The Night of the Triffids (14 page)

    'We have, but they've been converted to burn oil.'

    'Oil? You have oil wells?'

    'No, but-'

    'Surely you're not still drawing on old stockpiles?'

    'No. The oil comes from triffids.'

    '
Triffids
?' Rory's eyes widened as if I'd babbled nonsense. 'But how on earth do you refine it to produce combustible fuel?'

    'Well, we have built a refinery that processes triffids on an industrial scale. My father and a man called Coker invented the system twenty years ago. It's possible to distil the oil to produce a light spirit with similar properties to petroleum and-'

    'Just listen to that,' exclaimed Gabriel. 'These guys are squeezing gasoline out of those damn plants. Incredible!'

    'And heavier oils for lubricants, cooking and pharmaceuticals,' I added with a kind of bewildered pride. 'The fuel for my jet was triffid spirit; it's different from our oils for internal combustion engines or-'

    'Jeepers.' Kerris looked astonished. 'The question is, will your people share your technology with our people?'

    I grinned somewhat naively. 'I don't see why not.'

    Rory rubbed his jaw. 'And you people have a fleet of jet aircraft?'

    'Yes. Mainly fighters and light bombers.'

    'Jeez.' Dek and the other three suddenly sat back in their seats, looking at each other. There seemed to be a fair amount of communication going on through eye contact alone. Suddenly, I had the notion that they wanted to go away into a huddle to chew over what I'd shared with them out of earshot of me.

    At last Kerris said to me in a studiedly careful manner that made me a bit uneasy for the first time: 'David. You mean to say your island maintains a military air force?'

    'Yes,' I said, a little more guardedly now. 'For defence purposes.'

    'Do you see yourself threatened by - for want of a better phrase - a foreign power?'

    'Not as such. But in the past pirates have targeted us. The smaller islands in our group have been particularly vulnerable.'

    'So you've used the jets aggressively?'

    'On occasion.' A little voice in the back of my head warned me to rein in my wagging tongue.

    'I see.' Kerris reflected for a moment. 'You do appreciate why we might be concerned when we hear that an overseas community has such an effective force of combat aircraft?'

    'They're purely defensive.'

    'But as quickly offensive?'

    'True.' I smiled and shrugged. 'But believe me, our people aren't hell-bent on world domination.'

    Rory let out a breath, then fixed his gimlet eyes on me. 'But you see the dilemma, David? We - I mean, our people - are really going out on a limb here. Yes, we are going out to communities all over the world, extending the hand of friendship, offering to set up trade links - to trade knowledge as well as goods - but we are also advertising that we have a viable, self-supporting society with access to raw materials like coal and timber.'

    I nodded. 'And you're concerned that some community here in Europe might try and invade and take it all away from you.'

    'That is a danger.' Gabriel's expression turned serious. 'We've had pirate raids, too. We've lost friends and family.'

    'So you see why we might get a tad nervous when we hear about someone with fleets of jet bombers and fighters,' Kerris added.

    'After all-' Rory looked at me levelly '-you might decide not to trade but merely to bomb us all to hell and just take what you want.'

    'We're not like that,' I said firmly. 'We are peace-loving. We too want to build bridges between communities.'

    Gabriel relaxed a little. 'Then I'm glad to hear it.'

    'And we too only want to make friends,' Rory smiled. 'Not enemies.'

    'Besides,' I pointed out, 'none of our aircraft, even the jets, have the range to reach New York.'

    'You don't have any aircraft carriers, then?'

    I laughed. 'No. That's one luxury we don't have.'

    Suddenly they were all smiles again.

    'Then we're all going to be the best of friends,' Gabriel said, rising to his feet. 'I think this calls for at least a shot of something in celebration.'

    He returned with a whiskey that was as fiery as it was potent. A couple of those and the alcohol went singing through my veins and right to my head. After sleeping in a cramped cockpit for eleven days straight I suddenly felt dog-tired. Kerris noticed the way my chin had started to droop down to my chest. She told me that a cabin was ready for me and led the way lightly along the corridor to a small but comfortable room where a freshly made bunk waited.

