THE DOMES OF PICO HUGH WALTERS FABER AND FABER LTD 24 Russell Square London First published in mcmlviii by Faber and Faber Limited 24 Russell Square London W.C.1 Printed in Great Britain by Latimer Trend and Co Ltd Plymouth All rights reserved (C) Walter Hughes 1958 * 1 * _________________________________________________________________ Calder Hall. The name of the world's first plant for generating electricity from atomic energy still produced inside the Minister of Fuel and Power a warm glow of pride. He had been present - though he had not been Minister then - when the station had been officially opened by the Queen on 17th October 1956. Vividly he recalled the thrill he had felt when she had pressed the switch. As he sat in his room in the huge Ministry building, Mr. Sidney Furnival remembered how the needle of the giant meter, specially erected to show the production of electricity, had begun its steady march round its large white dial. A new age had been born then. Now, not so many years later, more than half Britain's power was generated by huge new atomic energy stations scattered over the country. In a few years more almost all British electricity would come from this source; and it was his primary task to push the work forward. The telephone rang - jerking his thoughts back abruptly to the present. He reached for the instrument and spoke into it briefly. Then for a moment he listened with a look of incredulous concern. "But that's impossible," he gasped. "Absolutely impossible. Let me have a full report at once, Heningshaw." He returned the telephone to its rest, his thoughts in a turmoil. How odd that he should have been indulging in affectionate nostalgia about Calder Hall when his chief engineer had come through to report that Britain's number one station had suddenly become critical and had had to be closed down completely. In all the years since that memorable October day such a thing had never happened. Sections of plant had occasionally been closed because of overheating, but now - for the first time in its existence - Calder Hall was misbehaving, misbehaving badly. He picked up the telephone and his private secretary answered. "Ask Heningshaw to come at once. And bring Thomas as well." The ten minutes that followed seemed an eternity, and when there was a knock on the door, Mr. Furnival's reply was more like a bark than an invitation to enter. Two men, their faces lined with worry, came in. The chief engineer blurted out more bad news. "Bradwell and Berkeley have just gone, too." The Minister half-rose from his seat, then fell back again as the full significance of Heningshaw's words sank in. Bradwell and Berkeley. Not - not gone critical as Calder Hall had ? "Both superintendents have just been through to report, sir. A complete shut down." Beads of perspiration glistened on Heningshaw's forehead. This was catastrophe! Never before had even one major atomic energy station had to stop production. Yet now, in the space of minutes, three of them, in widely separated areas, were out of action. The effect on the National Grid would be noticeable already. "Any explanation?" Mr. Furnival asked. Yet as he spoke he could see from their appearance that they were as bewildered as he was. "No, sir," Thomas, the assistant, replied. "We haven't had time for reports from the superintendents yet, but we've called for them at once. We've asked for calls to be put through here. Perhaps that's one now, sir," he concluded as the telephone shrilled again. At a sign from the Minister, Heningshaw picked up the instrument and spoke, his voice sharp with anxiety. There was silence in the room for over half a minute as the Chief Engineer held the instrument to his ear without speaking. A gasp of consternation was the only sound that came from him until, with a curt word, he replaced the instrument. He looked up at the Minister, his face lined. "Hinckley Point and Transfynwydd gone, too." Before Mr. Furnival could speak, with a brief - almost perfunctory knock two agitated civil servants strode quickly into the room. "Sorry to burst in like this, sir," the first one blurted out. "But all hell's loose. Half the grid's gone dead and the coal stations can't cope. The Emergency Plan should be put into operation, sir. At once." Heningshaw met the glance of the Minister and nodded silently. "Very well, Soames," Furnival said grimly. "Do it now. I'll get on to the P.M." Britain had faced many crises in her long history, but disaster had never struck her before with such crippling suddenness. In those agonizing first hours, when it was realized that the whole of the country's nuclear power stations had - for some mysterious reason - been compelled to close down almost simultaneously, it seemed that she had received a blow which could easily prove fatal. Large-scale readjustments of national life were made in the course of a very few hours. Broadcasts by radio and television were used to inform and reassure the public - and the public responded magnificently but with bewilderment. Soon it became known that not only atomic energy stations in Britain had been affected. All over the world the story was the same. Nuclear reactors in America, Russia, India, in countless other countries, had become critical and been forced to close. Everywhere the effect was serious, but nowhere was it so devastating as in Britain, for this was the country which had developed the new source of energy more rapidly than any other. This was the country which the ever-rising cost of coal had compelled to rely more and more on this new source of power. So Britain, proportionately, was the most affected. For Britain it was vital that the cause should be discovered and eliminated without delay. In the daily press speculation was rife. Various guesses were hazarded - some serious, most wildly improbable. Eventually world opinion seemed to crystallize round the idea that it was due to some unknown property of the uranium which formed the core