The Wonderful Day

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  Copyright © 1953, 1955, 1956, 1964 by E. C. Tubb

  Copyright © 2012 by Lisa John

  Published by Wildside Press LLC

  www.wildsidebooks.com

  DEDICATION

  For Lisa

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  These stories were previously published as follows, and are reprinted by permission of the author’s estate and his agent, Cosmos Literary Agency.

  “Tea Party” was first published in Nebula Science Fiction #6 in 1953. Copyright © 1953 by E. C. Tubb. Copyright © 2012 by Lisa John.

  “An Era Ends” was first published in abridged form in Vector #25 in 1964. Copyright © 1964 by E. C. Tubb. This completely restored text is published here for the first time. Copyright © 2012 by Lisa John.

  “Decision” was first published in Authentic Science Fiction #60 in 1955. Copyright © 1955 by E. C. Tubb. Copyright © 2012 by Lisa John.

  “The Wonderful Day” is published here for the first time. Copyright © 2012 by Lisa John.

  “Reluctant Farmer” was first published in Nebula Science Fiction #18 in 1956. Copyright © 1956 by E. C. Tubb. Copyright © 2012 by Lisa John.

  “Kalgan the Golden” was first published in British Space Fiction Magazine #15 in 1955. Copyright © 1955 by E. C. Tubb. Copyright © 2012 by Lisa John.

  TEA PARTY

  Caroline sat in the garden and played with her toys. A chubby four, pushing five, she wore a short polka-dot dress covered with a clean apron bright with little animals and nursery-land people. Her tow-coloured hair was gathered into plaits and tied with shining yellow ribbon. Her little bare feet were thrust into rabbit slippers, pink and floppy eared, with gleaming button-eyes and gentle smiling mouths.

  She sat, frowning a little, as she carefully poured milk into several cups of cheerful red plastic and broke a fairy cake into six unequal portions. Cat stretched in the sun, watching her with his smoky yellow eyes, and flexing his needle-sharp claws.

  He sniffed at the cake, then lapped at his milk with a long pink tongue, twitching his whiskers a little as they touched the sides of the cup. Teddy Bear wasn’t hungry and Dolly was being naughty. Gnome and Fairy as usual were greedy and wanted more.

  Caroline knew that Gnome and Fairy weren’t really there, that they were only pretend people, but she knew all about them from her story books, the ones Mummy read to her at bedtime, and to her they were very real.

  Gnome was like a very old man with a long white beard and pointed shoes and hat, while Fairy had wings and carried a wand. They came to tea whenever Caroline wanted them to, and sometimes they fetched other nursery-land people with them, but they were her favourites. Teddy Bear and Dolly came as well, of course, but Cat was sometimes naughty and wouldn’t sit still and drink his milk.

  Today, though, he was very good.

  She tutted, just as Mummy tutted when she wouldn’t eat her dinner, and looked sternly at Dolly.

  “Eat your cake,” she said, and held it to the china lips. “Eat it all up like a good girl.”

  Dolly said nothing and still wouldn’t eat her cake. Caroline pursed her lips and rested plump hands in the region of her waist.

  “You’re so bad,” she said firmly. “If you won’t eat your cake I’ll give it to Teddy Bear!”

  Teddy sat and stared at her with his button-eyes, not saying a word. Caroline smiled at him and picked him up, feeling the scratchiness of his short brown fur against her plump arms.

  “Teddy is a good boy,” she said, hugging him until he squeaked. “Why can’t you be good like he is?”

  Dolly sat stubborn and still wouldn’t speak.

  Caroline sighed and sat Teddy down beside her.

  “You are a bad girl, Dolly, and I’m going to smack you hard!” Picking her up she turned Dolly over her knee.

  “Mamaaa.”

  “It’s no use crying.” Caroline was very firm. “You shouldn’t have been so naughty. You are a bad girl and wouldn’t eat your cake.”

  Gently she smacked Dolly, not too hard, because she loved her and didn’t really want to hurt her.

  “There! Will you be a good girl now?”

  “Mamaaa.”