    'Oh, David,' she said as she stood smiling in the doorway. 'The skipper says we should reach the Isle of Wight in the morning. In the meantime feel free to make yourself at home.'

    I managed to thank her before I slipped away into a beautiful, dreamless sleep.

    

    

    

    FROM the ship to a far distant shore radio signals flashed, back and forth, racing across the ether. Information dispatched. Questions asked. Orders transmitted.

    I knew none of this then. I slept in blissful, peaceful ignorance in my bunk below decks.

    Engine notes changed in pitch. Pulsing tremors from pounding pistons ran through the ship, growing stronger and stronger. Stokers, roused early from their bunks, were ordered below without breakfast, where, no doubt, they stoked not only boiler fires but also the very air around them with fiery curses. But needs must. They had to raise as much steam as that old ship could. They fed the furnaces with coal and yet more coal. The ship sped faster and faster through the night-time ocean.

    Again, I knew none of this. I slept on.

    Above me sparks cascaded from the funnel to flicker against a sky that remained starless and deathly dark. Anyone standing on deck would have seen the wake running out astern, like a luminously white chalk line across a blackboard. At first it would have been straight. Presently, however, degree by degree, the observer would have seen the line begin to curve as the ship turned, adopting a new course. She carried a treasure on board. One of such huge value that the ship's master had been ordered to stop for nothing. Or for no one.

    It was in that same cosy envelope of blissful ignorance that I climbed from my bunk, donned those comical Dalmatian-patterned socks, pulled on my clothes and went to the passengers' saloon where I breakfasted on a concoction of crisped bacon, eggs and toast, all drenched in some sort of extremely sweet syrup. What was more, I didn't give two hoots when Gabriel Deeds strolled in, taking mighty swallows from a coffee mug, and commented, 'Anyone know why the skipper's driving the old tub so hard? She's shooting along like a speedboat this morning.'

    The others shrugged before carrying on eating. Kerris asked me about the Isle of Wight's infrastructure.

    
Infrastructure?
I'd have to take a couple of runs at spelling the word, never mind going into detail about how many miles of rail track or water mains we boasted.

    Ignorant fool that I was then, I thought we were only an hour or so from home. Kerris had already requisitioned film stock from the ship's stores and had loaded a handsome German-made 8 mm movie camera. I couldn't help but watch her slender fingers, working the film round guiders and sprockets before delicately inserting it into the lens gate. The mechanism might have been forty years old but the camera still ran sweet as a Swiss clock. The first meeting for thirty years between our two peoples would be recorded for posterity.

    After a while I went on deck. The crew had their heads down, working hard. I saw Captain Sharpstone on his bridge, hands behind his back, standing four-square to the approaching horizon, his iron gaze fixed bow-ward.

    I noticed too a four-pounder artillery gun on the foredeck, along with a couple of mounts for heavy machine guns. These people certainly weren't going into dangerous waters unprepared.

    The sun was now well above the horizon. Or rather, the feeble excuse that passed for the sun in these darkened times. Once more it reminded me of a disc of orange foil. It hung there indifferently, as
if
merely pasted to the sky. We were in for another gloomy day and, despite its being June, it felt distinctly chilly. Whatever was filtering out most of the light up there so many miles above my head was doing an equally efficient job of blocking the sun's heat. Day by day the air felt more and more wintry.

    Perhaps what Mr Hartlow had told me just before he died had been right. Maybe this
was
the beginning of the end. One prophesied by so many of the world's religions: the onset of the end of the world would begin with a supernatural darkness.

    Without light there would be no photosynthesis. Plant life would die. Without plants herbivores would die. Soon the food chain would be shattered, link by link.

    These thoughts worked a shiver through my bones, chilling me more than the cold air.

