Lucifer's Hammer

by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle

  “Let’s get a map,” Harvey suggested.

  “It doesn’t show on a map,” Mark protested. “If it did, everybody—”

  “I believe your road,” Harvey said. “I want to see what happens after that. I’ve got maps in the TravelAll.” He started to turn, but Joanna went to the motorcycle. She reached into a saddlebag.

  “Frank Stoner made us take three copies. One for each bike,” she said. She held up a big aeronautical chart. It showed terrain features in colors. “There are Auto Club maps, too.”

  It was too dark to read the map properly. Mark went to the TravelAll and came back with a flashlight. Marie was standing stiffly aloof, silent, her eyes still accusing.

  “See?” Mark said. “Right across here. The highway goes past lakes. With dams. That sit on top of the San Andreas. You really think the big highway’s still usable?”

  Harvey shook his head. It wouldn’t matter. If the highway could be used, a million people would be trying to use it. If not…“So we come out through Frazier Park.”

  “Right! Then down in the valley and it’s a straight shot north,” Mark said. “I was thinking of getting to the Mojave ’cause that’s where Frank said we should be, but it’s no good. Can’t get to Sequoia that way.” He pointed. “All the eastside routes lead past Lake Isabella. Follow the Kern River. Harv, with all this rain, how many bridges will there be over the Kern?”

  “None. Marie, he’s right. If we went the direct route we’d never get there.”

  Mark looked pleased. Joanna leaned the shotgun against the bike and collapsed onto the seat, sidesaddle.

  “If you had explained before…” Marie began.

  “Jesus, I tried!” Mark shouted.

  “Not you.”

  She meant me, Harvey thought. And she’s right. I can’t curl up and die; I’ve got a boy up in those hills and I’ve got to go get him, and thank God for Marie. “How’s our gas?” Harvey asked.

  “Pretty good. We’ve made about fifty miles—”

  “No more than that,” Harvey muttered. Of course it was true, he could see it on the map. It seemed like much further. They couldn’t have been going very fast. “Mark, how sure are you of this fire trail? Won’t it wash out?”

  “Probably,” Mark said. He pointed silently to the dams poised above Interstate 5. “Rather risk that?”

  “No. If we’re going, we’d better do it. I’ll drive,” Harvey said.

  “And I’ll scout ahead. Joanna can ride shotgun with you.” Mark didn’t mention Marie. He wasn’t speaking to her.

  It felt good to be doing something. Anything. He had a throbbing headache, the beginning of a migraine, and his shoulders and neck were so tense he could feel knots in them, but it was better than curling up in the seat.

  “Let’s go,” Harvey said.

  The road ran along ridgelines, curled around hills, boring north and west. It stayed on high ground. Rock and mudslides spilled across it, but being high, the debris wasn’t deep; and being almost untraveled, the road wasn’t cut away at the edges.

  The mountains had shifted. The road might have ended anywhere. Like Mark Czescu’s judgment, it was nothing you could count on absolutely; but neither had failed them this time. Eventually they came to paved road, and Harvey could increase his speed.

  He liked driving. He drove with single-minded determination, with no room for other thoughts. Watch for rocks. Ease around curves. Keep going, rack up the miles, on and on and never look back and never think about what’s behind you.

  Down and down now, into the San Joaquin. Water standing everywhere. That was frightening. Harvey stopped and looked at the map. Their way ran directly to a dry lake bed. It wouldn’t be dry now. So cross the Kern River on the freeway, then get off and cut northeast.

  Would their gas hold? They had plenty so far. Harvey thought of the extra gas he’d stored, and of thieves and killers in a blue van. Wherever they hid, someday he would track them down. But they hadn’t taken this road. He’d have noticed. So far they’d had the road almost to themselves.

  Dawn found them north and east of Bakersfield. They’d made effective progress. Thirty miles an hour, and now they were on high ground, skirting the eastern edge of the San Joaquin, with nothing to stop them.

  Harvey realized where they were heading. Their route would take them right past the Jellison ranch.

