He didn’t doubt that it was Deke Wilson’s track. He looked anyway. A single truck could carry considerable firepower, and a single such mistake could cost a score of lives and put the poor stuttering sentry back on the road without his balls.
It looked like Deke’s truck, more crowded than usual; the truck bed was jammed with standing men. You wouldn’t crowd an attack force together like that. One was a woman…
Those four: Why did they leap to the eye like that? One was a woman, and one was black, and two were white men. But the four seemed clumped together as if…as if in mutual distaste for the mortals around them. No, they didn’t look like mortals. Tim shifted his elbows on the rock and studied elusively familiar faces through the binoculars…
But the truck was coming too close. Tim sprinted for the hut. He was picking up the microphone when he remembered.
“Yeah?”
“Deke Wilson’s here, three minutes,” said Tim, “and he’s got the astronauts with him, the astronauts from Hammerlab! All four! Chet, you won’t believe them. They look like gods. They look like they never went through the end of the world at all.”
■
Faces. Dozens of faces, all white, all staring up at them in the track. They were all talking at once, and Rick Delanty heard only snatches of conversation.
“Russians.”
“Astronauts, it’s really them.” When he got down from the truck they crowded around, hanging back a bit to avoid crushing the men from space, staring, smiling. Men and women, and they weren’t starving. Their eyes did not have the haunted look that Rick had got used to at Deke Wilson’s place. These people had seen only a part of Hell.
They were mostly middle-aged, and their clothes showed signs of hard work and not much washing. The men tended to be large, the women plain, or was it only that they were dressed for work? At Deke Wilson’s farm the women had dressed like men and worked like men. Here there was a difference. In this valley women were different from men. It wasn’t like the world before Hammerfall. It wasn’t that obvious, and if Rick hadn’t been weeks with Deke Wilson he would have reflected on how things had changed since the Hammer; now, he noticed the similarities. This valley was as different from Wilson’s fortified camp as…
Rick had no more time to reflect on it. There were introductions, and they were ushered up onto the big porch of the stone ranch house. Rick would have known who was in charge even if he hadn’t recognized Senator Jellison: The Senator was not as large as the big, burly men, but everyone made room for him, waited for him to speak first; and his smile made them all feel welcome, even Pieter and Leonilla, who had been dreading this meeting.
More people were coming, some downhill from the fields, others up the drive. The word must have spread fast. Rick looked for Johnny Baker, and saw him, but Baker wasn’t noticing Rick Delanty or anyone else. He was standing in front of a slim girl, tall, red hair, flannel shirt and work trousers. He gripped both her hands, and they devoured each other with their eyes.
“I was sure you were dead,” Baker said. “I just…I never even asked Deke. I was afraid to. I’m glad you lived.”
“I’m glad you lived, too,” she said. Odd, Rick thought: From the sorrow on their faces, you would have thought they were attending each other’s funeral. It was obvious to Rick, and to everyone else: They had been lovers.
And some of the men didn’t like that at all! Trouble building there…Rick again had no time to reflect on it. The crowd was pressing around, everyone speaking at once. One of the big men turned from watching Johnny and his woman and spoke to Rick. “Are we at war with the Russians?” he demanded.
“No,” Rick said. “What’s left of Russia and what’s left of the United States are allies. Against China. But you can forget about all that, the war’s long over. Between the Hammer and the Soviet missiles, and we think maybe some of our own, there won’t be anything left of China that can fight back.”
“Allies.” The big man was bewildered. “Okay. I guess.”
Rick grinner at him. “The thing is, if we ever get to Russia we’ll find nothing but glaciers. But if we go to China we’ll find Russians, and they’ll remember us as allies. See?”
The man scowled and walked away, exactly as if Rick had been putting him on.
Rick Delanty fell into the old routine. He was used to speaking at gatherings, keeping the words simple and the imagery vivid, explaining without condescending. There were plenty of questions. They wanted to know what it was like in space. How long did it take to get used to free fall? Rick was surprised at how many had watched their TV broadcasts from Hammerlab and remembered Rick’s impromptu zero-G ballet performance. How did they move? Eat? Drink? Patch a meteor strike? Couldn’t that raw sunlight burn your eyes out? Did they wear dark glasses all the time?
