Famine (8 page)

“I hoped I might have an opportunity to impress you with my perspicacity. I didn't expect to have a chance to demonstrate how calm I can be in a crisis!” She was almost laughing at herself. “I honestly don't feel any sense of apprehension in advance, and even when I'm scared as I was just now it doesn't last for long. The neck-band proves that I listen to advice, doesn't it?” When Palfrey didn't answer at once, she went on: “I could be very useful to you indeed, surely.”

“It wouldn't surprise me,” said Palfrey. “And you could be very dangerous, too.”

“Dangerous?”

“Yes,” Palfrey answered soberly. “The creature attacked you, and proved one thing and gave clear indication of another – that there are two classes, or groups, of these things. Although some of them are certainly very primitive, others have a high intelligence – not only an inventive and technological intelligence, but a reasoning one, too. They followed you and tried to kill you. The obvious reason which springs to mind is that they were intelligent enough to know you could describe them, and they wanted you dead, so that you couldn't.”

Betty Fordham said huskily: “I know what you mean. But now you have seen one, and that puts you in danger.”

“Too many have seen them for that to be dangerous much longer,” Palfrey reasoned. “They're intelligent enough to realise that—”

“Or some of them are,” Betty interpolated.

Palfrey looked at her wryly.

“Or some of them,” he agreed. “And apparently they're intelligent enough to appear as rabbits in the country, and cats in town. On the other hand, they're stupid in some ways. Why kill Anderson, for instance – why not just let him walk by?”

Betty hazarded: “Perhaps he had seen and recognised them and the intelligent ones wanted to make sure he couldn't describe them to anyone.”

Palfrey looked at her searchingly, but obviously with approval.

“I don't suppose we'll ever know for certain, but that's the most convincing reason I've heard yet. Now let's get back to the point. You could be dangerous to us because you can recognise them – and
they
can recognise you.”

“Aren't we all going to be in danger until this menace is over?” Betty demanded. “And aren't you going to need all the help you can get?”

 

 

Yes, Palfrey thought, he was going to need all the help he could get, and this woman might be able to help a great deal. Her steady nerve and quite remarkable composure at times of danger made her exactly the stuff of which Z5 agents were made. But he did not trust her yet. As the thought entered his head, he changed it; he could not trust her yet. Circumstances might arise in which he would have to, but until they did he would need to be very wary. Even if she passed the intensive screening which had already been put in hand, he might trust only after a period of trial. Yet the clarity of her blue eyes, the frankness of her manner, the wholesomeness which was so evident, made him want to trust her now. He recalled the French expression: “Good as bread”. It suited her perfectly.

Quietly, she asked : “You don't trust me, do you?”

“Not in the way I would have to,” Palfrey said.

“You've simply forgotten how to trust,” she accused.

There was a great deal of truth in that.

“I dare not trust anyone easily,” Palfrey said. “Experience has taught me that practically no one is wholly trustworthy.”

“I didn't think you would be cynical.”

“Is that being cynical?”

“You've virtually said that everyone has his price.”

“And everyone has,” Palfrey declared. “No, don't resent that. Everyone has, but I don't mean everyone can be bribed, that's taking ‘price' too literally. Everyone has a breaking point. And everyone has secret hopes and fears. Some people honestly believe it would be better to live in a Communist or a Fascist world than not to live at all. What about you?”

“I'd rather live,” Betty Fordham said.

“So the price you would pay might be to submit to Communist or Fascist pressure,” said Palfrey. “I can't take that risk.”

“Are you seriously saying this horrible threat is Communist or Fascist inspired?” She looked sceptical, almost angry.

“I'm seriously saying that it might be. I don't know enough yet, to do anything but keep an open mind. This could be some kind of natural phenomenon, without any human cause or control. Or it might be that these creatures are man-made. They might possibly be self-controlled, but conceivably activated by remote control. It's even conceivable that one man has discovered the secret of producing them artificially, and that they've multiplied beyond anything he dreamed. Or one man, a group of men, even a nation, might be using them as a weapon against the rest of the world.” Palfrey paused, smiled diffidently, and spread his hands, in a self-deprecatory little gesture. “You see how confused I am.”

She was looking at him in a different way now, as if a new respect for him had been born in her.

“I see why you can't trust me.”

“Why can't I?”

“I might be involved. My husband might have known the creatures were in the field, and they might have got out of
his
control. They might have followed me because I can tell you much more about them than they want you to know. So you have to doubt me.”

