The Dark Frontier (3 page)

The Professor uttered an exclamation.

“Kassen,” he repeated eagerly. “I’ve heard of him.”

“I thought you might have done so,” Groom assented. “He made quite an impression at the McTurk Institute.”

“But what has Kassen to do with atomic bombs? I read a paper of his once in the
Proceedings of the Physical Research Society
. It was, I remember, a most restrained and unsensational piece of work.”

“Quite so, but, as I have pointed out, your scientist is also a man. Kassen has been twice humiliated, at Bonn and at Chicago; and, rightly or wrongly, he nurses a grudge against the world. Knowing the sullen temperament of the average Ixanian, I am not surprised. At any rate, grudge or no grudge, the bomb has been made. The trials were carried out over three weeks ago. A representative of Cator & Bliss was present, needless to say in an—er—unofficial capacity. The trials were made in the mountains about a hundred miles north of Zovgorod. The occasion was reported in Bucharest, some hundreds of miles away as a minor seismic disturbance. Actually, a small Kassen bomb just a little larger, I am told, than a Mills grenade shifted over one thousand tons of rock.”

“But that is horrible,” gasped the Professor, and then, as reason overcame his unconscious acceptance of the statement, “—and incredible.”

“Horrible, certainly,” agreed Groom, “but incredible, no? You are no doubt aware that ordinary high explosive depends for its action on a sudden and enormous expansion in volume. Trinitrotoluol, for instance, when detonated with fulminate of mercury, expands by something like 500,000 volumes in a fraction of a second. The Kassen bomb, so far as I can gather, is an extension of the principle. Under the influence of the bomb, ordinary silicon rock or earth in its vicinity undergoes an atomic change on detonation, producing huge volumes of some inactive gas such as nitrogen, argon or helium. In other words you are using the earth as your high explosive. The Kassen bomb is merely a special kind of detonator.”

The Professor was silent. He gazed out of the window on to the garden in front of the hotel. Some daffodils were waving their heads gently to the breeze. There was a green and peaceful air about that spring afternoon. The Professor had a momentary feeling that he had just woken from a nightmare and that the fading horror of it still clung to him. As he forced himself to meet Groom’s eyes again, he found that he was trembling.

“Why do you tell me this?”

The other leant forward.

“About a fortnight ago, a representative of the Ixanian Government arrived in England stating that he wished to purchase a plant for the manufacture of confectionery. One of the firms he approached happens to be controlled by Cator & Bliss, and as the inquiry called for machinery of a non-standard type it was passed to head office. There is nothing unusual in that. What is unusual is that the specifications laid down are either the work of a man completely ignorant of confectionery manufacture or of a man who wants to adapt a confectionery plant to another use. Certain persons took an interest in the matter, and orders have been given to secure the contract at any price. This will enable us to delay, at any rate for the time being, any attempt to manufacture Kassen bombs on a large scale.”

The Professor fidgeted.

“Mr. Groom, I cannot help feeling that these confidences are a trifle—well—indiscreet. I am, after all, a perfect stranger to you and …”

Groom raised his hand.

“Professor,” he said, “I have learnt to put my trust in two things only—the Fates and my own intuition. They tell me that this is an important opportunity. I accept their advice gladly. It is absolutely essential that we gain possession of complete information relating to the manufacture of the Kassen bomb. My object in revealing these facts to you is not as indiscreet as
you imagine. I wish to put a proposition before you. But first I should, perhaps, explain my position a little more clearly. I am the foreign representative of Cator & Bliss and a director of the company. Any proposals I may put before you can be confirmed in writing within two hours if necessary. My colleagues on the Board have complete faith in my judgment in these matters. We understand one another?”

The Professor nodded slowly.

Groom became very businesslike.

“Briefly, my proposition is this. I am, at the moment, awaiting news; news of the departure of the Ixanian representative for Zovgorod. He is expected to leave almost immediately. I shall follow. My agents in Ixania will keep track of him and find out the precise source of his instructions. My knowledge of Ixanian officialdom tells me that it will not then be difficult to get the information we require. Now, Professor, it is almost certain that attempts will be made to palm off worthless information on me. I need a technical adviser. The technical resources of Cator & Bliss are, of course, unrivalled in their sphere, but this is work of a more specialised nature. There is only one man in the world who knows more about the possibilities of applied atomic energy than you, and his name is Kassen. That balance can be redressed. Professor Barstow, I want you to come with me to Zovgorod. I offer you the post of technical adviser to Cator & Bliss.”