  The Tule River was too deep, way too deep. Nobody had dared to use the road that ran alongside. By the time Harvey realized this, it was too late. He could see the dam ahead.

  Water streamed around one side and all along the top. He could just tell where the spillway was: a surging current in the river that poured over the face of the dam. He sounded the horn and waved Mark ahead. He clenched his fist and moved it vigorously up and down, the Army signal for double time. He pointed at the dam.

  Mark got the message; he gunned the bike. Harvey slammed down the accelerator and roared after him. They were almost to the dam, then—

  A river of mud submerged the road. A dozen people and half that many cars were mired in the mud. They’d tried to get past the slide and got stuck.

  Harvey levered the TravelAll into four-wheel drive and went on without stopping. One man stepped forth to bar their way with spread arms. Harvey came close enough to see wide eyes and bared teeth, a rictus of terror and determination…and he saw Harvey’s face. The TravelAll’s headlight ticked his heel as he leaped away.

  The mud was sliding and the TravelAll slid with it. Harvey turned hard, gunned the engine and fought a frantic race between his traction on the mud and the mud’s adherence to the road. Rocks in the road tipped the TravelAll sickeningly. Then there was road under them again. Harvey heard Marie’s gasp of relief.

  There was a bridge ahead. It crossed an arm of the lake…and it was underwater. Harvey couldn’t tell how deep. He slowed.

  Suddenly there were other sounds embedded in the sounds of river and rain and thunder. Screams. Joanna looked back. “Jesus!” she shouted.

  Harvey stopped the TravelAll.

  The dam was going. One whole side of it crumbled, all in a moment, and the lake went forth in a wall of water. The screams were drowned in its thunder.

  “Our timing was s-superb,” Joanna said.

  “All those people,” Harvey muttered. All the travelers in cars not as good as the TravelAll. All the farmers who thought they’d wait it out. People on foot, people already marooned on roofs and high points in the new shallow lakes, would look up to see the wall of water marching toward them.

  It would be worse when the other dams went. The whole valley would be flooded. No dam would hold against this relentless rain.

  Harvey took a deep breath. “Okay, it’s over. We made it. Quaking Aspen is only thirty miles from here. Gordie’ll bring them out there.” He summoned up a mental picture of the road north of Springville. It crossed many streams, and the map showed small power stations and dams on some of them. Dams above the road.

  Had they failed? Would they fail? It would be foolish, even insane, to charge up the road just in time to be washed down again.

  “Let’s go,” Marie said.

  Harvey drove on. There was no water above the bridge now. That water was on its way into the San Joaquin Valley. He drove across the bridge, and was surprised to see a big truck coming toward him. It stopped just at the far end of the bridge. Two big men got out. They stared as Harvey drove past them. One started to shout something, then shrugged.

  Up ahead there was another bridge out. That decided it: Harvey had to detour past the entrance to Senator Jellison’s place.

  And where better to learn what was happening in the mountains? For that matter, where would they go once they found the boys? Marie hadn’t thought past the moment of finding Bert and Andy. Neither had Harvey until now, but…

  But this was perfect. The scout troop would have to come past the Jellison place.

  And Maureen would be there.

  Harvey despised himself for thinking
of her. Loretta’s face swam in front of him, and the vision of a body wrapped in an electric blanket. He slowed to a stop.

  “Why are we—” Before Marie could finish there was an explosion behind them, then another.

  “What the hell?” Harvey started the car again. Remorse was replaced by fear. Explosions? Had they wandered into a range war or something? He drove ahead, while Joanna and Marie craned to look back.

  Mark whipped the bike into a U-turn and drove back the way they’d come. He waved as he went past.

  “Damn fool curiosity will kill him yet,” Joanna said.

  Harvey shrugged. He could stand not knowing, but it would be nice to find out. Up ahead, a couple of miles, not far at all, was the turnoff. Then safety, refuge, rest.

  He drove slowly, and he’d just reached the Senator’s drive when he saw Mark coming up behind him. He pulled to a stop.

  “That bridge,” Mark said.

  “Yeah?”