He learned the names. The young girl was Alice Cox, the woman with the tray of hot coffee—real coffee!—was her mother, the burly men with the challenging stance were both Christophers, and so was the one who’d wanted to know about the war, only that one had gone inside with Deke Wilson and Johnny Baker, leaving Mrs. Cox to be hostess. There was a man introduced as “Mayor” and another whom everyone called “Chief,” but there was something subtle Rick didn’t understand, because the Christophers, with no title, seemed to have higher status. All the men seemed big, and they were all armed. Was he already so used to the half-starved look of Deke Wilson’s band?
“The Senator says we can spare some light,” Mrs. Cox announced after one of her trips inside. “You can talk to the astronauts after it’s too dark to work. And maybe we’ll have a party Sunday.”
There were murmurs of agreement, and goodbyes, and the crowd melted away. Mrs. Cox took them inside, and brought more coffee into the living room. The perfect hostess, and Rick found himself relaxing for the first time since they had landed. At Deke Wilson’s there had been coffee, but not much, and it was consumed hurriedly by men about to go on guard duty. No one sat relaxed in a parlor, and the coffee certainly wasn’t served in china cups.
“I’m sorry there’s nobody around to keep you company,” Mrs. Cox said. “Everyone’s got work to do. They’ll be back tonight, and then they’ll talk your head off.”
“It is not important,” Pieter said. “We thank you for the welcome.” He and Leonilla sat together, apart from Rick. “I hope we are not keeping you from your duties.”
“Well, I’ve got dinner to cook,” Mrs. Cox said. “If you want anything, just call me.” She left them alone, pointedly setting down the coffeepot. “Better drink that before it gets cold,” she said. “I can’t promise there’ll be any more for a while.”
“Thank you,” Leonilla said. “You are all so kind to us…”
“No more than you deserve, I’m sure,” Mrs. Cox answered, and then she was gone.
“So. We have found a government,” Pieter said. “Where is General Baker?”
Rick shrugged. “Back there somewhere with Deke and the Senator and some of the others. Big conference.”
“To which we were not invited,” Jakov said. “I understand why Leonilla and I are not needed, but why are you out here?”
“I thought about that,” Rick said. “But they all left pretty quick. You know what Deke’s got to tell them. And somebody had to stay out there and talk to the crowd. I took it as a compliment.”
“I hope you are right,” Jakov said.
Leonilla nodded agreement. “This is the first time I have felt safe since we landed. I think they like us. Surely they do not care that Rick is black?”
“I can usually tell,” Rick said. “No. But there was something strange. Did you notice? After they found out about the war, all they wanted to know about was space. Nobody, nobody at all, asked about what was happening to the Earth.”
“Yes. But soon we will have to tell them,” Pieter said.
“I wish we could avoid that,” Leonilla said. “But yes, we will have to.”
They fell silent. Rick got up and poured the last o
f the coffee. From back in the kitchen there were sounds of activity, and outside they could see men carrying rocks, others plowing fields. Hard work, and it was certain there’d be plenty for all of them, even Leonilla. Rick hoped so. He realized that he had been silently praying that there would be work, something to do, something to make him feel useful again, and to forget Houston and El Lago and the tsunami…But for the moment he’d been given a hero’s welcome, and so had Leonilla and Pieter, and they were safe, surrounded by armed men who didn’t want to kill them.
He heard a low buzz of voices from somewhere at the back of the house. That would be the Senator and Johnny Baker and Deke Wilson and the Senator’s trusted staff, planning…what? Our lives, Rick thought. Was the Senator’s daughter there, too? Rick remembered how she and Johnny had looked at each other, their voices inaudible, their noses almost touching, no thought of anyone around them. How would that affect the Senator’s decisions?
