Seven Steps to the Sun (17 page)

'How are things, Ed,' said the Commander coming over to him.

'Just about keeping sane, John. Oh, this is a friend of mine from England, Michael Jerome,' Ed said, waving a flipper at Mike.

'You're very welcome, Mr Jerome. I hope you'll find it of interest up here,' said the Commander.

'I'm sure I shall,' said Mike.

'Commander,' asked a beady-eyed man, 'what kind of entertainment are the men getting at the moment?'

'I think the only thing we haven't been able to lay our hands on is a strip show. The girls in Darwin don't trust the camp Commanders.'

'Do you think it helps?' asked another man.

'Oh definitely. The men need something to distract their minds,' said the Commander, as soldiers marched in with tables and trays of refreshments.

'I don't quite understand why your men should be so demoralized?' asked Mike, taking a quick look at Ed, who sighed in relief.

'Well, as you all know,' said the Commander, 'food is at a premium in the world today even though every form of food production is being exploited. Prices have risen dramatically and so has the desperation of hungry people. In this country we have a very good productivity, which is incensing those countries in Asia who still have the strength to shout. Our job here is to protect the food produced, and the farmers, from infiltrators,' said the Commander.

'Fine, I see all that, but why should it demoralize your men?' Mike went on.

'Under normal circumstances I don't think it would bother them, if it were just a question of keeping out I "lack marketeers, but these infiltrators are superbly trained guerrillas who can just slip in and burn vast areas of crops without ever being caught.'

'Even so, surely the worst problem our fellows up here have to face is their own countrymen,' came a voice.

'Yes, you see Mr Jerome, there are many black marketeers here in Australia, and the soldiers always have it in the back of their minds that they might meet up with a friend or a member of their family.'

'Very unpleasant,' said Mike.

'Yes, it is a heavy responsibility.'

'I would have thought other countries would have been only too pleased to buy foodstuffs at any price,' said Mike.

'Yes,' said the beady-eyed man. 'But there is a shortage of money in the most densely populated countries, and the people see themselves slowly starving to death and argue that other countries should be humane enough to share.'

'And the people here don't agree, so if you don't stop the looting and burning the farmers are liable to suffer terrible persecution,' mused Mike.

'Not persecution of individuals, the whole defence system would be for the high jump. That's why these gentlemen come and see us from time to time, to keep the record straight. The army's very grateful to them too,' said the Commander.

'Trouble is,' said a big hairy man, 'this situation will never change, it will only get worse.'

'True, that's why it's a very depressing subject. Unofficially I think the whole thing will get out of hand and then God only knows what will happen. Gentlemen, I think if you've finished your refreshments we should move on from this sad topic of conversation, to the other side of the coin, at the control centre,' said the Commander moving towards the door.

'Do you want any,' said Ed, pointing at a table of refreshments. Mike went and helped himself to some coffee.

'Excuse me, gentlemen,' said a soldier, 'are you going to the centre?'

'Yes,' said Mike.

'Could I have your names please, and then I can leave passes for you,' said the young man.

'Bolton and Jerome,' said Ed.

'Thank you,' said the soldier writing this down. 'May I say that if you get Colonel Ryan to show you round, he'll give you a very comprehensive tour.'

'Thank you, that's a good idea,' said Ed going over to join Mike and helping himself to coffee. The soldier clicked his boots together and departed.

'Why don't you want me to ask about Pete Jones,' Mike said, turning on Ed.

'Because it isn't politic. You'll have to trust my judgement.'

'All right.' Mike was a little disappointed.

'Come on, I'm going to lie down and you can go on your conducted tour,' Ed said, going into the outer office.

'Where can we find Colonel Ryan,' he asked the soldier on duty.

'He should be in his office, second door on the left,' came the reply.

Ed banged hard on the door and went in.

'Hello, Ryan, got a job for you,' said Ed, as he entered the office.

'You usually have,' came the reply. Mike followed Ed in.