I
t was some moments before Professor Barstow could grasp the other’s meaning.

“I see,” he said at last.

“Naturally,” continued Groom smoothly, “your position in relation to Cator & Bliss would remain confidential. With regard to the financial aspect of the matter, I think I may safely say that you can, within reason, name your own figure. The only stipulation we should feel compelled to make is that the results of your work shall remain the sole property of Cator & Bliss.”

The Professor took a firm grip of himself.

“And if I should refuse your offer?”

“In that unlikely contingency, you will, of course, remember your word that what I have told you should be treated as strictly confidential. I would suggest to you also that, as a responsible citizen, you would hesitate to precipitate an international crisis that would certainly result in war—that is,
always supposing that you could persuade anyone to accept the rather fantastic truth.

“However,” he continued, “I hope there’ll be no question of your refusing, Professor. There is too much at stake. Imagine the consequences to Europe if this third-rate state were permitted through a freak of chance to secure absolute power. Power is for the powerful. Let power fall into the hands of the weak and the rest is tyranny. Here, Professor, is a chance to serve not only science but civilisation too. You will find the rewards not unworthy of your efforts.”

The Professor stood up with an air of decision. He spoke very distinctly.

“Mr. Groom,” he said, “earlier on in our conversation I said that science can no longer be exploited. I meant that. You ask for my co-operation in an undertaking which, you say, will serve both science and civilisation. Allow me to correct you. It is an undertaking that will serve only one section of the people—the shareholders of Messrs. Cator & Bliss. If what you tell me is true, if this man Kassen has so far lost his reason as to direct his abilities in the path of destructive effort rather than creative, it is an affair with which mankind as a whole should deal. My answer to your proposition is ‘no.’ ”

Groom laughed.

“Am I to assume, Professor,” he asked, “that you propose to inform the League of Nations of our conversation?”

“As you were good enough to remind me a moment ago,” replied the Professor, “I gave you my word that I would respect your confidence; though, to be sure, few would believe me if I did not keep my word. Besides, candidly, I am hoping that this is all a very unpleasant dream and that I shall soon wake up.”

Groom sighed.

“Ah, Professor,” he murmured, “if only we could all mingle facts and fancies so successfully. Personally I believe questions of ethics are never anything but questions of points of view. I
am still hoping that you will come round to my point of view in this matter.”

For once, Professor Barstow let himself go.

“Not a chance in Hell, Mr. Groom,” he said firmly.

Groom rose to his feet slowly. His lips had stretched into a thin smile, but his eyes, boring mercilessly into the Professor’s weary brain, had narrowed to pinpoints of cold fury. His voice seemed to be coming from a great distance.

“All the same, Professor, I shall not accept your refusal. For the next few days I expect to be at the Ritz Hotel in Paris. I am travelling by air today. Should you change your mind …”

But the Professor heard no more. As he stood there, a terrible numbness enveloped his brain, a numbness that shut out everything but the thudding of his heart. With an effort he pulled himself together; but when at last he raised his eyes, Groom had gone.

He sank into his chair, reached for his coffee, found it cold and, resting his head on his hand, gazed out of the window.

The sky had become overcast and there was a fine drizzle of rain falling. Amid the confusion of his thoughts there rose an intense desire to postpone his departure for Truro. Again there swept over him the feeling that he was waking from a nightmare. The blood hammered in his head as he arose and left the dining-room. “
Should you change your mind
 …” Groom’s parting words fitted themselves to the rhythm of his beating heart. The Professor shook himself. He was losing control. Hardly knowing what he was doing, he blundered across the hall to the deserted lounge.

A large wood fire crackled in the hearth and he settled himself in a comfortable armchair adjacent to it. He was comfortable, he was warm, he had just had a good lunch, he was tired. The circumstances beckoned sleep. But to the Professor’s overwrought mind sleep was slow to come. A horrible scene haunted his mind with recurring persistence.