“So I do,” Palfrey smiled almost angelically, and said the thing which came into his mind spontaneously. “But trusting and liking aren't the same thing. I've enjoyed this breakfast talk more than I have enjoyed anything for many weeks, yet at a time when I'm gravely worried. It's done me more good than I can say.” He held out both his hands, and she placed hers on them. “Thank you.”

“Dr. Palfrey,” she said, not letting his hands go.

“Yes?”

“You
can
trust me. I know that in your responsible position you can't as yet, but in fact I am really absolutely trustworthy.”

“I believe you are,” Palfrey said. They stood studying each other for a long time, until he thought he would never forget a line or feature of her face. “Now – I must go! Will you stay here until you hear from us?”

“Will I hear?”

“Yes. We'll certainly need to question you again. There may be some details you've forgotten and which we can help you to remember. You'd be surprised what expert questioning can make you recall! And there are some elementary facts about Z5 which you can learn while you're on – what shall I say? – probation.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Am I on probation?”

“In principle, I hope very much that you will soon be working for us,” said Palfrey.

Betty Fordham began to smile, and the corners of her lips curved upwards, revealing two dimples. They gave her a young, almost mischievous appearance. Good as bread, Palfrey thought again, but even though all his inclination was to trust her, the warning note was clear and vivid in his mind.

“I'll be at Brown's until I'm sent for,” she said. “There's one thing.”

“Yes?”

“What shall I say if I'm questioned by reporters? Someone might know the little brute came at me, or connect me with it somehow.”

Palfrey eyed her quizzically: “Use your own judgement,” he advised. “If you join Z5 you'll have to.”

“And this is as good a way as any of finding out whether I can be discreet.” She actually laughed. “I'll be interested to find out, too.”

Palfrey said quickly. “I'm sure you will. Meanwhile don't worry about being followed. I shall have you watched for your own safety.”

As he walked slowly to the head of the stairs, he watched the floor and doorways, subconsciously on the look-out, but consciously thinking of Betty Fordham. What was Betty short for? Elizabeth? Beth would suit her better than Betty. He preferred it. Beth was comforting, and that she most certainly was. He was aware that his feeling of relaxation was largely due to her. In a way she had drawn not only tensions out of him, but also something of the sense of urgency. Was that a good or a bad thing? He went into Green Park station and was halfway towards the door leading to his lift when he saw a tiny, furry animal streaking towards him.

Fear burned his chest, with a sudden furious heat.

Then he saw it was a dog, which raced along to the stairs and up them, a black lead trailing. Poor frightened creature. Poor, frightened Palfrey! He actually laughed aloud as he turned into the lift, and his step was lighter as he went along the passage and opened Joyce's door.

“Anything new in?” he demanded.

She stared at him, as if surprised.

“Is there?”

“Er—some more reports,” she said, recovering. She stood up, and almost immediately became her normal self, pleasant, precise. “Yes, I'm afraid so. Another four reports have come in that rabbit men have been seen singly in Staines, Guildford, Dorking and Andover.” She looked at him, puzzled because he showed no reaction. “Reports from overseas are coming in so fast we can hardly keep up with the decoding,” she added. “Some reports are of cats – but the claws all seem to be the same.”

“In all future messages, say that the creatures might be in the guise of any small animal which would be familiar in the district it was seen in.” Palfrey pondered, and then asked: “Are there more food losses?”

“Yes – as far apart as Stockholm and Sydney, San Paulo and Port Said. I've put an analysis on your desk for the ambassadors' meeting.” After a pause, Joyce went on: “The Prime Minister would like you to be at the Foreign Office Assembly Room at eleven forty-five, with up-to-the-minute information.”

“I'll be there,” Palfrey promised.

“Are you—all right?”

“Yes, of course.'”

“The creature didn't hurt you?”

“No,” Palfrey answered. “But all of us who might be attacked ought to be protected. We need some kind of neckband.” He thought of the silver one which Betty ‘Beth' Fordham had worn. “I wonder who I ought to talk to about that?”

“Weapon Research?” hazarded Joyce.

The Weapon Research Department was a branch of the laboratory domiciled on the floor below. Agents involved in the deadly business were necessarily those possessing ingenious and inventive minds, for the department both created weapons and devised protective steps needed against them.

“Yes,” said Palfrey. “Will you tell them exactly what we want? A necklet that will resist a knife thrust, not be too hot or tight, and can be slipped on and off easily.”

“There are ordinary bracelets like that,” Joyce said. “I'll see to it right away.”

“Good,” said Palfrey. “Now I'll go and soak myself in the reports.”

