by Larry Niven
The alien preened. He liked it. Sherry was laughing, and three others had leaped to her aid and were jetting mud over the alien's back. Curtis' tall wife showed impressive ambidextrous firepower.
The alien sprayed them back impartially, with the capacity of a small fire truck, his digits splayed from around the nostril.
Jack Clybourne and Jenny walked into a mist of mud and a roar of echoing laughter, and a water fight raging at the center. They stopped in the doorway and waited.
None of the Threat Team noticed them. The water fight stopped, and two muddy writers were now fondling the alien's trunk. Reynolds asked, "Can you bend it in any direction?"
"No."
Sherry began braiding the bifurcations, the 'digits.' "Does this hurt?"
"No. Discomfort." The trunk lifted and writhed and was no longer braided.
"I wonder just how mobile your tail is," Curtis said from behind the alien.
The short, somewhat flattened tail flapped up, down, left, right. "Control the speed of a floating car with tail. Accelerate and stop."
"Mmm. We couldn't drive your cars, then, even if we could capture one."
"Not one. Two human could drive. Or I drive for you."
Nat Reynolds noticed the visitors. He moved to the doorway without disturbing the rest. "Major Jenny, did you notice that he's telling us how to steal fithp cars?"
"I wondered how much you were telling him," Jack said.
Nat looked at Jack. He grinned and said, "Anything. Everything. Harpanet is part of the Threat Team."
"You needn't be so damned flippant. He acts like he's switched sides, snout to human. I take it he's got you convinced—"
"We're still watching, Clybourne, but it's a little more than that. He expects us to act like he's switched sides. He's not putting any sweat into convincing us. Sherry thinks it's herdbeast behavior."
"I still don't think you should be telling that alien exactly what we're afraid of at all times!"
"Why? What is he going to do, disguise himself as a general and walk out? Change clothes with one of us? Come on! Or wait for rescue? Clybourne, if the snouts can get him out of Cheyenne Mountain, we've bloody well lost!
"But never mind that. Think about this. Somewhere in the sky, aboard their mother ship, they've got human prisoners. They got some from Kansas, they may have saved some from the Soviet space station. They're probably treating their human prisoners as if they had changed sides. If nobody's shot his mouth off too much, it'll be just like Hogan's Heroes, with the fithp totally gullible and the prisoners running rings around them!"
Jack's eyes changed. He said, "Mr. Reynolds, do you really believe that? Or are you spinning daydreams?"
"Oh. . . some of both. But it could be true. For a while. Before the aliens catch on, our people might actually do some damage."
"And then? One human does some damage, they'll kill them all, won't they? I saw those piles of bodies in Topeka."
Nat nodded soberly. "I'd have liked to meet Wes Dawson again. The snouts are ruining what used to be a fun thing. Anyway, you can see we're learning things."
"Yeah."
"The asteroid strike will be an ocean strike. They like things wet. Vaporizing a billion tons of seawater won't bother them at all. I guess it's time to talk to the President again."
* * *
Shoshone was a short strip of civilization in the midst of alien wilderness: a market, a gas station, a primitive-looking motel, a diner. The population must once have been about twenty. Now, at first glance, there were none.
He drove up the dirt track behind the motel. The track led through a field of immature tumbleweeds, still growing, not yet nomadic. They were well distributed, as if cultivated, or as if the plants had made agreements between them: this three square feet is mine, you get the same, intrude at your peril. But the plants looked dead and dried, the kind of plant that ought to grow in Hell.
Martin Carnell drove on through, slowly. Fox had described Shoshone to him once. Where were those caves?
He spotted Fox's truck.
He parked beside the truck and went wandering on foot. There was a timeless feel here, as if nobody could possibly be in a hurry.
Martin turned the dogs loose into the desert. They dashed about, enjoying their freedom, running back to make contact and dashing away over the small knolls. He missed Sunhawk. At fifteen years Sunhawk had gotten too old. Marty had had to put him to sleep, just before Ken's Stone Soup Party.
Marty wandered up and down the low rock hills. Presently he found the rooms.
Five of them, dynamite-blasted into the rock. They were roughly rectangular, with shelves and, in one instance, a door. All the comforts of home, he thought. Miners? Miners would think in terms of dynamite. What were they after, bauxite? Had there been real caves to be shaped?
Marty crossed the low ridge, puffing. On the other side were more caves, and John Fox dressed in khaki shorts and a digger hat, looking up at him.
Fox didn't seem surprised to see him. "Hello, Marty. I heard you clumping around. The rock carries sound."
"Hello, John. I'm carrying some perishables. You're invited to dinner."
"Is it just you?"
"Me and the dogs. That's Darth, —he's just a puppy," Darth had come running up to sniff at Fox before rejoining his master." and I've got Lucretia and Chaka and — here, this's Othello." The dogs were behaving, more or less.
"How are things in Los Angeles?"
"Not good. Short of food, no electricity in spots . . . but mainly there's a feel. I think the snouts are going to start bombing cities any minute now."
"Why?"
"No reason. Anyway, I got out."
"What are your plans?"
"Stay here, if you don't mind a neighbor. I have fresh artichokes. And avocados and bay shrimp. Also fresh." Fox looked doubtful. "A case of wine, too." Fox stood up.
"Okay."
28
THE PRISONERS
Thus in the highest position there is the least freedom of action.
-SALLUST, The War with Catiline
COUNTDOWN: ONE WEEK TO FOOTFALL
It was exhausting work. Jeri hated it. Machines can do this. They have machines to do it. Why us? The why didn't matter. She didn't know what the fithp would do if she refused to work, but she didn't want to find out.