of almost every reactor. The British Government mobilized the nation's best brains to grapple with the crisis. Mr. Furnival and his Prime Minister followed the Press speculation with interest. When the uranium theory was generally accepted, they did nothing to contradict it. Yet within a week of the great shut-down the true cause had been found. In the interests of tranquility uranium was allowed to take the blame. Yet the true cause was a different one - staggeringly different. * 2 * _________________________________________________________________ It was a shocking day for July. On the windows of the railway carriage the rain beat incessantly, the slipstream whisking away the spattering drops in diagonal rivulets. The youth in the corner seat stared disconsolately through the glass at the dismal countryside and waterlogged fields. What a prospect for the long vac., he thought to himself ! There were only three people in the compartment; himself and - each sitting hunched in a corner - two elderly ladies. Neither had spoken a word during the last forty minutes - thus maintaining the good old British tradition of stony silence during a train journey. The youth made several attempts to whip up interest in the paper- backed novel he had bought at the station bookstall at Paddington. At last he gave it up in disgust and abandoned the book with its lurid cover on the seat beside him. One of the two ladies glanced idly at the bright colours and then snorted audibly when she saw that it depicted in brilliant hues the fantastic landscape of a distant planet with a weirdly armoured spaceman in the foreground. What rubbish young people read nowadays! - one could almost hear her thinking to herself. How much better it would be if this young man occupied his thoughts with serious literature instead of this impossible trash that so many people seemed to enjoy ! She would have been startled out of her silence if she had recognized the youth in the opposite corner. For this slight young man was the only human being who had ever crossed the threshold of space, who had been propelled in a rocket to a fantastic height and had returned with vital scientific information, almost losing his life in the process. It was Christopher Godfrey, who, less than two years before, had captured the imagination of the whole world with his heroic ordeal. Chris, oblivious of his fellow passenger's disapproval, continued to gaze idly at the flying landscape outside. He had just completed his first year at Cambridge and was on his way home to Wolverton where his aunt, Mrs. Mary Ingall, kept a small grocery shop. Most of his friends at the University had followed the usual practice of obtaining some form of employment during their long holiday, but Chris had planned to spend most of his vacation with his widowed aunt, studying at home. Of course he intended seeing all his friends and there was a definite undertaking to spend at least a fortnight at the home of Wing Commander and Mrs. Greatrex. As he thought of his old friend, the gallant wing commander, the youth remembered that never-to-be-forgotten day on the rocket range at Woomera when the officer's prompt and heroic action had saved his life. Seriously wounded by a traitor's bullet, Greatrex - or Whiskers as his friends dubbed him from his most prominent feature - had later married Sylvia Darke, the woman security officer who had been sent to protect Mrs. Ingall during the weeks Chris had been engaged on his hazardous assignment. Gosh, it would be good to see old Whiskers again! The train was slowing down. Thank goodness the electricity rationing had not affected steam locomotives. They would soon be running into Wolverton station, and Chris stood up - stretching to reach his two bags from the rack overhead. Then he unfolded his mackintosh and started to put it on. He would need it on the half-mile walk to his aunt's home. The rain was still coming in steadily; it looked as if he was in for a soaking. With a jerk the train pulled up, and, amid a cloud of steam coming from beneath the carriage, he stepped out on to the almost empty platform. Almost empty - but not quite. A tall man, wearing a loose-fitting waterproof coat and a dark brown trilby hat, was looking expectantly up and down the train. "Uncle George!" Chris yelled in delight. The tall man's face lit up with a happy smile as he strode along to meet the delighted youth. "Fancy you being here!" Chris called as he dumped his two bags on the platform to seize the outstretched hands. "This is great! How are you, Uncle George ?" Sir George Benson, Director of the Rocket Research Establishment at Woomera, looked down at him fondly. "Hello, Chris old chap. I'm fine. How are you ? It seems ages since I saw you." The scientist took one of the youth's bags and, an arm round his shoulders, walked along with him towards the exit. "I've got the car outside. It'll save you a soaking. I'll run you home," Sir George said as they passed through the ticket barrier. "Did you really come to meet me ?" Chris asked. "It's awfully good of you. How did you know which train I was coming on ?" "Your Aunt Mary told me. I'm staying for a few days with Mr. Berry and I thought I'd better come along and see you." "I should jolly well think so," Chris said as they walked towards Sir George's car. Putting the bags in the back, the two friends climbed in together and the scientist drove smoothly away. For a time Benson had to concentrate on the traffic at the end of the station drive. Chris looked up at the strong, kindly face of his friend. The scientist was actually no relation to the youth and "uncle" was the courtesy title adopted through force of circumstances a couple of years before. Then fate had woven an unbreakable web linking them together. Out of common danger had grown a bond of friendship and affection that nothing would ever sever. "How's it going at Cambridge, Chris ?" Benson asked as he glanced with a smile into the youth's upturned