He was lying on a hillside. Below him there was a flower-strewn valley. Children were playing there. He could hear their voices, thin and shrill, on the wind. Then he noticed that the children were not alone. Near them, concealed by a fold in the ground, were men, men in uniform. They seemed to be talking earnestly together over something too small for him to see. The next moment they scattered and ran. They seemed to be swarming all over the hillside. Then they stopped and turned to watch the field of flowers and the children playing. Everything was quiet except for the sound of the children’s voices on the breeze. Suddenly, there was a quick rumble beneath his feet. Before his eyes the field rocked. With a tearing, splitting roar a huge crack appeared in it, widening to emit a fountain of blackened earth which rose and hung in the air like a curtain. Then the curtain fell, slowly, as if it were wind borne, to unveil the scene behind it. With a cry of horror the Professor awoke.

A log had fallen from the grate on to the hearth and was flickering fitfully where it lay. For a moment he remained staring at it, the memory of that last dreadful picture still imprinted upon his mind.

As he replaced the log on the grate, he endeavoured to collect his thoughts. What, he asked himself, could he be thinking of? He, an intelligent and respected man of science, to allow himself to be carried away by the wretched delusions of a hotel crank? It was absurd! Yet, try as he would, he could not quite picture Simon Groom as a harmless eccentric. That cold, level, calculating gaze, that calm, assured, authoritative manner; they, at any rate, were not the usual trappings of dottiness. He tried to dismiss the whole business from his mind.

“But supposing it were true?”

The question gnawed away in spite of his efforts. Just supposing! As Groom had pointed out, no one would believe his story and even if he could get someone to take his word, the consequences might prove disastrous. Perhaps, after all, it was
better that Cator & Bliss and Company should handle the matter in their own way and for the edification of their own shareholders. At any rate, such power was better in their hands than in the hands of the Government of Ixania. Cator & Bliss would at least distribute their newly won power—to those who could pay for it. The Government of Ixania, on the other hand, would almost certainly use it to impose their territorial ambitions on their unfortunate neighbours.

“The Balance of Power,” murmured the Professor to himself, “must be preserved.”

But hadn’t people been saying that for hundreds of years? Hadn’t Cardinal Wolsey prescribed it as the foreign policy of Henry the Eighth? Hadn’t every European statesman since that time striven for it? Weren’t they still striving for it with their pacts and treaties and alliances? And yet there had been wars; and it looked too as if there always would be wars. What else could you expect while war was still regarded as a feasible means of settling international disputes? What else could you expect while peoples wanting peace still believed that “national safety” lay in preparedness for war? What else could you expect from a balance of power adjusted in terms of land, of arms, of man-power and of materials; in terms, in other words, of money? The actual outbreaks of wars might be heralded by exchanges of ultimatums, expressions of hatred and defensive mobilisations, but the real wars were made by those who had the power to upset the balance, to tamper with international money and money’s worth; those who, in satisfying their private ends, created the economic and social conditions that bred war. The largest item in national budgets today was for past and future wars. It seemed almost as if war were the greatest and most important activity of government.

What was the solution? Obviously, the system was at fault; the money structure that made such tampering possible. That would have to be altered certainly; but meanwhile, while the
peoples of the world were learning how to do so, the old structure might collapse and crush them. This invention of Kassen’s, for instance: science did not wait for the social conditions that would make it an unmixed blessing. In a different, better world order, the invention would have had a constructive purpose—the provision of power. As it was, the genius of Kassen, perverted and contaminated by the archaic savagery of unbridled nationalism, had produced an infernal machine. That such a situation had been inevitable no one realised better than the Professor. Science had taken the ordinary man unawares. Too late now to talk of new world orders. His destruction was imminent. He still drove his Ford, or his Citroën, or his Opel, or his Morris-Cowley; his wife still washed his children and darned his socks; but in a laboratory in a tiny Eastern European state, in the boardroom of Messrs. Cator & Bliss, and in this very hotel, other men were busy knocking the props away.