Stephen Baxter - Project Hades

Sunday 30th October, 1960. 2210.

Clare Baines parked her motorcycle outside the Reivers Arms and climbed off. She took off her helmet, replacing it with her police cap. The October night was pitch black, and a wind moaned off the moor.

When she opened the pub door she was dazzled by the bright light. Sweaty, smoky air spilled out, and a jangle of overamplified guitar music: Johnny Kidd and the Pirates. She braced herself and walked in.

A punter, brimming pint in hand, lurched towards her, one arm outstretched. Watch your family jewels, lads, its the lady copper!

Clare said, Bonny lad, that wandering hand is going to get shoved so far up your jacksie youll be picking your teeth from the inside.

The drunk backed off. All right, lass, no offence.

Winston Stubbins approached her, tall, gangly, earnest, wearing a duffel coat and boots. Clare. I dont suppose you fancy a Newkie Brown.

Im on

Duty. Yes, we can all see that.

I hope youre not going to give me any trouble, Winston. You and this lot of boozed-up non-conformists. Im just here to keep the peace.

Peace? Thats a bit ironic, isnt it? Considering that tonight the largest atomic weapon ever tested in western Europe is going to blow up not a mile from this bloody pub.

According to our briefings its all perfectly safe.

Safe? Clare, the geology around here

shows signs of instability.

So you did read my letters.

My sergeant made me. Look, Winston, what makes you think you know better than all the boffins?

Im here. Theyre not. Clare, its an American base out there. Americans dont tell us anything.

A tall, slim man in an American army uniform worked through the crowd towards them. Did somebody page me? Good evening, Clare.

WPC Baines to you, Buck.

Winston goggled. Buck? Sergeant Grady, youre actually called Buck?

And youre actually called Winston. You limeys slay me. Clare told me about you. The old boyfriend with a bug up his ass.

Clare said, He was never my boyfriend. Ive been trying to tell him the test is perfectly safe.

So it is, Winston. Aldmoor may be an American base, but Hades is a British programme, as designed and managed. The chain of command is intertwined right to the top.

Cobblers.

Clare said, Sorry, Buck. He has issues about Americans. His mother was a GI bride

Thats got nothing to do with it, Winston said hotly.

Buck said, Look, Winston, I have a sort of public liaison role. Thats why Im here in the pubnot for the beer, believe me. Here, take my card. Give me a call in the morning.

What goods that? By the morning the bomb will have gone off, wont it?

Buck said, Single-minded sort, isnt he?

Clare said, No. Strong-willed. Theres a difference.

Buck said, Quite a crowd youve gathered here anyhow, Winston. Who are theyCND?

Some. Theyre mostly locals. All with valid concerns about the test.

Well, theres a couple more waiting out the door. See, Clare, the old guy in the dodgy coat and the posh young lady? They dont look local to me. Reporters, you think?

Clare said, Oh, great, thats all I need.

Chapman Jones closed the doors of the Ministry car. Somewhere an owl hooted. The car pulled away, disappearing into the night. Jones shivered and closed his trenchcoat tighter. So this is Aldmoor. And Halloween! Always an eerie time.

Thelma Bennet peered through the pub window. They all seem to be wearing black in there. Do you think its a funeral, Jones?

No, no. Its just the fashion. No offence, Thelma, but this is your age groupa whole generation doomed to wear black polo-neck jumpers. Makes me rather glad Ive passed fifty.

So theyre followers of fashion even here in Northumberland. I hope were not wasting our time.

Well, the anomaly report cluster was credible enough to have dragged us all the way up here from London

A military jet roared overhead, flying remarkably low, startling them; Jones glanced up to see its lights receding.

Something to do with that, perhaps, he said. This is a militarised countrysidea cockpit of the Cold War, Thelma. No wonder people are a bit paranoid

And another noise fled through the air overhead, like a shriek, and again they flinched. Looking up, Jones saw an odd light sliding across the sky, misty, a roughly spherical cloud.

Thelma said, Look, do you see that? A sort of glow.

Yes. It seems to be tracking the aircraft.

Something to do with the aircrafts wake?

Hmm. I doubt it, Jones said. But what was it? Ball lightningor some other plasma effect? It had a fairly definite shape, didnt it?

Yes. And denser towards the centre. Layered, like an onion

Or like an eye in the sky. How odd. Well, its just as the reports described. At least we know weve got something to get our teeth into. Come on, lets go inside.

A young policewoman met them at the door. Not tall, with her black hair neatly tied back, brisk, evidently competent, she smiled at them. Good evening. Can I help you?

Well, thats the first time the police have helped me into a pub as opposed to out of one.

Thelma said, Dont be childish, Jones. Good evening. My names Thelma Bennet, and this is Doctor Chapman Jones. And you are

WPC Baines, 534. Are you here for the protest?

Jones said, No, no. Were here from the Ministry of Defence. Following up anomalous sightings.

Baines grinned. Sightings of what? Flying saucers?

Jones sighed.

Thelma asked quickly, What protest?

A gangly young man approached, trailed by a US army soldier. Against the bomb test, said the youngster. His accent, like the WPCs, was thick and localGeordie. He struck Jones as earnest, agitated.

They call it Hades, said the American. An international programme of thermonuclear detonations planted deep underground.

The boy said, And the one theyre about to blow up here is in an abandoned mine shaft at a place called Lucifers Tomb. Appropriate name, isnt it?

We havent been introduced, said Thelma.

The tall soldier bowed. Sergeant Buck Grady, US Army. And this is Winston, ah

Winston Stubbins.

Thelma introduced herself and Jones.

Buck smiled. So, Doctor Jones, you came all the way to northern England, in October, because?

Fishing to see if were here to cause you trouble, are you, Sergeant?

Winston said, What trouble? All these people have turned out because they dont want a megabomb going off underneath their homes. The farmers ewes are already pregnant with next years lambs. And the miners are worried about safety down the pit.

Bucks grin widened. Oh, Winston here thinks if we set off the bomb the planet will go pop like a party balloon. Right, Winston?

Winston scowled. The geologys unstable. They dont know what theyre doing.

Jones said, And you do? Are you a geologist, Winston?

Hes a coal miner, Clare said. And a geologist. Self-taught. Buck, you leave him alone.

Jones said, Theres nothing wrong with self-taught. Im self-taught in most subjects myself. Tell me, Winstonhow far to this Tomb of Lucifer?

A short walk, west of here.

And until the test?

The detonations scheduled for midnight, Buck said.

Jones checked his watch. Good, weve got time. Winston, why dont you show me this instability of yours?

Are you serious? Youll listen to what I have to say?

Never more serious in my life. We are specifically here to investigate the out-of-the-ordinary.

Thelma said, I think Id rather stay in the warm, if you dont mind, Jones.

Buck said, In that case I would be delighted to buy you a drink.

I was hoping somebody would say that.

Buried deep beneath the huts, training fields and runways of Aldmoor base, the Project Hades command centre was, tonight, a noisy place. Overlaid on the hum of fans and pumps and the echoes from the steel walls were the bleeps of oscilloscopes, the clatter of teletypes and static-laden radio voices. Aged fifty-seven, in his worn tweeds, John Tremayne knew he looked quite out of place in this pit of humming military tension, the rows of consoles manned by very young, very intelligent soldiers. And yet all this activity was a fulfilment of