  “Sit beside Teddy and eat up all your cake and grow big and strong.”

  She frowned at Teddy, he seemed to be laughing at her, his bright button-eyes reflecting the warm sun and his little round ears golden and fuzzy looking.

  “Don’t laugh at Dolly, Teddy,” she said firmly, just as Mommy spoke when she had been naughty. “She is a good girl. Now drink your milk or I won’t let you have any more cake.”

  Cat grinned and arched his back, his long tail quivering like a pennon as he yawned. He walked delicately between the tea things and rubbed his head against Caroline’s leg, his fur tickling and feeling warm and soft and against the warm skin.

  He purred, then rolled over on his back and stretched all four of his legs, waiting for her to rub his tummy and catching at her hand with his velvet paws.

  Inside the house Mummy was singing and a bee droned from flower to flower as he collected his tea. The sun was warm and the air full of the scent of growing things.

  It was very peaceful.

  * * * *

  The general sat in the bomb-proof shelter and played with his toys.

  A sparse sixty, pushing seventy, he wore his uniform like a second skin, the fine material heavy with medal ribbons and gilt insignia. His almost naked head glistened pink and white in the light of the fluorescents and his thin, lipless mouth was framed by a close-clipped moustache. His feet were thrust into black knee-boots and a gold braided cap and pistol belt hung on a rack against the wall.

  He sat, frowning down at the map before him, a coloured, lined and intricate section of the habitable globe. He traced paths on the map with a wrinkled finger, sere and hooked with age, claw-like, vulture-like, a thing of stained nails, swollen knuckles and parchment skin.

  He looked at the men sitting round the table. Air, dressed all in blue and silver. Sea, darker blue and gold. Land, khaki and black plastic, scarlet flashes and stained webbing.

  He knew that they didn’t really agree with him, but they came whenever he wanted them to, and they would continue to come at his call. He had the power. He was the leader of combined operations and these men were pawns to be moved at his whim.

  Toys!

  Ships and mines, planes and bombs, tanks and invading armies. He had played with them all his life, played the game of theoretical war, at the Academy, on the field in manoeuvres, and twice now in actual combat.

  War!

  It was his life, his profession, the only thing he knew, and so he sat at his table deep beneath the ground, away from the sun, the sweet scent of growing things, the beauty of a summer’s afternoon, and gave orders in a harsh rustling voice.

  “It has been decided. Air will commence the operation, followed by Sea and Land. A crippling blow to fling the enemy into chaos, then the blockade and invasion. Any questions?”

  It was a rhetorical thing to say, but it was always said. These men weren’t here to ask questions, they were here to receive orders and to obey them blindly without question or thought, but the old forms die hard.

  Air shifted a little on his seat and tried to meet the general’s glaring eyes.

  “Have they been notified?”

  “Who?”

  “The enemy, of course, who else?”

  The general sneered as he stared at the trim figure in blue and silver. His thin old hands caressed the map with an almost loving touch, and he inflated his chest a little, the light gleaming from his massive insignia.

  “You will notify them,” he said deliberately. “Your bombs will tell them that they are at war.”


  “I see.” Air lowered his eyes, he was almost an intelligent man. “Atomics?”

  “No. Later perhaps, but not at first. We need their cities, their factories, the soil of their fields and the new explosives are more suited to local damage. I have prepared your bombing pattern. Here.”

  He threw a map across the desk and elaborated the legend traced on the smooth paper.

  “Railway termini and power stations. Road junctions and warehouses. Water works and sewage disposal plants. A few hospitals, and, naturally, the airports and barracks. Well?”

  “Hospitals?” Air seemed uncomfortable.

  “Yes. Shifting the patients will cause great confusion and the morale effect will be high.” The old man chuckled. “Everyone with a relative who has been hospitalised will be frantic to know what has happened to them. The medical services will be overburdened and the civilian population thrown into panic. It will make our victory much easier.”

  He glanced at the others.

  “Any questions?”

  Air shook his head, folded his map into a neat bundle.

  Sea shrugged, his mind already with his fleets.

