Rockets in Ursa Major (11 page)

`It is difficult. I suppose that knowing one will be safe from attack is the main thing. The more you think about it the worse it gets, and one begins to realize, as I do now, that all the time we live on our nerves.'

`What do you do though, get yourself immersed in the problems of this strange galactic war?' I said, making a move towards an old pub set back from the beach.

`You think it's strange for us to fight an endless war. I suppose it is hard to understand, but imagine yourself exiled. Not just sent away or driven out, but shot at, always hunted.'

`Yes. It's what we'd call guerilla warfare.'

`That was the word I was looking for,' Alcyone said, as I pushed open the door to the public bar.

`Where did these people come from?' she said in a whisper as we entered the bar. I saw why she was a little surprised. The silent staring eyes of a row of old men who had probably been sitting in the same place for the last fifty-odd years.

`It's all right, they're just suspicious of strangers, that's all,' I said.

`Good morning,' said a jolly red-faced man from behind the oak wood bar with its multitude of liquor stains.

`Good morning. One and a half pints of best bitter, please.'

Alcyone looked round at the low oak-beamed room. Relics from the past hung from the ceiling to the floor. We propped ourselves up against the bar. The stale smell of beer was very noticeable.

`Would you like something to eat?' I asked her. She shook her head.

`What have you got?' I said, turning back to the man behind the bar.

`Well, really depends on what you be wantin'.'

`Steak and kidney pie?' I said, hoping.

The man smiled, nodded, and vanished through a door behind the bar.

`If you don't like this, you can have something else,' I said, passing the half pint of beer to Alcyone. 'It's a very English drink.'

The landlord reappeared with a large pie on a dish. `Like this, sir?'

`Genuine?' I said, savoring the beautiful aroma. `Certainly. My wife's specialty.'

The pie tasted really good. I remembered my mother cooking pies like this for my father.

`Do you want a bit?'

`Yes,' said Alcyone taking a large mouthful. 'What is it?'

`A home-made steak and kidney pie,' I said, taking a sip of my beer.

`I wonder what these people think about the Yela,' Alcyone said, studying the weather-beaten faces.

`I'm not sure, but why don't you ask?'

`I can't. I would be too embarrassed.'

`Well,' I laughed. 'That's the only way you'll find out. Excuse me,' I asked one florid-faced man. 'This young lady would like to know what you think about the Earth being invaded.'

"Whose goin' to invade 'arth?'

`I was just asking a theoretical question.'

`Yes, I heard there might be a possibility,' said the landlord. 'There was a battle out in Space a few days ago.'

`That's right. Well, what I want to know is, what you'd all do if we hadn't won?'

`Ah, well if 'hey come, then I'll carry on as usual,' said the florid-faced man.

`Just carry on!' Alcyone said in amazement.

`That'll be right, young lady,' said another man.

`But don't you realize what is going to happen?' she said.

`No, you tell us.'

`Well, when this hidden enemy strikes you'll all be killed.'

`That may be so, but 'em will 'ave to be cleverer than us.'

`Yes,' said the landlord. 'The other nations of the world may not do much, but we'll certainly go down fighting.' `But you'll still die,' Alcyone said.

`Maybe, but not without taking some of them with us.' `Does that give you some idea of what you're dealing with?' I said, finishing my drink.

`But I don't really understand the thinking behind their attitude.'

`Here in England, I think it is a tradition rather than a logical approach. Many, many years ago we had two classic wars here in Europe, after which England became more and more financially embarrassed as time went on. The politicians tried first to join up with the Americans, and then with Europe to get us out of our difficulties.

Then a bright politician realized that Britain might be in financial trouble, but we were still producing ideas, good ideas in technology. So instead of giving these ideas away as had happened in the past, because of lack of development money, the government pumped vast sums of money into technology.'

Did it help?'

`Oh, yes. The British settled down as they had done during the two big wars and, while the rest of the world slowed down in technological advancement, we went ahead. Slowly the other countries started spending their money, not on technological ideas but on buying ours.'

'I see that you are very proud of this.'

`Of course, that is why there's always the possibility that we might find some way of frightening the Yela off,' I said with a certain amount of pomp.

`You are saying that the rest of the world may now be looking to England for an answer?'

`Possibly.'

But what about the space ships?' Alcyone asked. `You mean, yours?'

`Yes.'

`Well, I should think they'll build one from your blueprints. Not to escape from a burning Earth, but to help fight off any outside invasion.'

But don't you realize there's nothing you can do?' Alcyone said crossly.

`There must be something. You shouldn't always think of defeat. We might be able to do something.'

But you're not the first to fight their threat! Do you think ten thousand planets allowed themselves to be destroyed without attempting to fight?'

`Alcyone, let's not argue, it isn't getting us anywhere. If there's no chance of defeating this danger, then we'll humbly accept your knowledge, but first give us time to think,' I said, beginning to feel irritated at the barrage.

`You haven't time to think,' Alcyone said angrily.

I took hold of her hand and we made our way out of the pub. She was quiet as we walked back to the helicopter. It was sad that she wanted to go home, but I was growing angry, so it was probably just as well.

Dick,' she said, as we reached the helicopter. 'I'm sorry to be cross with you, but my instinct of survival is maybe stronger than yours, and if you're not going to come with us, regardless of what other Earth people think, then I must leave you.'

`Alcyone, what are you trying to say?' I said, taking hold of her by the shoulders, so that she had to look into my face.

'We wanted you to come with us.'

`I don't understand. Why me? There are men of far greater stature and intellectual caliber.'

`No, it is not as complicated as that. Betelgeuse thinks that you are of value to me.'

`To you!' I exclaimed. 'But you've hardly seen me.'

`I like you though, and I wanted to save you.'

