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Dangerous Knowledge
By Anglo-Norman
 This piece of Ambridge science fiction, inspired by John Christopher's Tripods novels, comes from the Fantasy Archers topic of .
The sun was already high over the village of Ambridge. Its various inhabitants would be going about their daily business as they always did, little changing in our self-reliant, self-contained world. At Â鶹ԼÅÄ Farm, Adam Macy no doubt toiled in the fields as his step-father, Brian Aldridge, poured over his accounts. Brian's daughter, Alice, was probably helping her mother perform a woman's duties in the kitchen. Mike Tucker would be scouring the milk churns, ready for the deliveries the next morning.
In The Bull, the local pub, those villagers who could not work - and there were few enough, in a world where no-one could afford to be idle - would be taking advantage of the hostelry's quiet period. In the pastures of Brookfield, David Archer was most likely to be found watching over his cows. In the Village Hall, we children of the village learnt by rote what little education we would need to get by in the world, tutored by the schoolmaster, Robert Snell, and watching the clock. And so on.
It was a peaceful scene of rural contentment. Only the Vagrants, the strange madmen and women who roamed the highways muttering to themselves, seemed out of place. Otherwise, all was quiet.
Suddenly the peace was shattered by an unearthly screeching, metallic howl that echoed across the valley. Everywhere the villagers stopped what they were doing, rushing outside or looking around wildly, shocked, confused, chattering excitedly.
Heedless of the rather half-hearted protestations of Mr Snell, we left our desks, pressing our faces to the windows to see what was going on. Eventually the schoolmaster - who was as curious as the rest of us - abandoned all hope of restraint and led us outside to join the other villagers. The commotion was not caused by an ignorance of what might have caused the screech, for that was well known. No, it was that it was so unexpected; it was a sound the people of Ambridge had not heard for months, and did not expect to hear again for well over a year.
Someone went to fetch the local Squire, Phil Archer, my grandfather. I should explain. My name is Daniel Hebden Lloyd, but my mother was born an Archer. Our family have effectively ruled the village for generations through land purchase, intermarriage and a skilful manoeuvring through the complexities of village politics. It is a situation that dates back even to the Old Times, before our new world began, but it has served us well. Everyone accepts it, everyone knows their place here. It is the way of things.
My grandfather, in fact, was already on his way, still pulling on his best coat for this momentous and wholly unexpected occasion. The villagers were gathering on the Green now, talking excitedly over what this could mean. An audible thumping sound could be heard in the distance, quite fast and regular. The source of the howl was on its way - soon it would be visible ...
Then, abruptly, there is was. We fell silent as the huge shape hove into view - a great hemisphere against the skyline, rocking slightly as it advanced on three long legs. It was one of those we blessed every day - our lords, our providers, our protectors from all harm. It was a thing seen but rarely in Ambridge so it was little wonder the villagers were excited - after all, what greater honour could there be, but to be visited by a Tripod?
The mobile monolith strode into the village, picking its way with surprising delicacy through the buildings. There was a commotion in the crowd. An old man capered towards the metal beast, yelling. He was Bert, one of the local Vagrants, but unlike most, one of those reluctant to move on.
At the age of sixteen, everyone was Capped - that is, a metal mesh was implanted on the head by the Tripods. It gave them peace of mind, and true understanding. It was a great honour, one of the most important moments of a person's life, for to be Capped was to become an adult. Next year, I would join their ranks.
Sometimes, though, for reasons no-one understood, the Capping failed. Instead of giving the subject peace of mind, it corrupted that mind, leaving them mentally disturbed, wandering the land aimlessly, living mostly off charity - the Vagrants. It was the duty of the adults to look after them, though I'm afraid we children tended to laugh at their strangeness - albeit from a distance, since we were also a little frightened of them.
Bert was a fine example of their breed, sometimes capable of doing a little work, always muttering, rarely talking sense, and - a quirk peculiar to him, as most Vagrants had their quirks - often speaking in rhyme, poetry, of a sort. Even now, he was shouting at the top of his voice:
"I thought I saw a Tripod - I've loved them all my life!
And if one felt like marryin', I'd take it for my wife."
The Tripod seemed heedless of this serenade, though some villagers tried to shush Bert for showing disrespect. Then something happened which changed the largely happy atmosphere. Afterwards, some said it was an accident, but I admit I thought it unlikely given the care with which the Tripod had avoided the buildings. In any case, as Bert leaped and danced in front of it, spouting his nonsense, the Tripod stepped forward in what to me seemed a chillingly deliberate manner. There was a brief scream, abruptly cut off, and the Tripod came to rest.
There was a ripple of shocked gasps amongst the crowds. The gleaming metal hemisphere turned slowly, seeming to scan the crowds, as if daring any of us to comment on the pulped flesh and bone that had one been Bert and which was now, mercifully, concealed by the mighty spread of the Tripod's foot. I felt sick. I had always been in awe of the Tripods on those rare occasions we saw one, scared of them, too, but almost in that way that some enjoy being scared by frightening tales. But I had just seen a man killed, and for the first time the Tripod took on a genuine aura of malevolence.
