The Black Cloud

“So it means that those who sent the rockets will get ’em back again. Ye gods, it’s the judgement of Solomon.”

Kingsley had listened to the conversation. Now he said:

“There’s one final little tit-bit for you, Parkinson: that point about slight perturbations being added, which means that we don’t know exactly where they’ll land. We only know approximately within a few hundred miles, or perhaps within a thousand miles. I’m sorry about this, Geoff.”

Marlowe looked older than Kingsley ever remembered him.

“It might have been worse; we can console ourselves with that, I suppose. Thank God America is a big country.”

“Well, it’s the end of our idea of secrecy,” remarked Kingsley. “I’ve never believed in secrecy and now I’ve got it thrown back in my face. That’s another judgement of Solomon.”

“What d’you mean about it being the end of secrecy?”

“Well, Harry, we must warn Washington. If a hundred hydrogen bombs are going to fall on the U.S. in the next couple of days, at least they’ll be able to disperse the people in the big cities.”

“But if we do that we’ll have the whole world about our ears!”

“I know that. Even so, we must take the risk. What do you think, Parkinson?”

“I think you’re right, Kingsley. We must warn them. But don’t make any mistake, our position will be desperate in the extreme. We’ll have to work that bluff or else …”

“It’s no good worrying about the mess until we get into it. The first thing to do is to get through to Washington. I suppose we can depend on them to pass the information to the Russians.”

Kingsley switched on the ten-centimetre transmitter. Marlowe came resolutely across to him.

“This isn’t going to be easy, Chris. If you don’t mind I’d rather do it. And I’d rather do it by myself. It may get a bit undignified.”

“It’ll probably be tough, Geoff, but if you feel you want to, then go ahead. We’ll leave you to it, but remember we won’t be far off if you need any help.”

Kingsley, Parkinson, and Leicester left Marlowe alone to pass the message, a message containing an admission of the highest treason, as any terrestrial court would interpret treason.

Marlowe was white and shaken when three-quarters of an hour later he rejoined the others.

“They certainly weren’t pleased about it,” was all he would say.

The American and Russian Governments were even less pleased when two days later a hydrogen bomb wiped out the town of El Paso, and others landed, one in south-east Chicago, and another on the outskirts of Kiev. Although hurried attempts had been made in the U.S. to disperse all congested populations, dispersal was of necessity incomplete, and more than a quarter of a million people lost their lives. The Russian Government did not make any attempt to warn its people, with the consequence that casualties in the one Russian city exceeded the combined total in the two American cities.

Lives lost through an ‘act of God’ are regretted, perhaps deeply regretted, but they do not arouse our wildest passions. It is otherwise with lives that are forfeited through deliberate human agency. The word ‘deliberate’ is important here. One deliberate murder can produce a sharper reaction than ten thousand deaths on the roads. It will therefore be understood why the half million fatalities caused by the hydrogen rockets impressed themselves more deeply on world Governments than the far vaster disasters that had occurred in the period of great heat, and in the following period of great cold. These latter had been thought of as ‘acts of God’. But in the eyes particularly of the United States Government the hydrogen deaths were murder, murder on a gigantic scale, perpetrated by a small group of desperate men, who to gratify insatiable ambitions had allied themselves with the thing in the sky, men who were guilty of treason against the entire human species. From then onwards the principals at Nortonstowe were marked men.

News of Departure

Paradoxically, although the episode of the hydrogen rockets had created a host of bitter and implacable enemies, in the short term the position of Kingsley and his friends was greatly strengthened thereby. The reversing of the rockets had given terrible proof of the power of the Cloud. No one outside Nortonstowe now doubted that the Cloud would wreak terrible destruction if called upon to do so by the group at Nortonstowe. It was pointed out in Washington that even if there had been some doubt originally about the Cloud’s willingness to take Kingsley’s part, there could surely be none now, not if the Cloud had any conception of a quid pro quo. The possibility of wiping out Nortonstowe by the use of an intercontinental rocket was considered. Although the likelihood of strong objection by the British Government was discounted, largely because the British Government’s own position in the whole business was thought highly suspect, the scheme was soon abandoned. It was considered that the accuracy of delivery of such a rocket was inadequate for the purpose; an abortive bombardment would, it was thought, lead to swift and dreadful retaliation.

Perhaps equally paradoxically, the undoubted strengthening of their bluff did not improve the spirits of the people at Nortonstowe or at least of those who were aware of the facts of the matter. Among these Weichart was now included. He had recovered from a severe attack of influenza that had prostrated him during the critical days. Soon his inquiring mind unearthed the main facts of the case, however. One day he got into an argument with Alexandrov that the others found amusing. This was a rare occurrence. The early comparatively carefree days had gone now. They were never to return.

“It looks to me as if those perturbations of the rockets must have been deliberately engineered,” began Weichart.

“Why do you say that, Dave?’ asked Marlowe.

“Well, the probability of three cities being hit by a hundred odd rockets moving at random is obviously very small. Therefore I conclude that the rockets were not perturbed at random. I think they must have been deliberately guided to give direct hits.”

“There’s something of an objection to that,” argued McNeil. “If the rockets were deliberately guided, how is it that only three of ’em found their targets?”

“Maybe only three were guided, or maybe the guiding wasn’t all that good. I wouldn’t know.”

There was a derisive laugh from Alexandrov.

“Bloody argument,” he asserted.

“What d’you mean “bloody argument”?”

“Invent bloody argument, like this. Golfer hits ball. Ball lands on tuft of grass — so. Probability ball landed on tuft very small, very very small. Million others tufts for ball to land on. Probability very small, very very very small. So golfer did not hit ball, ball deliberately guided on tuft. Is bloody argument. Yes? Like Weichart’s argument.”

This was the longest speech that any of them had heard from Alexandrov.

Weichart was not to be budged. When the laugh had subsided he returned to his point.

“It seems clear enough to me. If the things were guided they’d be far more likely to hit their targets than if they moved at random. And since they did hit their targets it seems equally clear that they were more probably guided than that they were not.”

Alexandrov waved in a rhetorical gesture.

“Is bloody, yes?”

“What Alexis means I think,” explained Kingsley, “is that we are not justified in supposing that there were any particular targets. The fallacy in the argument about the golfer lies in choosing a particular tuft of grass as a target, when obviously the golfer didn’t think of it in those terms before he made his shot.”

The Russian nodded.

“Must say what dam’ target is before shoot, not after shoot. Put shirt on before, not after event.”

“Because only prediction is important in science?”

“Dam’ right. Weichart predict rockets guided. All right, ask Cloud. Only way decide. Cannot be decided by argument.”

This brought their attention to a depressing circumstance. Since the affair of the rockets, all communications from the Cloud had ceased. And nobody had felt sufficiently self-confident to attempt to call it.