Survival Page 19

  He was also optimistic about their situation in general. After all, he and Gill were now on a substantial ship that was unlikely to suffer the same fate as their considerably smaller ‘borrowed’ yacht. They were also in the company of nearly 150 other souls who appeared to have signed up to their hiding-in-the-Antarctic strategy. In fact, Stuart had been amazed at just how quickly his explanation of the improbable events had been accepted. And then delighted with the similarly rapid acceptance of his plans for survival. Indeed, in retrospect, he had never felt quite so gratified, quite so important – or quite so terrified – as he had done at the end of that first session in the lounge. And if only there hadn’t been that understandable antagonism from the ex-military in the room, his appearance in front of all those people might have ranked as being the highlight of his life so far. But it still certainly beat anything he had done in all those long weeks on the Falklands. By more than a furlong.

  Indeed, just like the sausages on offer aboard the Sea Sprite beat any of those condom monstrosities in the Mount Pleasant canteen. By miles. And it was now time for breakfast!

  twenty-four

  Alex awoke feeling tired. He’d had a very disturbed night. Not because of the state of the sea – which was now remarkably calm – but because of the state of his mind. Despite the shared confidence expressed at dinner the previous evening, and despite the confidence he’d himself expressed about the likely outcome of the Sea Sprite’s passage south, he was full of foreboding. What had started off as a willing acceptance of the ‘survival plan’ – which had retained its poise, despite an early stumble – was now finding its path increasingly full of doubts and concerns; question marks that even the promise of adventure and a place in Dad’s Army could not overcome. He was now on a journey into the unknown, and whilst this journey held out the prospect of all sorts of perils, it held out no firm prospect of a worthwhile conclusion. Even if the Sea Sprite stayed in the Antarctic for months, there was no guarantee that safety would be secured when it returned to Ushuaia. In fact, it was more than probable that what would be found there would be an unavoidable and painful death. After all, if the damn fungus had done such a comprehensive job of wiping out the vast majority of mankind, why would it not stay around and kill off any late-to-the-party stragglers?

  Nevertheless, Alex knew it wouldn’t help him – or his wife – if he let all these leaden thoughts overwhelm him. And in any event, after yesterday’s downsized dining, these thoughts were already being pushed to the side by the unavoidable forces of hunger. He was more than eager for breakfast; a breakfast that he knew would consist mostly of victuals that had been either fried or grilled. Today, muesli and yoghurt would be eschewed, and eggs and pig products would take their place. And, though he didn’t yet know it, his breakfast would also be accompanied by a generous helping of interest and even some intrigue. Because, as he and Debbie were approaching the Magellan Deck restaurant, they were joined by two others who were also seeking their breakfast, one of whom asked Alex and Debbie whether they might join them. The joint response to this request was an immediate and enthusiastic yes. After all, the two shipmates who were seeking their company were Stuart and Gill…

  Alex’s first thought, when they were all seated, was that their (possible) saviours were rather ill-matched – physically. Gill looked really quite solid, and she had a countenance that, from certain angles, might best be described as severe. Stuart, in contrast, was more ‘comfortable’ than solid-looking, and his countenance was anything but severe. With a roundish face and soft, sleepy eyes, he looked more like an overgrown choirboy than a member of a now-defunct intelligence service. And he certainly looked young. They both did. Probably because they were less than half the age of most of the other diners in the room. Their lives had yet to be led, not just looked back on.

  Anyway, with orders placed with one of the solicitous waiters, Alex posed his first question – to Stuart. He suspected he already knew the answer to it, but he still had to ask it.

  ‘Stuart,’ he began, ‘have you any real doubts about this fungus thing? You know, are you really sure that it’s going to get to virtually everywhere in the world, and that it’s really as deadly as suggested in that report?’

  ‘No, I’ve no doubts,’ Stuart replied firmly. ‘Once I’d got over my initial surprise, I was absolutely certain.’

  ‘Surprise?’ questioned Alex. ‘You mean at its erhh… improbability? And at its… virulence… and its… reach?’

