Gene Helig’s account of the events in Barandi National Mine No. 3 was in the hands of his colleague in the neighbouring statelet of Matsa before 8.00 a.m. local time, and in a further ten minutes had been relayed to the Press Association office in Salisbury, Rhodesia. Because both journalists concerned had the highest professional credentials, the story was accepted without question and beamed via satellite to several major centres, including London and New York. From there it was shared out among other agencies with special ethnic, cultural, political or geographical interests. Up to that point the original message had been analagous to the output grid current in a thermionic valve, a puny trickle of electrons, but its characteristics were suddenly amplified by the full power of the global news services and it began to surge massively from pole to pole, swamping the various media. Again as in the case of a thermionic valve, excessive amplification led inevitably to distortion.
The reactions were almost immediate.
Tensions had been high in those equatorial countries in which the Avernians had been sighted, and the news that the immaterial ‘ghosts’ were planning to turn themselves into solid, substantial, material invaders caused people to take to the streets. The terminator, the line which divided night from day—and which also marked the emergence point of the alien planet and its inhabitants—was proceeding westwards along the equator at a leisurely rate of less than 1,700 kilometres an hour, and thus was far outstripped by the rumours of the menace it was supposed to represent. While morning sunlight was filtering down through the rain clouds which covered Barandi, the darkness which still lay over Ecuador, Columbia and three of the new countries which occupied northern Brazil was disturbed here and there by the classical symptoms of panic. And far to the north, in New York, members of several special United Nations committees were summoned from their beds.
President Paul Ogilvie read carefully through the news summary sheets and memoranda which had been left for his attention by his personal secretary, then he pressed a switch on his communicator set and said, “I want Colonel Freeborn here immediately.”
He took a cigar from the silver box on his desk and busied himself with the rituals of removing the band, cutting the sealed end and ensuring that the tobacco was ignited evenly. His hands remained perfectly steady throughout the entire operation, but he was not concealing from himself the fact that he had been shocked by the news he had just read. His other self, the one which obstinately clung to the old tribal name with which he had begun life, felt a deep unease at the idea of ghosts stalking among the lakeside trees, and the prospect of the ghosts materialising into solid flesh smacked even more clearly of magic. The fact that the paraphernalia of nuclear physics was involved did not prevent the magic from being magic—the knowledge that witch doctors used psychological techniques did nothing to render them harmless.
At another level of consciousness, Ogilvie was disturbed by a conviction that his present security and all his plans for the future were being threatened by the new developments at the mine. He enjoyed having fifty expensive suits and a fleet of prestige cars; he relished the superb food and wine, and the exotic women which he imported like any other luxury commodity; and, above all, he savoured Barandi’s growing acceptance among the other countries of the world, the imminence of its full membership of the United Nations. Barandi was his own personal creation, and official recognition by the UN would be history’s seal of approval upon Paul Ogilvie, the man.
He had more to lose than any other man in the country, and his instincts were keener in proportion—it was becoming obvious to him that the affair at Three had been mishandled. Swift, stern measures at the outset might have quashed the whole thing, but it was too late for that now, and the danger was that Freeborn might go off the rails in full view of the world. Now that he thought of it, Colonel Freeborn was fast becoming an anachronism and a liability in a number of respects…
The communicator set buzzed softly and his secretary announced the Colonel’s arrival. “Send him in,” Ogilvie said, closing a mental file for the time being.
“Afternoon, Paul.” Freeborn strode into the big office with an air of barely controlled anger, his long-muscled galley slave’s arms glistening beneath the half-sleeves of his drill shirt.
“Have you seen this stuff?” Ogilvie tapped the sheets on his blotter.
“I got my copies.”
“What do you think?”
“I think we’ve been pussy-footing around for far too long, and this is the outcome. It’s time we went in there…”
“I mean what do you think about these creatures from another world which are supposed to come through a machine?”
Freeborn looked surprised. “I don’t think anything of it—partly because I don’t believe in fairy tales, but mainly because I’m going to kick those white wabwa out of the mine before they cost us any more time and money.”
“We can’t do anything too hastily/ Ogilvie said, examining the ash of his cigar. “I’ve just had word from New York that the United Nations is sending a team of investigators.”
“United Nations! United Nations! That’s all I hear from you these days, Paul.” Freeborn clenched his fist around his gold-topped cane. “What has happened to you? This is our country—we don’t have to let anybody in if we don’t want them.”
Ogilvie sighed, sending a flat cloud of grey smoke billowing on the polished wood of his desk. “Everything can be handled diplomatically. The UN people want Doctor Ambrose to stop whatever it is he’s doing, which suits us perfectly. As a matter of interest, did your friend Snook make any attempt to contact you and keep you informed as we arranged?”
“I’ve had no messages from him.”
“There you are! He ignored his brief, and that entitles me to tell him and Doctor Ambrose to get out of the mine. And we’ll be complying with the UN’s wishes.”
Freeborn dropped into a chair and rested his forehead on one hand. “I swear to you, Paul—this is making me ill. I don’t care about Ambrose, but I’ve got to have this man, Snook. If I sent the Leopards back into…”
“Are you sure they could deal with him, Tommy? I’ve heard that when he’s armed with a piece of cutlery he can overcome a platoon of Leopards.”
“I’ve just heard about that and haven’t had time to investigate, but apparently there was an incident, a trivial incident, involving three of my men.”
“Three men and an officer, wasn’t it?”
Freeborn did not raise his head, but a vein began to pulse on his shaven temple. “What do you want me to do?”
“Get Snook’s telephone line connected again,” Ogilvie said. “I want to talk to him right now.” He sat back in his chair and watched as Freeborn took a small military communicator from his shirt pocket and spoke into it, noting with amusement that—even for such a minor detail—the Colonel used a prearranged code word. A minute later Freeborn nodded and put his radio away. Ogilvie instructed his secretary to get Snook on the line. He stared thoughtfully at the rain-streaming windows, deliberately presenting the appearance of a man in effortless control of his circumstances, until the connection was made.
“Good afternoon, Snook,” he said. “Is Doctor Ambrose with you?”
“No, sir. He’s down at the mine setting up some equipment.”
Freeborn stirred restlessly as Snook’s voice reached him through the phone’s loudspeaker attachment.