Authors: Frederic Lindsay
'–
like
God.
It
helps
those
who
help
themselves.
If
you
try
to
farm
the
top
of
Ben
Nevis,
what
do
you
expect
to
harvest
except
bloody
snow?
Look
round
when
you
get
down
–
bloody
amazing –
technology –
that's
the
future
–’
It
was
a
royal
progress.
Seated
up
at
the
front,
Heathers
nodded
to
left
and
right
without
at
all
interrupting
the
flow
of
his
talk
.
Men
lifted
a
hand
in
salute
as
he
passed.
There
did
not
seem
to
be
anyone
who
failed
to
recognise
him.
Malcolm
remembered
how
on
Saturday
night
he
had
said,
'I
have
a
minute
for
everybody,
even
the
brickies.
They
respect
me
for
that
.
'
'You
don't
mind
going
down
into
the
tunnel?'
Chalmers'
voice
broke
into
his
thoughts.
'Why
should
I?'
Malcolm
asked.
'Some
people
do.
You'd
be
surprised.'
'I'm
looking
forward
to
it.
I
gather
it's
a
new
technology.'
'New
enough,'
the
site
manager
said
.
'We
don't
handle
that part
of
it.
It's
contracted
to
an
outside
firm, specialists.'
As
he
spoke,
they
rolled
inside
the
tunnel
entrance
to
the
Underpass.
After
the
controlled
confusion
of
men
getting
out
of
a
crowded
vehicle,
they
gathered
in
a
group.
Malcolm
patted
the
chinstrap
on
his
safety
helmet,
and
noticed
how
many
of
the
others
went
through
the
same
reassuring
ritual. 'We're
going
to
walk
down,'
Heathers
said.
'It
gives
you
the
feel
of
it
better
.
And
the
exercise
won't
do
anybody
any
harm.' Even
just
inside,
voices
echoed.
As
they
went
forward,
the
tunnel
was
lit
from
the
roof
with
a
white
brilliancy
that
stretched
black
edged
shadows
beside
them
for
company
.
The
sense
of
descending
was
kinetic,
a
tightness
at
the
front
of
the
thigh
with
every
step.
Malcolm,
looking
over
his
shoulder,
expected
to
see
daylight,
but
it
was
gone,
through
the
tunnel
seemed
so
straight.
Some
people
can't
come
underground,
Chalmers
had
said.
'Feel
anything?'
Heathers
grinned
back
at
them
from
under
the
helmet
stamped
with
his
initials
in
gold.
'Feel
anything
yet?' It
was
cold,
and
the
group
milled
to
a
halt
and
Heathers
was saying,
' – shamed
the
Government
into
the
go
ahead
.
Community
cash.
The
most
sophisticated
transport
link
in
any
inner
city
in
Europe,'
the
curtain
of
broad
backs
parted
and
the
man
behind
Malcolm
muttered,
'Jesus
wept!'
and
sounded
reverent
.
Heathers
guffawed
.
'That's
the
kind
of
thing
you
see
in
the
real world
when
you
come
out
from
behind
your
desk,
George.'
'That's
real?'
George
asked. It
was
a
cavern
of
ice.
'So
cold,'
Chalmers
the
site
manager
said,
'they've
to
stop
every
ten
minutes
to
thaw
out.' Ahead
of
them
a
trench
ran
the
length
of
the
tunnel
floor.
The
earth
beside
it
glistened.
Pipes
curved
down
into
the
trench
and
over
a
wheel
on
the
nearest
a
workman
bent,
winding
it
down
by
slow
turns.
'After
five
or
ten
minutes,
they
go
numb
from
the
waist
down,'
Chalmers
went
on
quietly
as
Malcolm,
hardly
conscious
of
what
he
was
doing,
moved
forward
until
he
was
at
the
front
of
the
group.
He
was
in
the
grip
of
a
powerful
and
unexpected
emotion.
The
ice
vault,
the
cold,
the
stillness,
above
all
the
movements
of
the
men
which
were
so
slow
and
seemingly
noiseless,
produced
this
effect.
Nothing
in
his
experience,
apart
from
sex,
had
taught
him
to
imagine
he
might
be
lost
and
carried
out
of
himself.
'Liquified
nitrogen
freezes
at
ninety-six
degrees
below
zero.
You
can
see
why
it's
cold
out
there
.
They're
pumping
it
into
the
ground
– later
the
soil
will
be
excavated
and
the
concrete
will
go
in wrapped
in
a
fibreglass
shield
–
hundreds
of
tons
of
it.
When
the
ground
thaws
out
again,
they'll
have
given
us
a
foundation.
But
that's
later.
Right
now
they're
working
in
sixty
degrees
below
freezing.
You're
watching
the
coldest
men
in
the
world.'
It
could
not
have
lasted.
Anyway,
the
voice
reciting
facts
and
figures
brought
it
to
an
end.
The
significance
of
his
mood
was
gone
like
the
meaning
of
a
dream
that
is
sensed
but
lost
in
the
margin
between
night
and
day.
He
was
surprised
to
find
himself
at
the
front
of
the
group
with
Chalmers
and
Kujavia
on
either
side. Chalmers
shook
his
head.
He
was
smiling
as
if
he
understood.
'I
shouldn't
go
any
further,'
he
said.