Omega (33 page)

There was no escaping it; the overall picture was cataclysmic. Everywhere that Geraint spoke to had suffered only marginally more or less than New Dyfnant. One thing he did learn; that Dublin, Bucharest and Warsaw had given the vinegar-mask warning in time for it to be useful, unlike London. (Belfast had done so too, within hours of Dublin - that would have been politically obligatory, Geraint realized, whatever London did. In any case, the two parts of Ireland had developed an increasing
de facto
federalism since the detente of the 1980s.)

His equipment was indeed going to be precious in the months to come. Only one problem; how was he going to recharge his batteries, if mains electricity became a thing of the past?

Brenda Pavitt saw both more, and less, of Reggie Harley as Beehive isolated itself from Surface. Less, in that he was busier, and could rarely spend an uninterrupted evening hour with her. More, in that he now came to her every night, however late he was working or however early he must be up. His need for her was self-centred and never expressed in words, but it was compulsive and Brenda, responding to it, came nearer to loving him in these days and nights than she ever had. She found herself becoming a little afraid of him. Within Beehive, he was moving rapidly into the position of a despot. Nobody called him the Chief Administrator any longer - simply the Chief; and nobody (Brenda sensed) doubted that if it came to a showdown of any kind, the Army under General Mullard was behind him, not to mention Security, which was his own creation and officered by his own appointees.

Brenda, increasingly his intimate sounding-board -though she knew his frankness even with her was selective -had more clues than most to the deviousness of which he was capable. She had been aware for some time that he was cultivating Professor Arklow to the point where he was better informed on the seismological probabilities than the Prime Minister and Cabinet - and she strongly suspected that it was due to Reggie's manoeuvring that Cabinet Ministers had been well dispersed around the regional Hives at the time when the earthquake struck. With the notoriously weak Premier thus isolated, it had been easy for Reggie to persuade him that national cohesion was best served by leaving his Ministers in the other Hives as his 'representatives', and so the Premier was even more firmly under Reggie's thumb.

Then there was the affair of Sir Walter Jennings. Brenda had never seen Reggie so angry as he had been that night, when Jennings had persuaded the Premier to make the vinegar-mask broadcast during his absence. (The US President, who had been
hovering on the brink of it him
self, agreed after a brief telephone conference to make his announcement simultaneously.) But Jennings, in his padded cell in Beehive's hospital, would never throw another spanner into anybody's works. He had been on Surface on the morning of the earthquake, trying to settle the London busmen's strike and he must have breathed Dust because three days later he was insane beyond all help. Beehive rumour was that his respirator had been faulty. In the whole of the Beehive staff there had been only three victims of 'faulty respirators', and Brenda knew better than to comment on the fact that the other two had also been individuals whom Reggie had found inconvenient. . . . She was personally sorry about Jennings; he had been a regular and intelligent user of her library and she had liked him. But her loyalty was to Reggie and quite apart from her emotional involvement, she was realistic enough to know that survival in Beehive balanced on a knife-edge of loyalties.

It was almost funny, she thought, how Reggie's increasingly open behaviour as oriental despot was nowhere more sultan-like than in his attitude to her. She was his mistress, and far from going through the motions of hiding it, he was now treating her as such in public and expecting everyone to accord her the appropriate respect. It was a measure of the awe in which he was held that people had caught on quickly. She was beginning to understand how Madame Pompadour must have felt.

At some of his manoeuvres, she could only guess, though shrewdly. But as far as facts were concerned, Reggie kept her better informed than most of the Beehive department heads. On the whole, they were given facts on a 'need-to-know' basis; only Reggie, his chosen lieutenants and Brenda had a complete picture. It was, apparently, part of her function as mistress to share his burden of knowledge. He seemed almost impatient to keep her up to date.

His midnight summing-up of that first ter
rible day had been typical – as
concise as though he had been dictating it to a secretary.

'London Beehive's practically undamaged; we've lost about two thousand square metres under Hampstead Heath - but only twelve people killed there, it was still thinly occupied - and a few corridors will have to be reconstructed. About the same at Edinburgh and Norwich, though Norwich is pretty small. Birmingham and Bristol have been virtually wiped out. Cardiff, Manchester, Leeds, Carlisle and Glasgow have all survived and will continue to be operational but they've all lost a third to a half of their personnel.
...
On the whole, satisfactory. We were prepared for worse. Beehive, as the governing machinery of this country, has come through the earthquake and has isolated itself from Surface, except for the necessary Intelligence contacts. Our provisional estimate is that this isolation will be maintained for a year to eighteen months. By then, conditions on Surface will have stabilized themselves on a primitive level. Meanwhile Beehive will have been observing, planning, and training its personnel to a high pitch of efficiency. When we emerge, we will be able to take complete and virtually immediate control.

'We might have to modify this programme, of course, in the light of any unexpected foreign developments. This can't be predicted at all accurately till we have a fuller international picture. But all the major powers are in close touch by radio satellite and it looks as though the British picture is typical. Certainly the United States, the Soviet Union, China, and the principal European states have paralleled our experience today, in general - though the Western Hemisphere was hit an hour or two after us. The chief difference has been between urban concentrations and rural areas - both of which we have in Britain, of course.

'As for the foreign equivalents of our Beehive - these have come through pretty well, as far as we know so far. Some differences, naturally. America's done better than we have, for instance, but they had more room to play with in their planning. The Dutch have had a rough time because they're so vulnerable to flooding. Spain's survived better than we have, France worse and so on. But what matters is that all the government machines seem to have come through and will be able, like us, to function, isolate themselves and take control when the time comes.'