It struck Rick that the Senator might like it fine. Johnny Baker was an Air Force general. If Colorado Springs had the power they claimed, that could be important.
“How many men here?” Pieter said. The question startled Rick from his reverie. “I estimate several hundred,” Pieter was saying. “And many weapons. Do you think that is enough?”
Rick shrugged. He’d been thinking of the far future, weeks, months ahead, and had almost managed to forget why they had come to the Senator’s Stronghold just now. “It’s got to be,” Rick said, and now he felt it too, the tension that Pieter and Leonilla had brought with them. It had never occurred to Rick that the Senator wouldn’t have enough strength. He’d been so sure that somewhere there were civilized men and women, real safety and civilization and order…
And maybe there wasn’t any. Anywhere. Rick shuddered slightly, but he kept his smile in place, and the three of them sat in the paneled room, waiting and hoping.
■
“They call themselves the New Brotherhood Army,” said Deke. He looked around him—at Harvey Randall and Al Hardy and General Johnny Baker, George Christopher, who sat far to one side of the room, and Senator Jellison in his judge’s chair—and his eyes were haunted. He drank from his glass, and waited a minute while the whiskey worked its ancient magic, and said in a firmer voice, “They also claim to be the legal government of California.”
“By what authority?” Al Hardy demanded.
“Well, their proclamation was signed by the Lieutenant Governor. ‘Acting Governor,’ he calls himself now.”
Hardy frowned. “The Honorable James Wade Montross?”
“That’s the name,” Deke said. “Could I have some more of that whiskey?”
Hardy looked to the Senator, got a nod and refilled Deke’s glass. “Montross,” Al said musingly. “So The Screwball survived.” He looked to the others and added quickly, “An insider’s joke. In politics we usually have nicknames for people. The Loser. Grin and Bear It. Montross got tagged as The Screwball.”
“Screwball or not, he’s given me seven days to join his government,” Deke said. “Otherwise his New Brotherhood Army will take the whole place by force.” The farmer opened his Army-surplus field jacket and took a paper from an inner pocket. The paper was mimeographed, but the lettering was hand-drawn, in fine calligraphy. He handed it to Al Hardy, who glanced at it, then gave it to Senator Jellison.
“That’s Montross’ signature,” Hardy said. “I’m sure of it.”
Jellison nodded. “We can treat the signature as genuine.” He looked up to include everyone in the conversation. “The Lieutenant Governor proclaims a state of emergency and asserts what amounts to supreme authority within California,” he said.
George Christopher growled, a harsh grating sound. “Over us, too?”
“Everyone,” Jellison said. “He mentions the Colorado Springs announcement, too. Do you know anything about that, General Baker?”
Johnny Baker nodded. He sat next to Harvey Randall, but he didn’t seem to be part of the group in the room. The old gods have returned, Harvey thought. For the moment, anyway. How long will they be gods? Harvey had seen Baker with Maureen, and hated it.
“We caught a broadcast out of Colorado Springs,” Baker said. “I’m sure it was genuine. It was in the name of the Speaker of the House—”
“A senile idiot,” Al Hardy said.
“—who is acting as President,” the astronaut continued. “His chief of staff seems to be a brevet lieutenant general named Fox. I think that’s Byron Fox, and if it is, I know him. One of the professors at the Academy. Good man.”
George Christopher had been quietly fuming. Now he spoke, his voice low and full of anger. “Montross. That son of a bitch. He was around here a couple of years ago trying to organize the pickers. Came right onto my land! I couldn’t even throw the trespassing bastard off. He had fifty state cops with him.”
“I’d say Jimmy Montross has quite a lot of legal power,” Senator Jellison said. “He is the highest-ranking civil officer in California. Assuming the Governor’s dead, and he probably is.”
“Sacramento’s gone, then?” Johnny Baker asked.
Al Hardy nodded. “As far as we can tell, that area’s all underwater. Harry took a sweep north and west a couple of weeks ago and met somebody who’d talked to people who tried to get to Sacramento. All they found was more of the San Joaquin Sea.”