    I stood leaning forward, my elbows on the guard rail, gazing from the tumbling wake in the rust-coloured sea to the horizon, searching for the first rounded humps of the Isle of Wight. At that moment my greatest pleasure would be simply to walk along the harbour wall into town. See familiar faces. Hear the voices of the children in the schoolyard. I even imagined settling into a comfortable armchair at home where I'd tell my parents and sisters what had happened to me. I pictured their wide-eyed faces as they drank in every word of my adventures. All this followed by a cathartic night on the town with Mitch Mitchell. As I gazed dreamily homeward, I sensed a figure standing behind me.

    'Oh, Kerris. Sorry, I didn't notice you there.'

    'I didn't mean to disturb you.'

    'I was just looking for a first glimpse of home.'

    'See anything?'

    'Not yet.'

    'We must get you some boots. You can't stand out here in your socks, it's freezing.'

    'I hadn't noticed,' I said, not altogether truthfully. It was actually damn cold. 'Be ready for a big reception committee.' I nodded toward the horizon. 'I wouldn't be surprised if the whole population doesn't turn out to greet you.' I smiled. 'It's not every day a ship full of Americans steams in.'

    'I'll be ready with the movie camera.' She grinned. 'I'll catch that handsome profile of yours as we dock.'

    'Handsome? What, a lens-cracking phizog like mine? Hardly.'

    'You'll be too busy looking out for your wife on the quayside.'

    'No. Not me. I'm not married.'

    'Oh,' Kerris said. Then she turned to look forward, her long hair fluttering back in the breeze. 'Gabe's right. We're really moving today. Skipper's in a hurry to get you safely home.'

    'You're sure that he's radioed ahead on the frequency I gave you?'

    'Of course. They were relieved to hear that you were safe, I can tell you.'

    'I'm only sorry I can't say the same for my passenger.'

    There was a pause, filled only with the hiss of the ship's wake.

    'You saved the girl,' Kerris said at length, fixing me with those green eyes of hers. 'You'll return a hero.'

    'I don't feel like a hero.' I shook my head. 'In fact, I feel bloody sick about what happened to Hinkman.'

    'Well, be ready with a speech when you get home. Those folk on your island consider you to be some kind of hero already.'

    'That's probably an accident of birth, rather than any qualities of my own.'

    Kerris pulled back her hair from her face as the wind blew it into a rippling mass that now shone red in the sombre half-light. 'David. You're either very modest - almost insufferably modest - or there's some great family secret.'

    I leaned forward, elbows on the guard rail, watching the foam at the bow. 'No big family secret. My father is, I suppose, when all's said and done, seen as some kind of demigod at home.'

    'And you kinda feel that great things are expected of you?'

    'Sort of

    'And it rankles?'

    'Not really.' I smiled at her. 'My father's a great father and my family don't expect me to be Bill Masen mark two. But there are public expectations.'

    'Maybe you won't disappoint them.'

    'Kerris, so far my only significant achievement has been to crash two of the island's aircraft in two days. So even if I am expected to step into a giant's shoes, it looks like my feet just aren't damned big enough.'

    I turned to lean back against the rail, noticing for the first time how white Kerris's teeth were, framed by those full lips. 'That wasn't supposed to sound too self-pitying, by the way. And your family - do they pass muster?'

    'They do. But they're kinda difficult to keep track of.'

    'A big family?'

    'I guess so.'

    'A chap I know, Mitch Mitchell, has eight brothers and two sisters. I don't know how he remembers all their birthdays.' I grinned. 'Or even all their names, come to that.'

    'Your buddy Mitch has got it easy.'

    'You've got more?'

    'Hmm.' She nodded at me, smiling. 'At the last count, one hundred and fifteen brothers and exactly one hundred and twenty sisters.'

    I laughed out loud, then waited for the joke's punchline. Then I saw this wasn't a leg-pull. 'Crikey.'

    'And you thought Mitch had his hands full.' She smiled and touched my chin. 'If that jaw of yours drops any further it's going to dent the deck. Now…' She leaned forward over the rail, her hair streaming back in the breeze. 'Any sign of that island yet?'