  “The one we came over,” Mark said. “Those two dudes just blew it. Dynamite, I think. They dropped it at both ends. Harvey, a half hour later and we’d be stranded back there.”

  “Two minutes later,” Joanna said, “and we’d have been looking up at a million tons of water. We—Harv, we can’t keep lucking out like this.”

  “It takes luck,” Harvey said. “In combat, here, luck’s as important as brains. But we won’t need any more for a while. I’m going in there.” He waved toward the Senator’s drive.

  “Why?” Marie demanded, ready for war.

  “Road conditions. Information.” Harvey drove on to the gate. It was only just coming to him—it had never occurred to him, not for an instant—that a master of television documentaries might not be welcome at a politician’s home.

  He got out to open the gate.

  There was a car parked inside. A young man got out and wearily came to the TravelAll. “Your business?” he inquired. He eyed Joanna and the shotgun, showed his empty hands. “Me, I’m not armed. But my partner’s where you can’t see him, and he’s got a scope-sighted rifle.”

  “We’ll be no trouble,” Harvey said. The man had seen the NBS markings on the TravelAll—and he hadn’t been impressed. “Can you get a message up to the big house?”

  “Depends on the message. Might.”

  Harvey had thought it through. “Tell Maureen Jellison that Harvey Randall is here with three dependents.”

  The man looked thoughtful. “Well, you got the names right. She expecting you?”

  Harvey laughed. It struck him as insanely funny. He leaned against the fender and chortled; he put a hand on the man’s arm and got control of his voice and said, “From Los Angeles?” and lost it again.

  The man withdrew a little. His large red face blanked out. There were things he didn’t want to know. But—the Senator had told the meeting he’d like to talk to someone who’d seen what happened to L.A. And this city man did know the Senator’s name, and Maureen’s as well.

  As suddenly as it had been funny, suddenly it wasn’t. Harvey stopped laughing. “Maureen must think I’m dead. She’ll be glad to know different.” Or will she? Shazam! “I know she’ll want to talk to me. Tell her I want to…never mind.” He’d been about to say he wanted to talk about galactic empires, and that wasn’t the right thing to say at all.

  The man looked thoughtful. Finally he nodded. “Okay, I guess I can do that. But you wait right here. I mean right here, understand? And don’t get gay with that shotgun.”

  “We don’t want to shoot anybody. I just want to talk to Maureen.”

  “Okay. Right there. I’ll be a while.” He went to the car, locked it and walked up the driveway.

  Walked. Saving gasoline already. Yes, the Senator had his place organized. Harvey went back to the TravelAll. Marie tried to say something; he cut through her voice with practiced ease. “Spread the map.”

  She thought it over, then did it. Harvey let his forefinger do the talking. “The scouts are in this area. The only route out is right past here. They don’t have to worry about these dams—here, and here—because they don’t have to stay on the road. We do, or else we walk. We’re not equipped to walk it.”

  Marie thought that over. She glanced at her boots and fingered her jacket. She was ready to walk, and so was Harvey, but it made sense. Certainly if they had to walk, a few hours wouldn’t make any difference.

  “So we wait here?” Joanna asked.

  Mark stuck his head in at the window. “Sure, this is Senator Jellison’s place. Thought I recognized it. Harv, that was smart, sending a message to the Senator’s daughter instead of him.”

  “Wait,” Marie said. “How long?”

  “Christ, how the hell do I know?” Harvey exploded. “As long as they’ll let us. This ranch is organized, have you noticed? And they’ve got food; that guard wasn’t hungry. We’d like to feed the boys when they get here. Not to mention ourselves.”

  Marie nodded in submission.

  “The trouble is,” Harvey continued, “how do we get them to let us in? Blowing up that bridge might have been a subtle hint that they aren’t welcoming refugees in this valley. We have to be useful, which means we promise to do whatever they want us to do, and no goddam arguments about it. Marie, don’t blow this for us. We’re beggars here.”