face. "Oh, fine now, Uncle George," Christopher replied. "It was a bit grim the first term as I'd been out of action for so long. The second one was better, and now I'm really enjoying it." "Good! And how are you feeling, Chris ? Fully recovered ?" "Oh absolutely. Never felt better. I've been doing some rowing and soccer - even had a dabble at boxing," the youth said proudly. How different had been his prospects when he attended the local Grammar School! Then he had been so undersized for his age that he was unable to take part in any sports - a fact that had caused him much distress. Since his venture into space - where the atmosphere no longer afforded protection from the mysterious cosmic rays - he had, for some unknown reason grown considerably. Now, though slight in build, he no longer felt different from his fellows, and it was a great joy to him that he was able to play games with not a little prowess. The scientist glanced periodically at his young friend talking happily at his side. A close observer might have noticed a strange look that occasionally crept into Benson's eyes. But it passed as quickly as a small cloud crosses the sun, and Sir George plied Chris with innumerable questions about his work and his life at the University. It seemed very little time indeed before the car was stopping outside Mrs. Ingall's little shop. Eagerly Chris grabbed one of his bags and jumped out of the car. In a few strides he had reached the shop door while Benson was still climbing out sedately. It required quite an effort for Chris to restrain himself until a grinning Sir George had joined him. Then he pushed open the shop door, setting the little bell jangling inside. Mrs. Ingall was waiting to greet her nephew in the sitting-room at the back of the shop. Chris flung up the flap of the counter and raced through, while the scientist lingered discreetly to close the shop door, for it was early closing day in Wolverton. There was a deep bond of affection between the youth and his aunt. Since the death of Chris's parents, Mrs. Ingall, a widow of many years standing, had been both father and mother to him. Yet until the events of a couple of years before, neither Chris nor his aunt were accustomed to show their mutual affection. It was only under the strain of his grim and tragic experience that their reserve had been broken down and now Chris was embracing his Aunt Mary warmly. Breaking away from her nephew with a confused little smile, Mrs. Ingall invited the scientist to step inside. "The kettle's boiling. I'll have tea ready in two minutes," she promised, bustling about as she regained her composure. Sir George and Chris removed their coats and hung them up in a small cloakroom on the left. As Mrs. Ingall disappeared into the kitchen Chris clattered upstairs with his bags while the scientist stared into the fire that was blazing away in spite of the evidence of the calendar. Again the strange look crept over Benson's face, and anyone who knew him well would have rightly guessed that he was deeply troubled. By the time Chris had returned to the room his friend's face had cleared and he never guessed what the next two hours would reveal. It was a jolly little tea party. Mrs. Ingall had provided all her nephew's favourite cakes, and the fruit and cream were attacked enthusiastically by the man and the youth alike. Of course Chris had to repeat all his news to his aunt, and in return she regaled him with local gossip about their mutual friends. Chris helped his aunt to clear away the tea things, and as they were washing up together she asked in a low voice whether Sir George would think it rude if she slipped away for an hour to visit a sick friend. Chris assured her that she need have no qualms on that score, and that he and Uncle George would find much to talk about while she was away. Later, when she put the same question to the scientist himself, Benson confirmed what Chris had said, so, with many apologies, Mrs. Ingall put on her hat and coat and left the two friends together. * 3 * _________________________________________________________________ Now it was Chris's turn to question Sir George. Eagerly the youth asked the Director of Research how things were progressing at Woomera. Of course he only expected general replies, for he knew the limitations that security clamped down on a full discussion about rocket progress. For a time Benson's answers were as full as could be expected. Then gradually Chris became aware that there was something wrong. His Uncle George seemed to be labouring under a growing strain; his answers were becoming more disjointed and it was plain that he was deeply troubled. A slight film of perspiration was on his forehead, though the room was by no means hot. The youth became more and more puzzled as the conversation deteriorated. At last it came to a complete stop, and there was an awkward silence in the room. Like a swimmer about to take a plunge into icy water, Sir George Benson took a deep breath, looked squarely at Chris, and spoke. "I - I asked your aunt to leave us alone for a time, Chris, because I wanted to have a talk with you. What I want to say is very important, so I'd better start at the beginning. You don't mind ?" "No - of course not," Chris replied. Somehow he began to have a premonition of what was coming. His heart beat a little faster, but whether from excitement or the beginning of fear he couldn't tell. He remembered vividly a former occasion in the headmaster's study when Sir George had asked him to go up in a rocket. Then the scientist had been keyed up - just as he was now. It was as if he were again steeling himself up to ask Chris to undertake another hazardous adventure. But no - it couldn't happen to anyone twice! Or could it ? Sir George Benson was looking at his young friend intently, and Chris could feel he was choosing his words with care. He would soon know what was on the scientist's mind. "Well, Chris, you remember what all the trouble