  Land grunted. As usual, he would have most of the work and least of the credit.

  The general shivered a little. He was an old man and his blood ran thin in his withered veins. He looked at the others.

  “That will be all, gentlemen. You know the time of attack, but in the meanwhile, will you join me in tea?”

  They nodded, not daring to refuse, and the old man pressed a button with his claw-like finger.

  It wasn’t tea-time, of course, but then time had long ceased to have meaning in the bomb proof, and meals were served when ordered, day or night, morning or afternoon.

  And so they sat and sipped their bitter tea and nibbled at little cakes, not enjoying them, their minds elsewhere, eager to get through the meal and be away.

  * * * *

  The milk was gone, and the cake, and the red plastic tea things lay scattered over the grass, making bright touches of colour against the green. Caroline sat, feeling rather swollen after eating all the cake and drinking almost all of the milk, then slowly began to gather up her tea set.

  Dolly and Teddy Bear sat and watched her, while Cat blinked smoky eyes and licked the long plume of his tail.

  Mummy called from within the house.

  “Carol! Come in now, darling.”

  “Yes, Mummy,” she said, and remained sitting where she was, staring at the droning bee and feeling the sun nice and warm against the bare skin of her legs and arms.

  It was so nice in the garden. She felt happy and a little sleepy as she sat on the grass, and the long, floppy ears of her rabbit slippers tickled her instep as they stared with wide mouths at the blue of the sky as if laughing with sheer contentment.

  A second bee joined the first, droning with a deep, soft murmur, throbbing and humming as it swept across the azure bowl of the sky.

  “Carol!” Mummy stood just within the garden and her voice sounded just as it did when she was angry or when Daddy had done something naughty. “Carol! Come on in this very minute!”

  “Yes, Mummy.”

  Reluctantly she struggled to her feet and stood looking down at the scattered tea things. Dolly and Teddy Bear stared at her in silent reproach at being forgotten, and Cat looked alert, ready for his tea.

  Slowly she began to collect the tea things, not wanting to leave the warmth of the garden, and listening to the twin murmur of bees. As she expected, Mummy came into the garden and made a sudden grab at her. She broke away, laughing, eager for this more exciting game, her plump little legs thrusting at the grass as she ran in twisting circles.

  “You can’t catch me!” she chanted. “You can’t catch me! You can’t....”

  The first blast struck!

  It came as a shattering noise and a great wind. It shook and thundered, roaring and snarling, shaking the houses and darkening the sky. Glass splintered in a thousand crystalline tinklings and the air was full of smoke and dirt, powdered brick and pulverised concrete, swirling and writhing like fog or the smoke from a garden fire.

  She stood and screamed with shock and fear, her little heart leaping against her ribs and the easy tears of youth streaming down her little round cheeks.

  “Mummy!”

  Mummy didn’t answer. Mummy lay just within the garden, her hair across her face, and her arms white and limp as they sprawled across the grass.

  “Mummy!”

  Something thick and red and nasty streamed from Mummy’s head. It stained the grass and spread in a great pool from the soft dark hair. It touched her foot and the rabbit slippers became a deeper pink, the long floppy ears trailing ugly marks across her instep, and the bright eyes stained and dull.

  “Mummy!”

  Mummy didn’t answer!

  Cat whimpered from near the tea things. He lay on his side, his tiger-fur wet and sticky, and the proud plume of his tail bedraggled and matted with dirt and wet. He looked appealingly at her with his smoky yellow eyes, and tried to lick his side with his long pink tongue. Glass sprinkled the garden, and a big piece lay beside him, dull now, and with fur sticking to the sharp edges.

  Caroline whimpered with fear and terror. She picked up Dolly then screamed as a china arm came off in her hand and a china head rolled from a china body.

  “Mamaaa.”

  Teddy Bear stared at her with his bright, button-eyes. She snatched him to her, hugging him until he squeaked, and felt the scratchiness of his short brown fur as it rubbed against her bare arms.

  “Mummy doesn’t answer,” she whimpered to the bear. “Make her answer me, Teddy! Make her answer!”