My grandfather hesitantly stepped forward and made the customary bow of reverence, though it was a shallow one as he was not as fit as he had once been.
"Oh, mighty lord" he called, directing his voice at the distant hemisphere above him. "You honour us with your presence. We are here to serve you, and look to do your bidding!"
There was silence, then the Tripod lowered one of its tentacles and lightly touched my grandfather on the shoulder, seemingly as an acknowledgement of his speech. Precisely how we would know its bidding was a moot point, as - to the best of my knowledge - no Tripod had ever been heard to speak, at least not in the tongues of man. Perhaps they communicated somehow through the Caps. Generally their requirements were passed on by those humans who were in authority, like my Grandfather - though how he knew he never said. Discussion and speculation about the Tripods and Caps were, by and large, taboo.
Just now, though, the Tripod did not seem in the mood to communicate. My grandfather was left standing there, completely nonplussed and looking a little foolish. If one allowed one's thoughts to take a disrespectful line one could almost imagine that the Tripod was playing a malicious game with him - or perhaps it was elderly, with some form of wasting of the brain like Ambridge's old Mr Woolley, and had forgotten why it had come here. However, Grandpa Phil rallied magnificently and declared a celebration in honour of the presence of our Tripod lord. All hail the Tripods!
All hail the Tripods indeed, since we schoolchildren had the rest of the day off in consequence. The whole village busied itself preparing for the celebrations; trestle tables were dragged out onto the Green, food was searched out from larders. Neil Carter, the local swineherd, even slaughtered a couple of his animals - something he would normally save for big regular festivals like Harvest and Capping Day. Casks of ale were rolled out and the wealthier families provided some of their costly wine. There was soup, and sandwiches, and cakes were baked - always a competitive issue in Ambridge. Just about everyone pitched in to help.
That evening, once everything had been prepared, the feast began. There was music and dancing and merriment - as well as all that food - in the shadow of the Tripod. Despite the happy atmosphere it looked strangely sinister, mostly in shadow but for those parts illuminated by the orange glow of the big bonfire. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. I, however, slipped away to find someone who had been mysteriously absent when the Tripod came. It was a visit which was to change my life.
***
Grandpa Jim had not lived in Ambridge for long. The father of my father (that is, of my adoptive father - my real one had been killed after being thrown by a horse) - he had resided in a village far to the north. However, he had come to visit us, and later - claiming to be of failing health - he had decided to live in Ambridge. It had not gone down well with my mother.
The source of the conflict seemed to be his attitude to me. I got on well with him, but my mother disliked the things he used to say; he seemed very keen that I should think for myself. A rather odd thing in itself, but at times he seemed to be hinting that Capping was a bad thing. He said I should take advantage of my mind whilst I still had it. It caused a few rows, I'm afraid. My mother, even by the standards of the Capped, seemed unusually loyal to the Tripods.
As I arrived at Grandpa Jim's house, I wondered if he was ill. He answered my knock, and seemed quite pleased to see me, if a little harassed. When he let me in, I was surprised to see packed bags.
"Grandpa, what's going on? Are you leaving?"
He frowned at me, then put a hand on my shoulder.
"Listen, Dan. I've got to tell you things, things you will find difficult to accept, things which will go against everything you believe about the Tripods - but you must believe them. I'd hoped to break you in gently, that's what I've been trying to do, but there's no time, no time!"
"The Tripods? What do you mean?" I was confused. The Tripod - despite the death of Bert - had cause great happiness in the village; now my grandfather seemed to be implying there was something evil in them.
Grandpa Jim took a deep breath.
"Dan, do you want to be Capped?" I hesitated. What a strange question. I'd never really thought about it.
"I ... suppose so."
"But you're not sure?"
"What I think doesn't matter, surely. It's how you become a man. It happens to everyone."
"Everyone?" Jim interrupted. "Not everyone. I am not Capped." I stared at him.
"But…" I lamely indicated the metal tracery visible across his scalp through his thinning hair. Grandpa Jim smiled, and shook his head.
"Look closer."
I did so, and caught my breath in surprise. Caps were made of a metal completely different to anything produced by the craft of Men. It fused with the flesh, becoming seamless, one with the person wearing it. But there was a clear edge to my grandfather's Cap; it was sitting atop his head, not fused with the skin, secured in place only by the tangle of his hair. "You see?"
I nodded dumbly. "But how?"
"We call ourselves the Free Men, humans who live without the Tripods' rule. We have to hide, but some of us go out into the world, to recruit young boys and girls to our ranks, to save them from Capping. The false Cap helps we… agents to live undetected. But I made a fatal mistake. I fell in love with a Capped woman, married her. So Alistair was Capped; I hated to see it, but to intervene would have cast suspicion on me. Why do you think I have such a strained relationship with him? My own flesh and blood, yet bound heart and soul to alien tyrants."