'Mike Jerome here would like a Ryan tour of the set up,' Ed said.

'Hi,' said Ryan. 'All right, Ed. If I get into trouble you'll have to square it with the General.'

'Go on, I must get some rest,' said Ed, leaving them to it.

'Brave man,' commented the Colonel reaching for his hat.

'Why?' asked Mike, watching Ed making his way across the compound.

'He lost his brother out here about three years ago, Commander of one of the camps. They were close friends. Right. Where shall we start?'

'How about the control centre?' said Mike.

'Just a moment,' Ryan returned to his desk. 'Hello, have they left the centre yet?'

'Yes, sir,' came a crackling reply from the intercom.

They made their way across the compound to a concrete bunker with a metal door guarded by two stony faced individuals, who didn't even salute the Colonel. Ryan handed them a card which was fed into a machine. After considerable clicking the door swung open. The two soldiers drew themselves up smartly and saluted. Mike followed the Colonel into the bunker.

'Good afternoon, Colonel,' said a soldier standing up behind his desk and saluting.

'Afternoon, Sergeant. Mr Jerome and I want clearance to go into the main control room,' said Ryan, returning the salute.

'You've got quite a security set-up here,' said Mike, looking round the empty bunker as the soldier tapped away on a typewriter.

'All right, Sergeant?' asked Ryan.

'Yes, sir,' said the man, pressing buttons in front of him. A moment later a very well hidden door slid quietly open revealing a lift.

'How can they tell that you're really Colonel Ryan?' asked Mike, as they descended.

'I don't think they can, but the technical boys say they can tell the fake from me. Although you can imitate virtually all other physical things, they say it's very difficult to imitate the human voice. You saw the card I gave the guards, well that opens the doors to the bunker, it's a pass word that changes every twelve hours on the computer. It would be very easy to get hold of that card, and dress up to look exactly like me, you know, plastic surgery. The difficulty would be talking to the man on duty. All the words spoken are recorded and run through the computer. If the computer finds that the speech pattern is mine it sends the lift up, if it's unsure or suspicious, no lift,' said the Colonel with a smile.

'And you don't believe this is foolproof?' said Mike, smiling.

'Not really, it's all too complicated. I don't like complicated things.'

'Well, what happens if something does go wrong?' asked Mike, as the lift came to rest.

'There are masses of spare circuitry and electrical safeguards. If an enemy really tried to get in and used up all these safeguards, the computer here stops, and the central one in Canberra comes into play. They say that nobody up here can fiddle with that one down there. It just goes on evaluating the information and, if it's satisfied, it brings the lift up, if not there would be a general military alert and all hell would break loose.'

They were now standing in a largish room, which seemed to contain enough equipment to sink a ship, or give an electronics buff blood pressure. Ryan inarched him round the machinery explaining all the military information that was required to keep the enemy at bay with the help of the computer. All the northern coast of Australia was protected by a vast system of radar, which according to Ryan covered the entire length of the coastline. The constant information from these radar posts passed simultaneously to all the military camps throughout the country. This information was then sifted and everything of interest to security was checked out. Even if all the power in the country were cut off they had secret auxiliary power plants, which made the whole system look efficiently faultproof. Mike found it a little difficult to assimilate all the alternatives, for not only were there vast tunnels of wire to carry information but also microwave links, radio links, and apparently they could send messages through radio jamming. Mike had always thought that the idea of jamming was to stop radio messages being sent, but here he was told they could use someone else's jamming to send messages.

Having been shown all this technical machinery, they moved on to the camp's own closed-circuit radar system. This covered all the territory in their own patch, as Ryan put it. From watching the radar screens it looked to Mike as though a terrific amount of activity was going on outside. They left the communication bunker, which involved another voice check, and Ryan took Mike over to a large hall, where he was left to his own devices.