“Damn,” Baker said. “Then the nuclear power plant’s gone.”
“Yes. Sorry,” Hardy said.
“Deke, you’re not going to knuckle under to this goddam Montross, are you?” George Christopher demanded.
“I came here to ask for help,” Wilson said. “They can whip us. That army of his is big.”
“How big?” Al Hardy asked.
“Big.”
“Something puzzles me,” Senator Jellison said. “Deke, are you certain that the cannibal band you fought is part of this outfit that Montross is associated with?”
“I said so, didn’t I?”
“Now don’t get upset.” The Senator’s famous charm was suddenly evident. “It just surprised me, that’s all. Montross was a screwball, but he wasn’t crazy. Or stupid, for that matter. He championed the underdog—”
There was a growl from Christopher.
“—or so he claimed,” Jellison continued smoothly. “But I wouldn’t have thought he’d be friendly with cannibals.”
“Maybe they’re holding him prisoner,” Al Hardy suggested.
Jellison nodded. “The point I was about to make. In which case he has no legal authority at all.”
“Legal, shmegal, what do I do?” Deke Wilson asked. “I can’t fight him. Will you people help me? I don’t want to give in to them—”
“Don’t blame you,” Christopher said.
“It’s not just the cannibals,” Deke said. “They may give that up if they can get…other food. But some of those messengers!”
“How big a party did they send?” Hardy asked.
“About two hundred camped down the road from us,” Deke said. “They sent in a dozen. All armed. General Baker saw them. A captain of state police—”
“No shit?” Christopher exclaimed. “State cops with the cannibals?”
“Well, he wore the uniform,” Deke said. “And some guy who’d been an official in Los Angeles, a black man. And others. Most of them were okay, but two were…hell, they were weird!” He looked to Baker and got a nod of agreement.
“Really weird,” Deke continued. “Acted like they were on dope. The eyes looked like that, wide, you know, and they wouldn’t look straight at you. And they talked about the angels of the Lord. ‘The angels have sent us to deliver this message.’”
“How did the others react to that?” Harvey Randall asked.
“Like nothing happened. Like it was normal to talk about the angels sending them. And when I asked what the hell that meant, they just turned and left. ‘You have the message.’ That’s all they’d say.”
“And you said there were two hundred c
amped near you?” Al Hardy asked. “How near? Where?”
“Not far. South, down the road,” Deke said. “Why?”
“Harry went out your way,” Hardy said. “He’s not overdue; he doesn’t keep any exact schedule, but we’ve been expecting him.”
“He never got to my place,” Deke said.
“Do you think this outfit has done anything to Harry?” Jellison asked.
Deke shrugged. “Senator, I don’t know what to make of those people. They claim to have a lot more troops than the ones they let us see, and I believe it. We don’t see traders anymore. No refugees. It’s like there’s nobody out there except you and the New Brotherhood.”
“Angels,” Al Hardy said. “It doesn’t make much sense.”
Not neat, Harvey Randall thought. Not neat at all, and it disturbs Al. “I met Montross a few times,” Harvey said. “He didn’t seem crazy to me. He was hyped up on the subject of environmentalism. Spray cans destroying the ozone, that kind of thing. Maybe the Hammer drove him over the edge.”
“He may be crazy, he may be a prisoner, anything could be,” Deke Wilson said. “But there’s two hundred men camped down the road, I’d bet they’ve got five hundred more, and I don’t know what the hell to do.”
“No. I don’t suppose you do,” the Senator said. He paused for thought, and no one interrupted him. Presently he said, “Well. Six more days. Deke, I was going to make you an offer. You could bring your women and children and injured here, and your part would be to salvage things for us. Tools, electronics, that sort of thing, starting with scuba gear you could use to dive for—”
“Where does that leave us time to fight the New Brotherhood Army, Senator?”
Jellison sighed. “It doesn’t, of course. And I don’t suppose that Governor Montross—or whoever is controlling him—will be interested in sharing your salvage with us. It sounds as if he intends to take control of the whole state.”
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