"Tyrants?!" I protested. "But the Tripods are good to us!"
"You sound like one of the Capped already" Jim snapped. "That's your mother talking! Oh, the Tripods give us peace, the Tripods look after us'," he spat, "The Tripods tuck us up in bed and read us stories! Pathetic! For more than a hundred years that's what we've been raised to believe. Children believe because that's what the adults tell them, and adults believe it because that's what the Caps tell them! Dan, the truth is we are slaves. The Tripods are invaders from a distant world. Mankind were once masters of a great civilization: we had carriages which could move without horses, light and heat without fire, boxes which could produce voices transmitted somehow through the air… Look at this!" He showed me a long metal rod with a metal disc on one end.
"What is it?"
"It's called a platemeter. It was a measuring instrument used in the Old Times - it was powered by something called…" He said something that sounded like 'ilektrisity', some power source that Man used to have, apparently.
"There were flying machines, and devices to speak to other people on the far side of the world as if you were standing next to them. I have made it my life to study the ancient history of Men, and the ingenuity of our ancestors is… astonishing. All of this we did without the Tripods, all of this we achieved only with free minds!"
I stared at him, my own mind in turmoil. Could it be true? Could it be that Grandpa Jim was right, that the Tripods were not our protectors but our enslavers?
"But ... even if this is true ..." I said, hesitantly. "What can Men do against the Tripods? If they conquered us before, when our civilization was at its height, how can we hope to defeat them, now?"
Jim leaned forwards eagerly.
"There is a way! I'm sure there's a way! But we must gather strength. We must encourage those who can to escape the Capping." He stared at me. "You must go, Daniel. You must leave Ambridge."
"Leave?! For where?!"
"For the place where the Free Men live. For the White Mountain. I shall show you…"
Abruptly he was cut off. A terrible, ululating scream, like a thousand rushing winds, tore through the night. I was suddenly gripped by fear - only a Tripod could make a noise like that, but it was a call I had never heard before - yet even so I could sense in it an approaching menace. Grandpa Jim had gone pale.
"I've waited too long!"
"Why? What was that?" He swallowed, despair showing in his eyes.
"The Hunting Call of the Tripods. I should have been more discreet - I fear your mother may have betrayed me."
My mother? Surely not! Before I could respond, though, my grandfather gripped my arm. "Run, Dan. Leave me, run away as fast as you can before it's too late!"
But even as he spoke his warning, the world seemed to explode. The whole house was illuminated by a fierce glare that lit up the night like day, then there was a sharp whistling sound followed by one almighty crash as half the building seemed to collapse.
As I scrambled for safety I caught a glimpse of snaking, gleaming metal against the night sky and I realised that we had been attacked by the Tripod. The light was being projected from some device at its front, whilst one of its tentacles had effortlessly ripped the top from the house. Another whistling sound as the tentacle slashed down, smashing through the walls, sending debris flying in a choking cloud of dust.
"Grandpa!" I called, staring around wildly.
Jim emerged from the chaos, blood oozing from a cut on his forehead.
"I'm alright, Dan!" he called out. "Go, get out of here! It's me it's after!"
I needed no second urging. Even now I'm surprised that raw terror didn't freeze me into place, but I ran as fast as I could. Whether or not the Tripod saw me, it was too intent on its main quarry to pay any heed.
I collapsed, exhausted, and looked back to where the Tripod stood, outlined against the stars, over the wreckage of the cottage. I saw a figure dart out - Grandpa Jim, faster and more agile that I had ever imagined him. A tentacle snaked out towards him. He dodged. Another tentacle swooped down, and this time its aim was true - it caught him around the waist and plucked him from the ground, lifting him easily through the air. A hatch opened in the metal creature's great hemisphere, and Jim was thrust through it - like a predator eating its prey, I thought. The hatch snapped shut, and with one last, triumphant howl, the Tripod turned and stalked away, my horrified gaze watching it until it was consumed by the darkness.
The next morning, I joined the curious crowds gathered around the wreckage of Grandpa Jim's home. My mother was there, and I remembered what he'd said about her as I looked on her satisfied expression. I could hardly comprehend it all. My mind was numb, from the horror of the attack, from all the things I'd been told.
I hardly heeded the sudden rise in excited chatter, but as the crowd parted I turned… and saw Jim. He was standing there, still grubby from the dust and dirt left over from the attack, but otherwise apparently in good health. He was smiling, but it was a strange, bland smile. But his head, though… all his hair was gone, shaved off, and plain to see was the metal mesh of the cap - not false, this time, but fused with the skin, appallingly real.
"Grandpa… what happened? The Tripod…"
"It's alright" he interrupted me gently. "It's quite alright. Just a misunderstanding. Everything has been sorted out, now. I understand… everything." I swallowed.
"But ... but what about all those things you said? About needing to think for yourself, about the old times, the Free Men?" He cocked his head and gave me a quizzical look.
"That was nonsense" he shrugged. "Best forget about it." Then he turned, and walked away.
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