Mike wandered irresolutely to the end of the hall, banging his hand against the backs of the chairs. He wasn't happy, the whole place had a stagnant smell about it. He wasn't fond of death, but that was preferable to the smell of long drawn out decay. He felt as if he were in an empty house that was cold, damp and eerie. Looking round the end of the hall, where there was a long table and dais, he wondered idly how the platform was set up for a concert. He left the hall and made a tour of the camp on his way back to his quarters. Even as he walked round in the dying afternoon, he felt chilly, and finally found his way back to Colonel Ryan's office.

'Sorry to bother you again, Colonel,' he said entering the office.

'Not at all, what can I do for you?'

'You know I did a stupid thing, I forgot to bring warm clothing. I was wondering whether I could borrow some.'

'Of course,' said Ryan, taking out a form and signing it. 'Here nip over to the P.X., and get yourself what you need. Couldn't have a visitor freezing to death,' laughed the Colonel, handing Mike the piece of paper.

'Thanks, Colonel. By the way, who's giving the concert tonight?' asked Mike.

'I don't think it's a musical show. I think it will be some sort of comedy.'

'Where do all these people operate from?'

'Darwin,' said the Colonel.

'Thanks again, sorry to disturb you,' said Mike, gently closing the door behind him. He walked round every building he could see, but there was no sign of the P.X. Mike eventually had to go up to a couple of guards on duty and ask.

Mike followed the man's instructions and eventually found out why he hadn't seen the place before. It was in another bunker, like the communications one. He pushed the door open and went in.

'Good afternoon,' said Mike to the soldier on duty.

'Afternoon, sir, what can I do for you?' the man asked.

'I've come for a good warm coat,' said Mike, handing over the order. The soldier took it and read it carefully.

'I'm afraid we haven't anything smart,' said the man.

'That doesn't matter as long as it keeps me good and warm,' Mike said.

The soldier smiled, and went behind a counter. Mike was a little surprised when instead of bringing back a coat, the man came back with a tape measure.

'Must have a coat that fits,' said the soldier, carefully measuring Mike and relaying the information to a typewriter.

'What did you do before you were drafted?' asked Mike as they waited.

'Grew roses,' said the man shyly.

'What a pleasant occupation,' said Mike.

'In a way, I suppose. I used to have a supermarket, but when my two sons were killed I lost interest, sold up and went in for growing roses.'

'How did you lose your sons?' asked Mike, before he could stop the question.

'Up here. They were killed in a shooting match. Do you realize that their lives and the lives of everyone up here aren't worth that?' The soldier snapped his fingers.

'Why do you say that?' asked Mike.

'One of my sons was killed on an exercise, and the other while trying to help his brother,' said the man. 'Did you know that on exercises they send you out across open country with machine guns in trucks shooting at you?'

'I knew they fired real bullets, but only over your head,' said Mike.

'That was a long time ago. You ought to see the weeping families at the funerals nowadays,' said the soldier with tears in his eyes. He turned and went to a hatch in the wall.

'I'm sorry,' said Mike inadequately. He felt he'd been right about the smell of decay. The soldier didn't reply, just stood with his back to Mike for a moment, before returning from the hatch with a neat bundle of garment. He shook it out and helped Mike on with it. There was almost no weight to the parka.

'Sorry about the colours,' said the soldier with a slight grin.

'That's all right,' said Mike smiling at the orange and yellow camouflage pattern on the coat.

'Tell me something, how would I make a phone call to Darwin?' asked Mike.

'You wouldn't. There's no outside line.'

'Why not?'

'They say it's for security reasons,' said the soldier.

'You mean there's no communication with your family or friends?'

'Except by mail, and that's always censored,' said the soldier.

'Thanks for the coat.'

Nothing seemed to make sense any more. Mike walked through the cold evening air back to his room. The soldier was right about the coat, it was dead warm. He stopped when he got to his door, and then moved to Ed's. He knocked but there was no reply, so he gently opened it and looked in. No Ed. He turned and went back to his room.