He found nearly fifty of them on his desk, and read each one with a detachment he had not felt for a long time. He absorbed them, too. Everything he read had some deep significance and increased the gravity of their problem, but he did not feel so utterly hopeless and dejected as he had; he was on top of himself, in spite of the horror. Yet he hadn't been until he had seen Beth. Not Betty; Beth.

 

The Prime Minister studied a summary of the reports, looked down his nose, and said: “I'll simply set the tone of the meeting, Palfrey. You put the facts to them as directly as you can.”

Palfrey said: “I'll do just that, sir.”

 

The Assembly Room, often used for great State occasions, had a high, beautifully decorated ceiling, drapes of grey and silver, and three huge chandeliers. One long table was laden with a selection of cold meats, fish, salads, fruit, cream and wines. Behind this stood Secret Service and Intelligence men and women who would be briefed by Palfrey. There were ten Z5 agents among them, seven men and three women.

As Palfrey followed the Rt. Honourable James Mason into the great room, there was a lull in the buzz of conversation. Palfrey, walking down a flight of wide stairs, fully aware of the fact that the Prime Minister attracted all the attention, and that very few of the assembled diplomats noticed him. He himself recognised dozens, as he took them in with a few sweeping glances. The ambassadors of France, Western Germany, the United States and Japan were in a group together. The Russian, Yugoslavian and Polish ambassadors stood with two from newly emergent African countries, one from Kenya, the other not known to Palfrey. Among the gathering thirty at least were black or dark-skinned. There were three women, engulfed by the horde of well-dressed men. Several African and Arab leaders lent magnificence to the gathering by the vivid colour of their voluminous robes.

Slowly silence fell.

Palfrey and Mason climbed onto a small platform, behind which was a white screen; and as they did so a Z5 man moved into the room, with a slide projector, and another put a table into place for it.

“Your excellencies,” the Prime Minister said in a clear, carrying voice, “I have little to say myself, except to prepare you for what may well be a very grave and serious situation. It has sufficient urgency for me to feel that the best way to advise your governments is through the Assembly. In this way, each one of you will know exactly as much as all the others know, each will be able to inform his government at the same time.” He paused, timing the moment admirably, looking round at faces which had suddenly become anxious, from which both frowns and good humour had faded. A sea of gravely expectant faces were below Palfrey, and he noticed several of them turned towards him. The Brazilian ambassador, Carlos, deftly nudged the Portuguese ambassador, who immediately looked at Palfrey. So did the handsome Clemente Taza of Lozania.

“I heard of this emergency only fifteen hours ago,” the Prime Minister went on, “and I believe that Dr. Palfrey, whom you all know, had no reason to suspect the seriousness of the situation until a few hours before he asked me to convene this meeting.”

In some parts of the room, the name ‘Palfrey' caused an uneasy consternation. Practically everyone looked towards him, as the clear, precise voice went on.

“It is vital that no rumour of the true reason for this meeting is released to the Press, and following my statement of British Policy on World Food Shortages last night, I believe we should allow it to be thought that this meeting concerns that shortage. As in a way it does.” The Prime Minister turned to Palfrey, and went on: “Here is Dr. Palfrey, who needs no introduction to any of us.”

As Palfrey stepped forward, the silence was absolute.

He talked for fifteen minutes, feeling quite sure as he did so that he had never put a situation more lucidly nor more comprehensively; at least that was a cause for satisfaction. When he finished, the hush was as great as it had been when he had started, until the Italian ambassador, tall, dark-haired, elegantly bearded, spoke in a high-pitched voice: “If these creatures are so widespread, on several continents, then no country is safe from them. Do you know what they are doing? Why they are here?”

“All we know is that they eat ravenously,” Palfrey said. “There is no indication that they have taken any course of action except in order to get food—and to protect themselves. They appear to be at varying stages of intellectual development. You will know from what I have told you that some have highly developed intelligence, while others seem to be primitive. They have many human characteristics.”

“What
are
they like?” demanded Taza, the ambassador for Lozania, the smallest South American state.

Palfrey said: “Let me show you.” He stood aside, and the man at the projector switched off the lights, and switched on the machine. Pictures of the dead creatures found on Fordham's farm flashed vividly onto the screen in colour.

As the company watched, there was a strange, almost awestruck silence.

There were twelve pictures in all, and each was left on the screen for half-a-minute. Then they were taken away, as Palfrey went on: “Copies of these are being made as quickly as possible and will be available by tomorrow morning. You've noticed the marked difference between the fur-clad creatures, and those which are like midgets. As far as we can judge the furry ones are guards, or killers; and they seem to have a highly developed intelligence, although they appear to act stupidly from time to time.