  He waited for that to sink in before turning to Joanna. “That applies to your shotgun. I don’t know if you noticed the subtle hand motions of that guy who stopped us, but he was doing strange things with his hand. His left hand. I expect sticking him up wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “I knew that,” Joanna said.

  “Yes.” Harvey turned to Mark. “Let me do the talking.”

  Mark looked hurt. Who’d got Harvey out of his bedroom and across the state, all the way up here? But he stood in the rain, water running off his jacket and into his boots, and waited in silence.

  “Company coming,” Mark said finally. He pointed up the drive.

  Three men on horseback, wearing yellow slickers and rain hats. One didn’t ride very well. He clung grimly to the horse. When he came closer, Harvey recognized Al Hardy, Jellison’s administrative assistant and political hatchet man.

  Hatchet man, Harvey thought. That might be more literally true here than it had been in Washington.

  Hardy dismounted and handed the reins to one of the mounted men. He came over to the TravelAll and peered inside. “Hello, Mr. Randall,” he said.

  “Hello.” Harvey waited tensely.

  “Who are these people?” He looked closely at Marie, but didn’t say anything.

  Hardy had met Loretta only once, months ago, Harvey thought. When? A long time, anyway. And Marie Vance never, but he knew she wasn’t Loretta. A good memory for names and faces goes with the job of political adviser…

  “A neighbor,” Harvey said. “And two employees.”

  “I see. And you came from Los Angeles. Do you know conditions in L.A.?”

  “They do,” Harvey said. He indicated Mark and Joanna. “They saw the tidal wave come in.”

  “I can let two of you come up,” Hardy said. “No more.”

  “Then it’s none,” Harvey said. He said it quickly, before he could say something else. “Thanks, and we’ll be on our way—”

  “Wait.” Hardy looked thoughtful. “Okay. Hand me the shotgun. Slow, and don’t point it at me.” He took the weapon and handed it to the original guard, who’d also dismounted. “Any more firearms?”

  “This pistol.” Harvey showed the Olympic target gun.

  “My, but that’s pretty. Give it to me, too. You’ll get them back if you’re not staying.” Hardy took the weapon and thrust it into his belt. “Now make room for me in the back seat.”

  He climbed into the back seat, leaned out to speak so the others could hear. “You follow on that bike,” he told Mark. “Stay close. I’m taking them up, Gil. It’s all right.”

  “If you say so,” the original guard said.

  “Let’s go,” Hardy told Randall. �
��Drive carefully.”

  The gate swung open and Harvey drove through, followed by Mark, then, further behind, by the third man on horseback leading the other two horses.

  “Why not leave a horse for the guard?” Harvey asked.

  “We have more cars than horses. Rather lose a car if some damn fool tries anything,” Hardy explained.

  Harvey nodded. And the car was there, if anything urgent had to get up the hill. Obviously his message hadn’t been thought urgent enough to waste gasoline on.

  The TravelAll walked through the thick mud, and Harvey wondered just how long this drive would last. He went past the foreman’s home and toward the big house at the top of the hill. The orange groves looked pitiful, many of the trees down from the high winds—but there was no fruit on the ground. Harvey approved.

  Maureen wasn’t in the big front room. Senator Jellison was. He had maps spread across the big dining table, and lists and other papers covered card tables nearby. A bottle of bourbon stood on the table. It was nearly full.

  They left their boots out on the porch and came into the big stone house. The Senator stood. He didn’t offer his hand. “I’ll give you a drink if you’ll recognize in advance that it’s not permanent,” Jellison said. “Long time ago, if you offered a man food and drinks that said you’d keep him as a guest. That’s not decided yet.”

  “I understand,” Harvey said. “I could use a drink.”

  “Right. Al, take the women back to the kitchen stove. They’ll appreciate a chance to dry off. Excuse my manners, ladies, I’m a bit rushed just now.” He waited until the girls were gone, then waved Harvey into a seat. Mark stood uncertainly at the door. “You too,” Jellison said. “Drink?”

  “You know it,” Mark said. When the bottle was given to him, he poured an enormous drink into his glass. Harvey grimaced and examined the Senator’s face. There was no change of expression.