was about when you went up two years ago ? Those mysterious domes that had appeared on the surface of the moon near the little mountain called Pico ? But of course you do." The youth nodded his head without speaking. Would he ever forget those small rounded structures that had been the cause of his trip in the rocket - a journey which had carried him, the first human, beyond the atmosphere to the fantastic height of 158 miles ? Then it had been his task to direct a camera-telescope, unhampered by any air, on to the area of the moon where the domes had appeared. "You did a great job, Chris, and we got some wonderful photographs. The spectographs were a great help too. As you know, we discovered that the domes were too exactly regular in size and shape to allow for a natural origin. Also the spectro- analysis showed that they were of an element unknown elsewhere on the moon - or on earth either. Well, that caused a sensation if you like! All the civilized nations have united to keep the domes under constant observation to discover their origin and purpose." "And what has been discovered ?" Chris asked eagerly. "Nothing," Benson answered. "Precisely nothing." "But it's been two years," Chris said. "I know. And everything possible has been tried. A lot of unmanned rockets have been launched with the most elaborate equipment but you know the difficulty already of directing instruments towards any precise spot without human aid. The artificial satellites - both Russian and American - have been used to the fullest possible extent. All to no purpose. No data that was not obtained in your flight has been discovered. The situation remained static until a fortnight ago - that is, except for something that occurred last April." "What happened then ?" the youth asked eagerly. "Well, the domes have been under constant visual observations whenever conditions have permitted. Thousands and thousands of photographs have been taken and compared with the ones you took two years ago. No change whatever in the number, size or appearance of the domes was observed - until the night of April 28th last." Sir George paused for a moment. Chris waited breathlessly for him to go on. "When the photographs taken during that night were examined it was thought at first that there was again no observable change. Then a keen-eyed assistant noticed something strange about three miles south-east of the dome cluster. There, in the centre of a shallow craterlet, a conical structure had appeared. April 28th was sunrise in the Pico area, and these exposures were the first taken since the previous sunset. When the prints from the previous lunar day were compared, there was no doubt about the change. "From the long shadow cast by the rising sun it was calculated that the cone was about 450 feet high and some 200 feet in diameter at its base. It had, like all the domes, been constructed during the period free from terrestrial observation." "What happened then ?" Christopher had been following the scientist's words closely. He could well remember gazing at the domes during his flight above the atmosphere. In the absolute clarity of empty space the strange - unnatural shapes had appeared through the telescope to be squatting balefully in the midst of the wild lunar scene. "Of course it caused a furore among the astronomers who had gradually been coming to accept the domes as part of the everyday scene. The cone became the central object in a concentrated programme of observation. It still is." "Were there any results ?" "Very few. It seems to be made of the same substance as the domes, but, like them, its purpose couldn't be discovered - that is, until two weeks ago." "You don't mean the failure of the atomic energy stations ?" "Yes, Chris, I do." "But I thought that was due to something wrong with the uranium." "That's what the newspapers say. But I'm afraid it's much more serious than that. We've let the general public believe the uranium theory to avoid undue alarm," Sir George explained. "We now know, without any possibility of doubt, that the breakdown of the nuclear stations is due to radiation from that sinister cone on the moon." "I - I don't understand." "I'll explain it as simply as I can. As you know, the principle of an atomic reactor is, basically, that neutrons of the uranium atom are shooting about and some of them collide with the nuclei of other atoms and split them up, thus producing more neutrons and releasing some energy which is converted into heat and finally into electric power. Many of these high speed neutrons escape without making a collision, or are absorbed in the apparatus. Now if the size of the uranium core was increased, the proportion of neutron collisions would also increase and far more energy than could be controlled would be released. In other words, an atomic explosion would take place. "So there is what we call a critical mass of the reactor core, and one of the greatest problems in nuclear engineering is to maintain the delicate balance between sufficient neutron collisions to sustain the reaction, and too many which would cause a catastrophe. If the atomic pile is producing too many neutron collisions it has become critical and steps have to be taken instantly to reduce them." "How is it done ?" Chris asked, deeply interested. "Well, graphite absorbs these high-speed neutrons, and if for any reason a reactor has become critical, automatic apparatus inserts graphite rods into the core until the right balance has been restored. Until now this procedure has always worked." "Then what has happened ?" "Without warning, and almost simultaneously, all our reactors became critical. For some reason, which we couldn't then understand, there was a great increase in neutron collisions, so much so that they all had to be dampened down completely. The result was that the stations were unable to function, and we were deprived of all our atomic power." "And have you found the cause ?" asked Chris. "We have. At