  The second blast struck!

  She screamed again, screamed with all the horror of outraged nature, her little throat sore and her little face all screwed up.

  She stopped screaming, and felt sick and ill as dust swirled around her and the air was full of dirt and smoke and nasty smells.

  Teddy Bear squeaked as she crushed him against her chest, and stared at him, wanting to be sick just like that time at her last party when she had eaten too much ice cream and cake. Her apron was covered with a nasty red stuff; it hid all the bright-coloured animals and the little nursery-people, and she knew that it was blood.

  Pain came then, pain and terror and mind-shattering fear.

  “Mummy!”

  But Mummy lay silent, face down on the grass, her head a soggy red ruin.

  “Cat!”

  But Cat lay with wide, dead eyes staring yellowly at the dust-filled sky.

  “Dolly!”

  But Dolly was broken in a thousand pieces, the flesh-coloured china of her body mingled with the shattered red plastic of the tea set.

  “Teddy Bear!”

  He stared at her, his golden-brown fur stained with her blood, his sewn mouth still in its eternal cat-grin, and his little round ears deaf to her plea.

  She sagged, a little girl, four pushing five, with the yellow ribbon tied round her plaits dirty and soiled, her once-clean apron a red horror, and her rabbit slippers thick with her mother’s blood.

  She sagged, a tiny scrap of humanity, with the blood streaming from her mouth, from her blast-crushed chest and ruined body, then slowly she fell towards the stained grass and the scattered ruin of her toys.

  Teddy Bear stared at her, crushed tight against her chest, then his bright button-eyes glared over her shoulder at the collapsing wall of the house.

  She had been such a little girl.

  AN ERA ENDS

  He awoke to the sound of bells and for a delicious moment thought that he was young again and it was Sunday and the air was filled with the cheerful summons to prayer. Then he opened his eyes and stared into the pre-dawn darkness, at the hidden contours of his shabby room, at the illuminated face of the cheap alarm clock whose brassy clanging had aroused such poignant memories.

  It was Sunday, that remained, but there would be no bells, no happy bands of worshipp
ers wending their way to old, familiar buildings sanctified by time. There would be no organs lifting their multi-throated voices to the Glory of God. But it was Sunday and there would be a congregation and there would be a service. That much, at least, remained.

  Tiredly the Reverend John Parish rose from his narrow bed. He was used to fatigue, of late it had seemed his natural state, and it was with physical relief that he knelt and, as he had every morning of his remembered life, commenced his day with prayer.

  He did not pray aloud but continued softly within himself and, as always, he begged for guidance, for strength and humbleness and, above all, he prayed God to forgive those in need of forgiveness.

  He was a long time on his knees and, when he rose, fatigue washed over him as if it were a tangible thing that he had to fight as a swimmer fought the waves. He had to pause for a while, leaning against the wall until strength returned and he could recommence the routine of the day.

  The first light of the false dawn had illumined the window with a patch of featureless grey, the light touching the contents of the room and accentuating the poverty rather than softening its harshness.

  Water stood in a cracked pitcher and he washed. Lathering his face and hands with a scrap of soap, shaving more by touch than actual sight and, when his toilet was done, dressing with painstaking care, the rusty black of his threadbare suit matching the cracked shoes and the shirt, which, though clean, was far from new.

  He combed his hair, smoothing out the tangled locks that wreathed his head, the baldness of his natural tonsure rising like a dome of pink from a sea of grey. He placed a battered hat firmly over the baldness and then, his toilet complete, he checked the door to make certain it was locked, looked about the room to make sure that no spy-hole had been bored during the night and, from beneath a loose floorboard collected the things he had to take,

  It was still early but even so the streets were not deserted. The streets of a large city are never wholly deserted. There are always the police, the restless, the apparently homeless who walk along the buildings, the people who walk as if they had definite errands, the still-awake population of the night before. He passed a café and his stomach sent urgent messages to his brain at the scent of coffee and food. He ignored the messages; it was not yet time to break his fast.