  ‘No. My surprise that it was a fungus and not a pandemic disease. I mean, that’s what we’d all expected…’

  ‘We?’

  ‘My… erhh, colleagues. My… community. I mean, everybody who worked in intelligence. And a lot of other people in the loop as well.’

  ‘I’m not sure…’

  Stuart looked directly at Alex and then at Debbie. And, after a slightly awkward hiatus, he embarked on a little pre-fry-up enlightenment of his older table companions.

  ‘OK. Accepted fact. China has seen itself for years – or should I say had seen itself for years – as not only the greatest civilisation on the planet, but the one most wronged. Primarily by all those inferior specimens in the West. It had therefore been seething with resentment for years, and had been directing all its energies into returning to its rightful place in the world. That is to say, as the world’s number-one power and the world’s number-one undisputed master…’

  ‘Undisputed master…?’

  ‘Alex, there are academics in China who promote the belief that the Chinese people are a separate, superior species to the rest of mankind. Resentment can breed irrationality, and if it’s not held in check by what we regard as morality and humanity, it can easily get out of hand…’

  ‘But…’

  Stuart was clearly not about to brook any interruptions, and he carried on.

  ‘Well, it’s hardly a secret how China had been forcing its way to the top in economic terms. Or how it had been able to do this so quickly by cheating in every way possible; you know, by pinching anything it wanted and by just generally not playing by the rules. Which, of course, is quite OK if you’re resentful enough and not burdened with too much in the way of principles. It’s what also allows you to ravage the world’s resources, and not just its wildlife…’

  ‘And this was sort of the official view?’ managed Alex.

  ‘Yep. And so was the fact that China knew very well that it would still take years to impose itself on the rest of the world through its economic power alone, and that its military wouldn’t be much use either. America would do anything it took to make sure of that…’

  ‘So…’

  ‘So,’ echoed Stuart, ‘if you want to impose yourself on the rest of the world sooner rather than later, you have to do more than shower the world with exports, lend money that can’t be paid back to every poor country in the world, and grab islands in the South China Sea. You also have to weaken the rest of the world to the point where it’s completely exhausted and therefore unable to do more than accept a future of indefinite serfdom. It won’t then just be a case of China being number one. It will also be a case of there being no number two, but just a load of has-been and now subjugated countries.’

  Alex could barely believe what he was being told. But his credence was to be challenged even more. Stuart was just about to explain how the enfeeblement of the rest of the world might be achieved.

  ‘So, what if you first kit out your country with a surveillance system that is so powerful and so invasive that it can track not only what all your citizens are doing but also the progress of any epidemic? Whether this epidemic arises unintentionally in one of your filthy wildlife markets or, heaven forbid, if it’s created and then unleashed intentionally?

  ‘Easy then to track its spread through a few thousand or a few tens of thousands of your own expendable citizens, and bring it to a halt, while the world’s airlines transport
it around the globe – to all those inferior countries where an embrace of liberty and a rejection of state surveillance mean that it will be spread without check. And even if what has now become a pandemic doesn’t kill millions, it will still incapacitate their economies to such an extent that they will never recover. Only your own superior country will remain untouched and only it will have the resources and the wealth to keep the world from falling into ruin. And hey presto! As well as your becoming the number-one country in the world, you’re now the master of all you survey. Your ancient empire has prevailed, and it’s now been restored to its rightful position. And it’s an unassailable position. Never again will you have to feel demeaned. Or resentful…’

  Alex felt as though he was gulping for air. He wasn’t physically, but in his mind, he was struggling to breathe. This guy at the table wasn’t some mad advocate of conspiracy theories; he was a representative of a renowned intelligence service that had only recently ceased to exist. And it was all so… alarmingly credible.

  ‘So,’ continued Stuart, after a slight pause, ‘you can see why I was so surprised. No pandemic, but instead the fungal equivalent of a Triffid, only a million times worse. And so bloody worse, it killed off its “keepers”. Which I suspect wasn’t part of their plan. After all, it’s quite tricky to be the masters of the world if you’ve all kicked the bucket…’

  Alex gathered himself. He had one final mental gulp, and then he asked Stuart another question.