first we couldn't understand why there was suddenly a great increase in the collisions. There was absolutely no reason why all the reactors themselves should have begun to produce so many active neutrons," the scientist explained, "for over the world they vary so much in size, design and age. We were forced to the conclusion that some outside agency was at work. Without wearying you with details of how it was done, I can tell you that we made the discovery that Earth was being bombarded with an intense stream of neutrons all originating from that strange cone on the Moon. It's incredible, but it's true." Chris whistled. Then he was silent as he absorbed this staggering piece of information. It was almost unbelievable! So, whoever or whatever had constructed the cone and the domes was responsible for this silent, relentless attack on the human race! But why ? Why ? Now Christopher felt once more that sinking feeling of vague fear beginning to creep over him. Why was Sir George telling him all this when it was such a top secret ? Surely they weren't going to - but no it couldn't be! They would never ask him to go up in a rocket again. Yet Uncle George had deliberately sought this opportunity to talk to him alone on this, the first day of his long vacation. A hot resentment welled up inside the youth. It was a dirty trick! Uncle George wasn't playing the game! The keen eyes of the tall scientist registered the youth's every expression, and as surely as if Chris had spoken aloud Benson divined his thoughts. His heart sank as he guessed what his companion was thinking abut him, for in their common adventure of the past, Chris had come to mean a great deal to the Director of Research. How tragic it was that duty now compelled him to risk the youth's affection on which he set such a great store! "Chris, lad," Sir George almost stammered in his distress and emotion. "I can guess just what's in your mind, but it's my duty - I've been requested to do it - to ask if you'd consider another flight in a rocket." * 4 * _________________________________________________________________ Almost at that instant, many miles away, the huge shining aircraft came to a halt and uniformed attendants placed the aluminium landing steps in position against its side. At once the door opened and a member of the crew with a sheaf of papers under his arm ran lightly down the steps as a small group of officials made their way across the tarmac. They waited in a tight little knot till a short, stout man stepped from the plane and descended. As he stepped on the ground the waiting officials came forward in turn and each shook hands, for this was Mr. Hilary Sandford, Her Majesty's Minister of Defence. There was the usual "click" of cameras from the photographers who always seem to be present when anyone important arrives at London Airport. Then the little part - Mr. Sandford in the lead - made its way to the V.I.P. lounge where the Minister was to face a battery of film and television cameras while he answered questions from the Press. Mrs. Sandford had not gone out to meet her husband with the officials. She suffered badly from arthritis and was unable to walk without the help of sticks, so she waited to greet him just inside the building. The Minister gave his wife a warm, affectionate greeting which, creditably, the photographers ignored. Then, Mrs. Sandford leaning heavily on her husband's arm, they made their way to face the coming ordeal. Mrs. Sandford was shocked at her husband's appearance. Beneath the determined smile he wore with the facility of an experienced politician, she could detect the signs of great strain and tension. To her he seemed to have aged ten years instead of ten days during his visit to the United States. As she made her painful was at her husband's side, she resolved once more to implore Hilary to resign whilst he still had any health left. She knew what the answer had always been in the past, but never before had he seemed - to her discerning eyes - so utterly weary in body and in spirit as he was now. She could not help admiring her husband's courage and patience during the next twenty minutes. First the Minister read a short prepared statement outlining the objects and results of his visit. His talks, he said, with Mr. Beland, the American Secretary of Defence, with the President, and with other American officials, had been most cordial and fruitful. He would first be reporting to the Prime Minister and the Cabinet; then he would be making a full statement in the House. But this he could say, that as a result of the improved relations between East and West, a further cut in the cost of Western defence was deemed practical. However, both Britain and the United States had resolved to maintain the momentum of research that had been built up at such great cost during the years of tension. For example, it had been decided to shift the emphasis of rocket research from the perfection of an inter-continental ballistic missile to the exploration of space and an all-out investigation into the nature of cosmic radiation. Much of the information that had come from the Russian Sputnik satellites during the International Geophysical Year had been of the utmost importance, but there was still a great deal to learn, and the Soviet Union would be invited to join in drawing up a common plan. When he had finished his statement Mr. Sandford faced the inevitable questions. These he answered or parried with practised ease, until at last the interview was over and he and his wife were escorted to the official car which was to drive straight to Downing Street. As they moved off smoothly the Minister sank back wearily into the soft seat of the car. Mrs. Sandford looked at the lined face of her husband with growing concern. Her hand sought his, and the gentle pressure caused Sandford to turn towards her with the ghost of a smile. "Gosh, Alice, it's good to be back," he murmured. The strength seemed to have gone from his