reported more havoc in Britain, the Netherlands, France, and Spain, Fleming went back to Dawnay's lab. He was impressed by what she had been doing. One end of the laboratory had been cleared. A huge map of the Northern hemisphere had been pinned up on the wall.' Coloured pins were dotted about it, thickest in a strip from Gibraltar to the Orkneys, with a big cluster east of the Hebrides.
'Hello, John,' she greeted him. 'You see, a pattern's emerging all right. And that's not all.' She beckoned him across to a long bench against the wall on which several dozen test tubes stood in a long row.
'Kaufman hasn't had time to get all the samples I asked for, of course, but ten more arrived late last night. From offshore spots in Britain. I told him that all samples were to be boiled as soon as possible after they were taken. This bug is killed at 100 degrees Fahrenheit; that way there wasn't any chance of a bacterial increase during transit.'
She stubbed a finger on one test tube. 'That's the thickest.
It comes from the coast of Obanshire. The evidence is circumstantial of course, but I think we must accept it. I've arranged for Andre to be brought here this morning.'
Fleming started. 'But she's sick,' he protested. 'She can't help.'
'She is sick, and getting sicker,' Dawnay answered. 'That's why we must see her quickly. Please, John, you know I'm not callous - but she must help if she can and I believe it's possible.'
Fleming sighed. 'You're the boss. But I don't like it.'
A nurse pushed Andre to the laboratory in a wheel chair.
Fleming managed a welcoming smile as he clasped her hands. It was not easy; she looked desperately fragile and her eyes stared out of her drawn, pale face.
He was appalled by how much she had deteriorated since he had last been allowed to see her.
The nurse made her comfortable and then Dawnay explained the situation, showing her the test tubes and pointing out that the most opaque sample came from the Minch.
'What is the Minch?' Andre asked.
'The channel off Thorness, where all this started,' Dawnay said harshly.
'It is impossible. It does not make sense. It has nothing to do with the message.' She looked from Dawnay to Fleming, bewildered and wary. 'The message has a different plan.'
Dawnay snorted. 'There won't be any different plan if this engulfs us. Think, girl, think!'
'There is nothing about it in the computer,' Andre insisted.
Fleming took a step forward. 'Not now, maybe,' he said thoughtfully. 'But there's something vaguely familiar about this bug. I'm sure there is. How far have you got with your analysis, Madeleine?'
Dawnay said nothing, but went to her desk and picked up a file. 'As far as I've got has been coded in binary. Is that of any help ?' she asked.
He took the file, walked to the window, and sat on the sill while he studied the figures. He laid the file aside. 'It confirms my hunch, memory, or whatever it is. It reads terribly like something I already know.'
'Then it's something you started,' Andre interrupted.
He looked round in surprise. 'That I started?'
'At Thorness. That's why this machine has no memory of it.' She paused and lay back, as if trying to summon up some strength. 'How many times did you try to destroy the other computer before you succeeded?' she asked.
'Several.'
'After one of those times the computer decided to hit back.
With this bacterium.' Her eyes became cold and hostile, giving Fleming an empty feeling of despair. 'You have a great force sent to help you and you turn it against you. You won't listen to me. You won't listen to anyone. You condemn your whole race because you won't accept. There is nothing you can do now. It will engulf you!'
There was a sort of inhuman resignation in her tone.
Fleming turned away, making for the door. He felt sick to his soul.
For a day or so afterwards he avoided everyone. Intel had provided its internees with a first class library and subscriptions had been taken out for the world's technical journals.
He read in a desultory sort of way, his brain hardly registering the information. The journals were all back numbers; interference with communications since the storm cycle had increased had cut off all but essential supplies, although some Intel transports still plied between Azaran and Europe.
He heard the hum from the computer and guessed that the thing had drawn Andre to it, no doubt on orders from Gamboul. He could imagine what the machine was working on - rocket interceptors of the kind that had been its first official triumph at Thorness. There was a ghastly this-is-where-I-came-in flavour about the whole thing. He wondered a little how the formulae were being handled once the output printer had produced the equations. Without proper interpretation they were just gibberish even for skilled electronic engineers. But, of course, there was Abu Zeki.
Fleming readily accepted that the young man was as good as any highly-paid boffin in his particular line of country; it wasn't surprising really. The Arabs had invented the whole basis of mathematics as modern civilisation knew it.
Fleming pondered a lot on Abu, not just Abu the first-rate product of a technological age, but Abu the man. He was innately decent, kindly and blessed with imagination.
His patriotism was fiery and nationalistic, but he did not let his emotions completely stifle his reasoning.
Fleming swung off the bed where he had been sprawling, his mind made up, and picked up his room telephone. In a losing battle one ally was better than none at all. He would ask Abu to fix some time when they could talk without interruption.
The operator told him Dr Abu Zeki was in the computer block. Fleming had no wish to go there and see Andre slowly dying as the machine sucked the last use out of her. He asked to be put through, not caring that the call would probably be monitored.
'Hello, Abu. Fleming. I wondered, with the weekend coming up, whether we could have a chat? Maybe I could meet your family? I'm afraid my tame guard would probably have to come too.'
'Why yes, Dr Fleming, I'd be honoured to be your host.'
Abu sounded guarded. 'It will be good for you to meet the ordinary people of Azaran. My home is very simple, I'm afraid, but you will be welcome. Please stay overnight.'
They fixed a time to leave on Saturday at midday, when Abu was off duty till Monday morning. Deliberately Fleming phoned through to Kaufman's office to request permission for a social visit. The German was out but a secretary took the details. The pass was brought to Fleming's quarters that evening. No one queried the reason.
Abu was the proud possessor of a little Italian car, and his home was only twenty-five miles from the Intel station. But, as he explained while they sped along the highway past the airport, his contract demanded that he live on the site except at weekends.
'My wife doesn't like that, but she has her mother with her,' Abu went on. 'With the baby to look after, Saturday soon comes round.'
It was as though he were talking about Surbiton, Surrey, or White Plains, New York. But the similarity soon ended.
The road petered out into a wide track of rolled stones and then to a little more than a sandy track. Abu dropped his speed when the little car laboured with its unaccustomed load of three men. The guard, sitting in the occasional seat at the back, cursed in Arabic about the bumps, but he seemed glad to be away from the compound, even though the wind sent sand whirling grittily into the car.
The track began to wind with a gradual gradient. The terrain became more stony. Ahead the low range of mountains, rocky hills really, grew more defined despite the sporadic sandstorm. Fleming had often looked at them because of their fascinating, ever-changing colours at different times of the day. In early morning they were pink, changing to white when the sun climbed higher. By midday they were always blurred by heat haze; in the evening they towered black and vast.
Abu pointed to a small collection of rectangular, flat-roofed dwellings lying on a tiny plateau immediately below a fault in the range.
'That is my village,' he said, 'or at least the one where I have made my home. People have lived here since long before your Christ. Look!'