  ‘Are you saying that China engineered this thing, but somehow got it wrong?’

  Stuart smiled.

  ‘Well, let’s just say that the Chinese ambassador, for whatever reasons, was not definitive on that point. You’ll have seen that in the report. But my reading of that document leads me to believe that he was expecting some inferences to be drawn. And that’s all I’ve done. A “GM accident” leading to the annihilation of mankind is extremely implausible. A miscalculation with a genetically modified, maybe human-specific weapon is only highly implausible. You may or may not agree.’

  Alex felt stunned. What he’d just heard hadn’t just reinforced his prejudices and more; it had also lifted the lid on quite how dangerous his species could be when it devoted itself not merely to the extinction of other species but also to the enslavement of most of its own. Then, it could not only miss its target, but it could cause so much collateral damage that it wiped itself out. With no way back.

  It was just at this point in his musings that his bacon, sausages and two fried eggs arrived, and their delivery provided a suitable full stop to Stuart’s tale of the unexpected, and a chance for Alex to assuage his hunger for calories rather than revelations. It didn’t, however, stop him asking one last ‘associated’ question – just as he was cutting into his first sausage. This was not directly related to China’s behaviour, but to the behaviour of that deadly fungus.

  ‘Stuart,’ he ventured, ‘do you really think that the spores will not be waiting for our return? That they’ll have disappeared by the time we get back?’

  Stuart’s response to this question was an enhanced focus on his own meal – of scrambled eggs – and then an extended hesitation. Only after this did he speak.

  ‘Alex, I just can’t be sure. But as I said before, we’re dealing with a genetically modified organism here. And unless the Chinese had put a lot of focused effort into that modification, I reckon it will be a sterile organism. Once all those microscopic spores have drifted to the ground – which will take quite a bit of time yet – they won’t be a threat. I mean, they won’t be viable, and they therefore won’t give rise to another generation of fungi. Which means there won’t be another cloud of spores. The threat will have disappeared entirely. Or, at least, that’s what I think…’

  On hearing this response, Alex indulged in an internal sigh, and then nodded his thanks to Stuart before resuming his knife-work on his sausage. After the meal, he would give Stuart’s words some more thought, but for now he’d just concentrate on the taste of pork and sage and maybe turn the conversation to life – as was – at Mount Pleasant. How had Stuart and Gill found it there, and how had they coped with the wind?

  Fifteen minutes later, back in their cabin, Alex addressed his wife.

  ‘They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day. But I’ve never heard it said that it can be the most sensational one as well. I mean, what Stuart had to say was… fantastic. But not fantastic. I mean, it was only too bloody believable. And now we’re stuck in this mess. All because a bunch of resentful bastards had set themselves the goal of running the world…’

  ‘Seems they overreached themselves a bit,’ observed Debbie. ‘It’s just a pity they didn’t just screw up their own patch.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ agreed Alex. ‘If only it was still just China’s problem. If only they’d kept it to themselves.’

  Debbie made no response to this observation, but began to collect together small items of clothing with the obvious intention of conducting a wash. Mankind might be in meltdown, but those who remained still needed clean socks and clean underwear, and these wouldn’t arrive without an active intervention. It was clearly time for Alex to find something to do and to leave Debbie to her chores. And this he did, not by attending another hastily organised bingo session, but by taking himself to the ship’s library. There, he would seek out an absorbing reference book, or maybe a tale of Antarctic adventure. In the event, he did neither. Because he found that the library already contained a single occupant by the name of Derek. And Derek, Alex thought, should be apprised of the contents of Stuart’s breakfast presentation.

  In very little time, he had been. Derek had invited Alex to occupy the large leather wingback chair next to his own, and had then listened attentively to all that Alex had to tell him. At the end of Alex’s tale, he did acknowledge the amazing revelations, but with just a smile and a ‘Well, who would have thought?’