voice, for he was now alone with the one person in the world whom he never tried to deceive. To the outside world he could, at a minute's notice, turn on a calm confident face. Twenty-five years in politics, including over a score in the House, and the last three as Minister, had taught Hilary Sandford the value of a well disciplined countenance. "Had a bad time, Hil ?" his wife asked gently. The politician shut his eyes for a moment. "Ghastly," he replied, looking at his gentle grey-haired wife. Mrs. Sandford was puzzled. Her husband had many times before been away on important international conferences. Often he had worked long hours between his Ministry and the House. He had fought eight strenuous elections, yet never before had she seen him so utterly weary and dejected in spirit. She must strike while the iron is hot. "How much longer can you carry on, Hil ?" she asked gently. Sandford didn't fly off the handle as he usually did when his wife started on this subject. Instead he roused himself from his languor, a deep sigh came from his broad chest. "I'm going to get out of politics just as soon as this job is over, Alice. I think, after all, raising chickens is more my line," he said slowly. Mrs. Sandford could hardly believe her ears. Things must have gone badly for Hil to be so dispirited. Did he really mean to retire ? He'd probably think better of it after a night's sleep. Yet, somehow, she knew that something had happened to disturb her husband deeply. Perhaps he might tell her about it when they were alone that night. Now the car had turned into London's most famous street, and the Minister of Defence was marshalling his features into the mould the public was used to. The little knot of idlers that for ever seem to be standing about began to applaud politely as the chauffeur opened the door of the car for Mr. Sandford to step out in front of Number Ten. As the vehicle drove away again taking his wife to their home in Kent, the politician paused on the steps for a moment at the request of an inevitable photographer. Then he turned and walked quickly inside the open door of the Prime Minister's residence. William Beaumont had been Prime Minister of Britain for over six years. He was able and intelligent; as a politician he was moderate and conciliatory and had almost as many friends in the Opposition as in his own party. He was waiting for his colleague in a small drawing-room where a dark-coated manservant had just set out some drinks. A Private Secretary led Hilary Sandford into his chief's presence. The two men shook hands cordially, for they had known each other for many years. Alone they addressed each other by Christian names, but now, in the presence of the P.S., they were more formal with each other. Beaumont enquired about Sandford's comfort on the journey, and then took an early opportunity to dismiss the Private Secretary. As soon as the man had left the room the Prime Minister turned an anxious face towards his colleague. "How is it, Hil ? How have they taken it ? Bad as we thought ?" he asked. Sandford nodded his head. "Worse, Bill. Much worse. What we're going to do, I just don't know. There are all sorts of wild proposals of course, But I think they are really looking to us for a lead. So did the Soviet Ambassador who sat in throughout all our meetings." "Did you manage all right at the airport ?" the P.M. asked. "Easily," the Minister of Defence answered with a wan smile. "I read a prepared statement on the lines we agreed, and it seemed to satisfy them. The questions were innocuous and the answers will cover us for any unusual activity in the near future. But for God's sake, Bill, not the slightest whisper of what's really causing this atomic disaster must ever get out." "I think I can promise you that, Hilary," the Prime Minister answered quietly. "Only six members of the Cabinet - four others beside ourselves - together with the three Service chiefs and their scientific advisers know the real reason for your visit to the States. So now let's have it, Hil. What do they think over there ?" The two men were seated opposite each other in a couple of easy chairs. Yet instead of settling down comfortably with their pipes as they had done so many times before, they now sat uneasily, with pale, strained faces. It was after quite an appreciable interval that the Minister of Defence found words to refer to the menace that threatened our Earth. "To the Americans and Russians with their ample supplies of easily mined coal the availability of atomic energy is not so important as it is with us, of course. Yet they're just as perturbed as we are about this neutron bombardment. They are really worried about why it's happening and who is responsible. 'Is this the prelude to some greater menace ?' is the question the Administration is asking itself. And they're inclined to think it is. Russia agrees." Slight beads of perspiration stood out on the Prime Minister's forehead. Suddenly, without asking his companion, he stood up and strode across to the little table carrying the drinks. Silently he returned to his chair, pushing a stiff whisky into Sandford's hand, and taking a gulp at one himself. "Tell me, Hil," the P.M. asked. "Did they accept our proposal ?" "Not at once, but after a time they accepted it without reserve. The President was the hardest man to convince, but when he could see that Beland and the others took it seriously, he swallowed it, hook, line and sinker. Mr. Malensky was in constant touch with Moscow, and they, too, are with us all the way." "You must have had a bad time putting it over. What did you say to them ?" Beaumont enquired of his colleague. Hilary Sandford sipped his whisky. "You know I'm not a scientific chap," he began, "though I've had to do a deal of studying these last few weeks. Oh, I know we've always got our advisers to explain things to us in words of one syllable, but I prefer to get the hang of things myself. I think it paid dividends in talking