`I'm very flattered, but how can you be sure that I'm not a mean pig?' I said, looking at her. She was very pretty.

Alcyone laughed. 'I don't know, but I still think it worth getting to know you.'

I didn't know what to say. It was very flattering to be saved, but I couldn't see myself bottled up in a space ship, being subject to acceleration forces, confined spaces and endless time. I suppose if I'd my laboratory along with me, that would be better, but how long would it be before I felt fed up. The whole thing was out of proportion, I thought, if it was a question of trying to solve the problem and die in the attempt, I'd prefer that to living and dying in a space ship.

`Will you take me back?' Alcyone said.

`Certainly, but don't you want to see a little more of England?' I asked.

`I would like to, but you must make up your mind about coming with us. If I'm with you, you'll not take the situation seriously,' she said.

We reached the helicopter. I programmed it to take us to Alcyone's space craft. The flight was made in relative silence. When we arrived, the place was swarming with television technicians and their followers. The helicopter came to rest in the park.

`We'll have to make a run for it,' I said, looking at swarms of TV newscasters coming towards us.

`I think you're right,' Alcyone said, smiling for the first time.

`Excuse me, sir. Could you give us a word on the current situation?' A persistent reporter pushed his microphone at us.

`Sorry, we don't know what current situation you're talking about.'

`The galactic war,' said another.

Several large security guards manoeuvred the press and TV men away and escorted us to the space craft. `Will you come and see us?' said Alcyone, about to enter the airlock.

`Certainly. Here's my phone number,' I said, handing her my phone card. 'I'll drop in some time during the week unless something urgent comes up.'

`You're going back to work?'

`I'm afraid so. I have a lot of work to catch up on.' Alcyone smiled almost sadly and went in.

I fought my way back through the press and TV men and with a feeling of relief got the helicopter into the air.

I HAD plenty on my mind. The threat of the Yela occupied me constantly. Betelgeuse and his people were more advanced in technology than we were and they had not found a substantial defense. But since they were nearly always traveling through space, they were physically limited from developments that needed big stable resources. Rigel was in many ways ahead of me in his knowledge and yet he admitted that in my own field I had ideas new to him. Were his people too restricted by their life to break out of the Yela's grip? Could I help because I was not being inhibited by their environment? But how could one counter an attack when one was not sure of the way it would be launched? I had to see Sir John and Betelgeuse.

The Market Square was below. I landed and walked back to College deep in thought. Once in my room I rang Sir John. His image appeared on the screen.

`Hello, Sir John. I would like to see you about something important.'

`Good,' he said. 'I was just about to ring you. World HQ is worried by Betelgeuse's forces out in space.' `Why?'

`I've no idea, but they're working like mad to get the blueprints put into action,' Sir John said dryly. 'However there is one interesting development.'

`Oh, what's that?'

`We've had more strange signals.'

Did you get a tape?'

`Yes. Look, let's get a bite to eat while we play it,' Sir John said with a certain amount of enthusiasm.

`Fine, where?'

`What about Le Jardin, say in about half an hour,' Sir John said, looking at his watch.

I nodded and the screen went dead.

A little later I hailed a hover taxi.

`Where to, sir?'

`Le Jardin. The French restaurant on Hills Road,' I said.

The man pressed a button and the vehicle lifted off the ground. A slight sound came from the fan below me, but once it reached full operating speed, everything went quiet.

Sir John stood outside the restaurant, with a small portable tape recorder in his hand. I gave my credit card to the taxi man, who punched it and then gave it back to me, while I signed the receipt.

We turned to go into the restaurant. Sir John really revels in a little bit of convention. This particular restaurant was owned by the founder's grandson who, under great difficulties, had decided to go on running the restaurant with waiters and bar men, like those of the 1970s. All other eating places were now completely automized, choice remaining only in the different ways of ordering one's food and I suppose the decor came into it. For instance, the inexpensive cafйs are very simple. You sit at a long table with a moving panel in the middle. Having chosen from the menu list, you punch your choice and the food comes up within seconds on the moving panel. In more expensive restaurants there are separate tables. A microphone is used to order food. According to the advertisements, this is the personalized way.

`Good evening, Sir John,' said Pierre, the proprietor. `Your usual table?'

`Yes, Pierre, that would be very pleasant.'

We made our way through tightly packed tables, crowded with people.

`It's incredible,' I said, sitting down.

`What?'

`How many people seem to like the old sort of restaurants.'

`Yes, and the bulk of them are young people like yourself, Dick,' smiled Sir John.

`Maybe, but I'm a young person who feeds himself anywhere.'

Sir John looked exasperated at my statement and buried his head in the long menu.

`Would you care for a drink?' Pierre asked.

Yes, I'll have a whisky and water. Dick?' `A gin and tonic, please.'

Pierre marched off, nodding and smiling as he went. We concentrated on the menu.

Our drinks appeared. I took a good sip and then turned to the waiter who was ready to take our orders. `For you, sir?' he said.

`I'll have the Cordon Bleu steak, with a few sautй potatoes and a green salad,' I said, all in one breath. `Steak, again!' Sir John murmured.

`Would you like anything to begin with?' asked the waiter.

`No thanks.'

`I'll have the duck in orange sauce, and a mixed salad,' Sir John said.

`Wine, sir?'

`How about rosй? Pierre has got some of the best I've tasted in years.'

`Fine by me.'

`We'll have a carafe of the Californian rosй,' said Sir John.

Once the waiter had gone, Sir John put the mini tape machine on the table and handed me an earphone.

I put the ear plug in, and Sir John flicked the switch on the tape recorder. The strange weird electronical music came through. I listened for a few minutes and then took the earpiece out.

`Has anyone deciphered what the Yela are trying to say?' I asked, pointing at the tape.