a hand close over mine. I opened my eyes to see Kerris's hand resting on mine on the table as she watched the band, her head nodding gently to the rhythm of the music.

  Once more I closed my eyes. As the blue notes wove their magic, I relaxed into a state of complete and utter bliss.

  ***

  After the concert Gabriel walked us out to where the taxi waited. Lightning still flickered over the sea in great airbursts of blue and silver.

  He opened the door for Kerris. 'Bon voyage, Miss Baedekker,' he told her, reverting to the formal mode of address once we were back on the street. 'Mr Masen. Take care of yourself.'

  'I will, Gabriel. You, too.'

  I shall always remember that moment. His broad friendly grin. The way he pumped my hand up and down as we stood beside the open door of the taxi.

  Because that was the moment when the man stepped out of the shadows with a gun in his hand. He pushed Gabriel back against the car, stood back, then fired at his chest.

  Gabriel slumped down, the top half of his body falling into the back of the car where Kerris sat. Desperately, I moved forward, trying to catch him as he fell.

  But before my outstretched hands reached him an arm tightened round my throat, catching me in a strangling neck-lock. A sharp, burning pain shot through the side of my neck. Far away, it seemed to me, Kerris was screaming.

  Suddenly, the harbour illuminations smeared with flashes of lightning ran into a single swirling vortex of light.

  Round and round, faster and faster. It swallowed me into darkness. Absolute, fathomless darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  JONAH

  I had been swallowed into the belly of a whale. I sensed undulating movement. I heard liquids hissing through pipes. The rush of expelled air. The deep thump of a
mighty heart. A spectral voice intoned, 'Ten fathoms… eight fathoms… five fathoms… four fathoms.'

  I opened my eyes. I saw metal bulkheads. A door opened, revealing a corridor studded with electric lights. At that moment a figure loomed over me. My eyes focused on liquid squirting from a syringe. Then the needle plunged into my arm. I heard a strange bellowing cry. Dimly, I realized that it came from my own mouth. Lights swirled; the vortex returned. Once more I was sucked down into darkness.

  On opening my eyes I immediately sensed a change in my environment. The air smelled different. Like herbs, it seemed to me. The dimensions of the room I lay in were greater, the bed wider. Sounds were different, too. I heard a distant rattling sound, as if someone was playing a muffled xylophone.

  I should have identified the sound straightaway, I really should. However, my head seemed to have been packed with cotton wool and my eyes streamed incessantly, while my tongue had glued itself to the roof of my mouth. Feeling as if I'd enjoyed one hell of a bender (and was now paying the head-thumping price), I pulled myself into a sitting position on the bed.

  On the floor sat a tin cup beside a jug of water. I stared at it for a long time. I knew I wanted, desperately wanted, to pour that cold, clear water into the cup, then drink to my heart's content. But somehow the link that connected this understanding to actually moving my arms and doing something about it was broken. My streaming eyes looked at the glass, then at the water. After a long time, I managed at last to exercise a modicum of motor control. In a dopey, uncoordinated kind of way I succeeded in sloshing water into the glass. I picked it up, managing to spill every last drop down my shirt-front before it reached my lips.

  Blow this for a game of soldiers. I picked up the jug instead and gulped down its contents. Believe me, that water was the sweetest thing I'd tasted in a long, long time. After downing a quart or so of liquid I didn't feel nearly as groggy as before. The headache eased and I began to take a little more interest in my surroundings.