to the Americans. "The President and his colleagues were as keen as we are to learn more about this radiation. They believe that in time it will have other effects on the human race, perhaps even more serious than the elimination of its most promising source of power. Some of their men have done a great deal of work on radiation generally and they're inclined to the opinion that the nuclear blackout is only a first result of this bombardment. The Russians were even more concerned, for they know the effect cosmic radiation had on the animals they sent up in their satellites." The Prime Minister was following Sandford's words closely. Though not, as he rightly said, a man with a scientific training, Hilary had always had the knack of expressing himself with clarity and logic. It had been this facility that had been mainly responsible for choosing him for this vital and delicate task. "Had they any explanation to offer ?" Beaumont asked. "No. They were completely puzzled. Naturally they had conceded the artificial nature of the cone and the domes after the Woomera investigation two years ago. Since then they've thought up all sorts of explanations as to why or how they were made." This time it was the Minister of Defence who walked across the room to refill their glasses. Normally neither of these men partook of much alcohol, but now it seemed to help both of them to overcome the terrific strain under which they were labouring. Hilary sat back in his chair and resumed. "It was Beland, I think, who asked me point blank what our theory was. And I had to tell him that we haven't got one. All we know is that those damned domes are a menace - the most immediate and most deadly menace that mankind has ever had to face. And that we've got to destroy it. Somehow." "And they agreed ?" "They agreed." Just then there was a knock on the door and at Beaumont's invitation the Private Secretary entered the room. He murmured something to the Prime Minister, and then immediately withdrew. "The others are all ready," the P.M. said to his colleague, and motioned him towards the door. "Shall we join them ?" Hilary Sandford stood up wearily and followed his leader through the door into the Cabinet room where about a dozen men, including Mr. Furnival, turned anxiously towards them as they entered. Soon they were all seated round the famous table, Beaumont at the head with Sandford on his right. His colleagues murmured their greetings to the Minister of Defence. Then Beaumont invited Hilary to give them all his report, and he repeated what he had told the Prime Minister. The company listened in almost complete silence, some of the men occasionally nodding their approval of Sandford's conduct of this vital mission. All were now keyed up to learn whether the Americans and Russians would co-operate in any action thought advisable. "Both the President and his colleagues pledged 100 per cent co-operation, Moscow said the same," Sandford declared. "They are prepared to throw in the whole of their resources, but they made it a condition that the strictest security measures must be observed. I think they fear public reaction even more than we do." There was a pause while the men seated in the historic British Cabinet Room each turned over in his mind the report just presented by the Minister of Defence. It was the Prime Minister who spoke first. "I am sure we all congratulate Sandford on the successful outcome of a very delicate mission. If anything is to be achieved, then we are all agreed that America and Britain must work in the closest possible harmony, and machinery must be set up instantly to accomplish this. As you all know, we have our own plans, but these can be carried out much more speedily and with greater certainty of success with American-Soviet partnership. Frayling, will you just run over the plan we have worked out while Sandford has been in the States." The man to whom the Prime Minister had spoken was a scientist. But to say this is not enough. In addition to having one of the finest brains in the country, Sir Leo Frayling was a dynamic personality. Beaumont had relied largely on him to direct and co-ordinate the work of a small very secret committee the P.M. had set up. Sir Leo now glanced at some notes he held and began to speak in his clear, precise voice. "We have in fact been working on two plans, Mr. Prime Minister," he said. "One was for us to use if we had to work alone. The other one was based on Russian and American co-operation. Now that the Minister of Defence has secured that so thoroughly, I think we may ignore the first. "Briefly, gentlemen, we have no alternative but to destroy the cone, and, if possible, the domes too. If we fail to do this, in the course of a few years all civilized progress will become impossible. Speed, therefore, Mr. Prime Minister, is of paramount importance in our plan. Now that we can count on the resources of our three countries," Frayling continued, "our task will be simplified. We must attack the lunar structures with atomic war heads. In no other way can we hope to eliminate the source of this crippling radiation. With American rockets and Russian war heads, together with our guidance system, the job can be done." "There is, of course, one very great obstacle to overcome," Beaumont said, turning to his Minister of Defence. "Perhaps you'll explain what it is, Frayling." "I'd rather Johnson, here, took up the point," the scientist answered. "He's the electronics expert." All eyes turned to the small pale-featured man who was fingering the lapel of his jacket nervously. "Er - well, the difficulty is in directing the rocket vehicles with a sufficient degree of accuracy," Johnson said almost apologetically. "As you know, both the U.S.S.R. and America succeeded in putting a marker rocket on the moon some time ago. Now, however, we're trying to pinpoint one particular bit of it. "To approach anywhere near the target area we must be able to launch the first stage rocket in