'What about Surface - here in Britain?' Brenda presumed to ask.

'Today's reports add up to pretty well total destruction of buildings on the lower ground, under about two hundred metres - which means most of the urban concentrations -and more moderately above that. East Anglia seems an exception; earthquake damage was lighter there but as you might expect, it's been badly hit by floods. The Great Glen, in Scotland, is apparently a total disaster - the water hasn't settled down yet but the Highlands north-west of it are now virtually a separate island. . . . We'll know a lot more over the next week or two, because there are going to be tidal waves to beat anything on record, Arklow predicts. (By the way, to reassure you - Beehive's ventilation inlets can be sealed off against flood for as long as ninety-six hours at a time; we have stored oxygen for that.) We're making practically no public radio broadcasts for a few days, as you know - better to let Surface look after itself to begin with, till they're ready to listen to us. But we
are
warning people to evacuate the coasts
...
I think it's safe to say that the world's shipping and navies will have ceased to exist within a week.'

He paused, and then went on: 'As for casualties - there will be no way of telling
for some time, if only because
Arklow was wrong about one thing. He thought the Dust, on this occasion, would be very localized or non-existent. In fact it was very widespread indeed. . . . That damnfool broadcast about the vinegar masks was either too early or too late. If we were going to make it at all - and the experts' advice was that it was unnecessary - we should have made it days before so that people had time to prepare. Yesterday was the worst of both worlds. Only a minority will have been able to benefit from it - but Beehive showed its hand and people will guess that we
could
have told them earlier. Jennings and the Prime Minister made a terrible mistake there. One the Prime Minister will live to regret.'

Brenda did not notice the subtle distinction at the time. She was too torn between horror at the overall picture and shamefaced relief at her own safety to be aware of subtleties.

'But, Reggie - if the Dust was widespread and only a few had vinegar masks - what's Surface going to be like in three or four days' time?'

'If I were you, my dear, I shouldn't give yourself nightmares trying to imagine it. After all, we shall be spared the unpleasantness of witnessing it.'

Over the next few nights Brenda found difficulty in sleeping. But horror, however factual, was distant and unreal; security and status were present and real, and one could only take in so much. Little by little Brenda rediscovered sleep at the side of her sultan.

15

Hiding was less easy than Philip, Betty and Tonia had hoped. Their best prospect, Philip had thought, would be East Anglia; Suffolk and Norfolk were the most thinly populated areas within reach of London and in any case offered the closest open country to their starting-point. So they had headed in that direction taking the smaller roads through Great Dunmow and Haverhill and in spite of diversions and detours had begun to bypass Bury St Edmunds by the evening of the first day.

But the looked-for rural emptiness had proved a mirage. Refugees from devastated London were everywhere on the move, merging with others from Chelmsford, Colchester and Ipswich - and, as the day wore on, with still more from the coastal and river-valley villages as well on the run from the rising floods.

About sunset BBC radio had come on the air again. Philip had been trying the car radio every half-hour or so and to his surprise suddenly heard music. To judge by its volume, it came from an emergency transmitter. The music - Vaughan Williams'
Fantasia on 'Greensleeves'
- continued to its end, after which the announcer said:

'This is the BBC. Here is a Government announcement. As a result of the world-wide earthquakes, serious tidal waves are building up in the Atlantic and will be affecting coastal areas of the British Isles during the next few days subsiding gradually thereafter. People living in these coastal areas, at less than 100 metres above sea-level, are warned to move inland immediately and to take re
fuge on land higher than the 100
-metre contour. Craft now at sea should be beached at the nearest suitable point and abandoned. Coastguard personnel are officially relieved of their duties and should also move inland. That is the end of the Government announcement. I will now. repeat it at dictation speed.'

After the repeat, Elgar's
King Arthur Suite.

Philip stopped the car and they pored over the map.

'East Anglia's going to be a death-trap,' Betty said. 'Look - even if 100 metres is grossly exaggerated, to give a safety margin, places like Bury and Cambridge are way below
it....
And right now we've got the Ely fens between us and the high ground. If we don't get the hell out of it, it'll be a toss-up whether the water or the stampede from the coast hits us first.'

'Double back south of Cambridge?' Philip suggested.

'I'd say it's the only way. Drive all night - we can take it in turns to sleep. And not stop till we're well into Bedfordshire or Northants.'

Tonia took her turn at dri
ving but they only slept one at
a time; with hazards every kilometre in the shape of wrecked cars, refugee bottlenecks (especially in the villages) and the occasional fissure, they needed at least two pairs of eyes. It took them some time to find a way across the Cam upstream of Cambridge because the first two bridges they tried were down. In the end they had to cross by the A 14, where the refugee stream was thicker but at least moving. As soon as they were over, they left it again, taking the side-roads towards Abbotsley and St Neots.

Another advantage of the side-roads was petrol. It could no longer be bought but there were wrecked cars everywhere from whose tanks petrol could be siphoned. On the main roads most of them had already been drained dry but full or half-full tanks were still to be found in the quieter places and Philip topped up at every opportunity. One family saloon from which he took the last three or four litres had hit a tree head-on (the road surface had tilted sideways by five degrees or more) and there were still two bodies in it, a man and a woman crushed by the impact and covered in dried blood. The sight of them, and the fumes of petrol in his mouth as he sucked at the siphoning-tube to start the flow, combined to make him vomit. But he managed to complete his task, and on a quixotic impulse used about half the salvaged petrol to turn the wreck into a funeral pyre. Betty and Tonia, who had stayed in the car, did not ask him why.