  Alex felt a little disappointed. How could Derek be so underwhelmed by what he’d just heard, and so ‘calm and collected’? He should have been no less than astounded. Maybe he hadn’t quite understood…

  ‘Derek, you have taken in what I’ve said?’ asked Alex plaintively. ‘You haven’t misunderstood me, have you?’

  ‘No,’ replied a smiling Derek. ‘The evil empire has been evil. Which, I think, is what evil empires do. Although not always with such catastrophic consequences.’

  Alex was bemused. How could Derek be so… sanguine?

  ‘Derek,’ Alex tried again, ‘aren’t you just a little bit upset? Aren’t you just a little bit appalled that because of what China has done you’ll never see England again? That you’ll never return to the country of your birth and resume your life there? A life that’s been spent there for…’

  ‘…seventy-six years,’ finished Derek. ‘Only, of course, my life in the England I knew came to an end many years before this little mishap.’

  Alex was taken aback. What could Derek possibly mean? He’d have to try to find out.

  ‘I don’t understand. I mean…’

  Derek looked his interrogator in the eyes – his own eyes weary-looking but still penetrating – and he set about providing the explanation Alex sought.

  ‘Alex, you’re not that much younger than me, are you? So, you must remember what England was like when we were growing up. And for quite a few years after that. You know, a bit scruffy, a bit naff, a bit unsophisticated and even a bit seedy. But it was our England. Even if it was a bit of a mess, at least it was our mess. And it was a good place; a place where fairness, shared experiences, a shared culture and a shared way of thinking made us not notice that it was a mess. Instead, we just saw it as our home, as our own special slice of the world. And a place we were proud of.

  ‘Well, when we left it a couple of weeks ago, it wasn’t the same, was it?’

  Alex must have looked puzzled at this statement, because Derek then amplifi
ed what he meant.

  ‘Alex, what if I were to say that when I walked through Shrewsbury, I sometimes felt I was in Warsaw and not in my local county town? What if I were to say that when I switched on the telly, I’d have to tell myself that I hadn’t been whisked off to India or South Africa? And what if I were to say that when I visited London, I would have to try to convince myself that I was still in the capital of England and not in one of Heathrow’s international terminals?’

  Alex answered none of these rhetorical questions, and Derek carried on.

  ‘Alex, my England died years ago. Long before this rotten fungus got to it. And, worse, I’ve not been able to voice my sorrow at its passing for as long as I can remember. If I were to point out that a visit to Stratford to watch a bit of Shakespeare had long ago become an exercise in diversity indoctrination, I would be called an unreconstructed racist bigot before you could say “Puck”. And if I dared express the opinion that most other people in this world had a country they could call their own, but we no longer did, I would be damned as an ignorant and offensive peasant who deserved only contempt. And I mean that; I really do. Whenever I argued that England was no longer the property of its indigenous people, I would get shouted down. Nobody wanted to hear that, whilst we’d retained some residence rights in our own country, it had so much changed over our lifetime that we could no longer recognise it as our home.’

  At this stage in his obituary for his country, Alex noted that Derek didn’t sound bitter, but just resigned and somewhat tired. Nevertheless, he still had some energy to carry on.

  ‘Of course, it wasn’t just who was in England now; it was also the views that had taken root there. Or should I say the views that had been aggressively planted there – as a way of overwhelming our native way of thinking? I mean, why had our history as a nation – in many ways a glorious history – now become a source of shame? Why were we now so plainly guilty of so many past sins, and apparently such a bunch of odious bastards as well? And why, for that matter, did we have to “respect” alien beliefs and practices which, if not medieval in nature, were corrosive to anybody’s spiritual well-being. And then why were we obliged to consider reserve and dignity as qualities to be avoided? And why did we have to worship at the altar of celebrity? And why did we have to pay homage to the half-baked ideas of youth, when we all knew that when we were youthful, our ideas were barely even browned on the surface? Wisdom hadn’t suddenly broken out in the minds of the young, but we were expected to believe it had. And not just shake our heads in disbelief…’