the required direction within a limit of plus or minus less than one- third of a degree. Also the launching speed would have to be correct to within 100 feet per second. At the present stage of development both these requirements are about twenty times more accurate than anyone can yet achieve. Some other means must be found, therefore, for ensuring the war head is directed correctly to the target area." Hilary Sandford nodded. He was extremely tired but by a great effort of will he was following closely Johnson's exposition. The small man went on. "Our difficulties would be overcome if we could place a Levy beacon in the target area. This is an apparatus which radiates impulses that can be used to guide the rocket towards it. Once a Levy beacon was in position, any number of rockets could be launched. They would pick up the impulses when within about 10,000 miles of the Moon and would then be directed automatically towards the beacon. This would continue to operate for about seven days, or until it received a near hit. We reckon that one beacon would be sufficient for us to guarantee delivery of enough war heads to wipe out the cone and the domes completely." "But how will you get the beacon there ?" Furnival asked. "You'll have just the same difficulty placing it where you want it as you would in getting the war heads there." There was an awkward pause in the Cabinet Room as the Minister of Fuel and Power posed the critical question. It was the Premier himself who replied. "You're quite right of course. There's only one possible way it can be done and we must try it." "How ?" "We must send up a human being in a rocket charged with the task of delivering the Levy beacon as near as possible to the cone," Beaumont said doggedly. Furnival gasped. "But it's impossible. We haven't got anywhere near that far. We haven't even managed a manned satellite yet." "I know. I know. Yet the stakes are so great that we must make the gamble." Beaumont replied. "I'm told that technically it will be possible to use present American rocket engines for the lower stages of a piloted lunar rocket. Now they are all in with us, it won't take too long, either." "But who on earth will you get to be the pilot ?" Sandford asked in bewilderment. Again there was a noticeable silence before the P.M. spoke. Each of the men in that historic room seemed uneasy and uncomfortable. The Minister of Defence caught several of them glancing at each other selfconsciously. "Well," the British Prime Minister began in a strained voice, "there is only one person in existence who has had experience of true rocket travel. We're hoping that he can be persuaded to go." "You don't mean that boy who went up at Woomera a couple of years ago and was nearly killed ?" Sandford asked incredulously. "Yes. Christopher Godfrey." "But this is monstrous," Hilary protested excitedly. "Don't you think the boy did enough before ? That he survived that crash is a miracle - and now you're asking him to go through all that horrible experience again. I - I don't understand." "We know how you feel, my dear Sandford," Beaumont said doggedly. "Everyone in this room had exactly the same reactions when the boy's name was first suggested. But the arguments in favour of using him again are so overwhelming that we've had to swallow our scruples in the wider interest of humanity as a whole. Perhaps, Frayling, you'll go over the points that have forced us into this position." "Willingly, Prime Minister," the scientist agreed. "The facts are painfully clear. Speed, of course, is of the utmost importance. Every day, every minute, is precious. And this young man is the only person who has had previous experience of rocket flight. He would, naturally, have to undergo a refresher course, but this would be shorter by weeks than the training of a completely raw recruit. Moreover, he has the terrific psychological advantage of having done something very similar before. He would have no fear of the high g at take-off or of the weightless condition of free-fall. Already he has proved himself resourceful and highly intelligent. If he can be persuaded to go, he can be trained quickly and the world will be delivered from this frightening scourge so much the sooner." As he listened to the arguments of Sir Leo, Sandford had to admit their force. After all, someone had to do the job, and - though he had been through so much before - if this youth would agree and if he succeeded then he would have conferred an immeasurable blessing on the whole human race. With a sigh the Minister concede the wisdom of his colleagues. "Suppose he won't go ?" he ventured. "I think he will," Beaumont said with conviction. "He's being approached about it today. And the man who is asking him is Sir George Benson, with whom he has the strongest possible ties of affection. No. I have little doubt that Benson will get Godfrey to agree." "When will you know ?" "I've asked Benson to telephone here immediately he has succeeded," the Premier replied. "Then we shall get moving very quickly on the lines we have already worked out. Now I think we'll terminate this meeting. I'll be standing by for Benson's call, so you go home, Hilary, and get some rest. I'll ring for you later this evening. We can meet in the morning to consider the statement you'll have to make to the House." As he spoke, the Prime Minister rose and the others followed suit. All knew exactly what they had to do to put this tremendous plan into operation - a plan which, if it was successful, would save mankind - but a plan that depended on the decision of one boy many miles away. As he walked towards the door of the Cabinet Room Sir Leo Frayling found one of his fellow scientists at his side. As the two men passed through, his companion pulled Sir Leo back. "If he goes, what chance has Godfrey got of getting back alive ?" he asked in a quiet voice. Sir Leo looked his colleague squarely in the face. "Absolutely none," he answered in the same low tone.