Raztupisp-minz sent them out in groups, but no one objected if they separated. Jeri didn't think the fithp would ever understand the human need for privacy, simply to be alone some of the time, but they were beginning to accept it. They can watch us. Better work. Wearily she took up the cleaning materials and began.
"You are diligent."
The voice from behind startled her. "Oh. Hello, Commander Rogachev."
"Arvid. We have no rank here." He laughed cynically. "We have achieved an equality that Marx would have admired, although perhaps not in quite the way he envisioned."
"I thought you were a good communist."
He shrugged. "I am a good Russian. You work too hard. Take a short rest."
"But they—"
He lowered his voice. "Dmitri says, and I agree, that we must not show them our true strength. If you work hard, they will expect hard work always. You harm the others if you do too much work."
"Sounds like a good excuse — all right. Lord knows I'm tired." She stretched out in midair, letting the weak gravity slowly take her to the air-shaft walls. "Feels good to relax. I would kill for a cigarette."
Arvid snorted. "There is nothing to kill. There is nothing to smoke, either."
It wasn't that funny, but she wanted to laugh, and she did. Playing up to the nearest hero?
Shut up.
"So. You are here with your daughter. Where is your husband?"
"Drowned."
"I am sorry."
"So am I. We hadn't lived together for a year, but — I was going to meet him, and the snouts blew up a dam, the first night, I guess the same time they captured you. His house was below it."
/> Arvid pointedly looked away.
He's nice. Or trying to be.
"Are you married?" "I do not know. I was. Like you, we had not lived together for some months, but that was not estrangement. I was in space. Now—so many have died. My wife was Russian; the base was in the Ukraine. John Woodward tells me he heard tales of revolt in the Soviet Union. The Moslem republics would see this invasion as the punishment of Allah. The Ukraine was never satisfied to be part of Russia either. Perhaps—" He shrugged. "So many have died."
"Doesn't it upset you? Not knowing?"
"Of course. We Russians are great sentimentalists. What should I do, mourn? To her I am dead, even if she lives. I am not likely to see her again in any case."
Jeri gasped. "I—I guess I never thought about it that way. We're none of us going to get back alive, are we?"
Arvid shrugged again. "The only way we will be taken to Earth is as part of their herd. That implies victory for them. I do not believe Russia will surrender easily. Or the United States. Americans are stubborn."
"Stubborn. Maybe that's it. We like to say we love freedom."
"Did you hear much of Russia?" Arvid asked seriously.
"No. There was a little on the radio, about how Russia was being attacked just like we were. I didn't see much of what they did to us. The dam, I saw that. And Harry told me about other dams and bridges. And they made a big crater on a main highway, right where two highways crossed. But I didn't see much until they landed."
"And that was the first attack," Arvid said. "The next time will be more serious."
"What will they do?"
"The ship is 'mated to a foot.' I do not think it will be long mated. Nikolai has seen it." He told her of Nikolai's report.
"So you think they'll throw the asteroid at Earth?"
"Why should they not?" Arvid asked seriously.
"No, of course it makes sense." She shuddered. "And we thought it was bad when they attacked the bridges and dams! Now's when it gets really bad."
"Yes. I must say it is pleasant not having to explain these things to you."
She made an irritated gesture. "Women aren't stupid, you know."
He shrugged. "Some are, some are not. As with men. Perhaps it is time to begin work again. Come, we can stay together. If you do not mind?"
"It's all right."
* * *
Fog lay across the Bellingham harbor, and rain drizzled from the skies. From the harbor area distant sounds of work drifted up to the Enclave: hammers, trucks, barge motors . . . something that buzzed . . .
"They're sure building a hell of a greenhouse," Isadore said. He laughed.
George Tate-Evans looked at their own efforts and joined the laughter. "Well, I guess it's more than we did." They went back into the house.
Kevin Shakes watched them go, then went back to work. "I thought we'd done pretty well," he said.
"Sure," Miranda answered. "Enough to send Mom up the walls." In fact they had done a lot. Where picture windows had surrounded the X-shaped house, now there were steel shutters. Where the tennis court had been, above the hidden bomb shelter, there stood the skeleton of a greenhouse. Kevin was nailing glass plates into place with exquisite care. He'd finished the bottom two rows. Now he must work on the ladder, with Miranda to hand him tools and panes and move the ladder on its wheeled base.
George Tate-Evans and Isadore Leiber came out carrying half a dozen sheets of glass, laughing as they came. Kevin heard: "—still isn't talking to you?"
"Vicki is ominously silent. Iz, I thought it was over once we got the shutters up. You know, 'The house feels like a prison! I never thought we'd be living in a prison—" And then she settled down. And then there was the President saying everyone should build greenhouses, and two days later you and Jack were saying that for once the fuzzy-headed liberal son of a bitch was probably right— Kevin, Miranda, how're you doing?"
"So far so good," Kevin said. "Maybe another two days. You could start planting now."
"Let's look it over, Iz."
The older men set the glass on a pair of sawhorses. Isadore followed George around the corner and into the greenhouse. They walked the imaginary aisles, avoiding the white chalk markings put down to show where the plants would go. There was no glass to diminish their voices.
George was saying, "Iz, by the time we got serious about the greenhouse, all the glass in Bellingham and most of the plastic was bought up. Where else were we going to get glass?"
"You can see their point, though."
"Clara too?"
"Damn straight."
"All right, so it's ugly. Why do we have to have all the women on our backs?"
"It's not just ugly. We took out the windows. That means we'll have these damn shutters till we can take down the greenhouse. If ever. Maybe we can put the windows back after the government job gets going."
From above their heads Kevin said, "What?"
Isadore looked up in surprise. George didn't bother. "Iz, you're nuts. Depend on the government for food? God knows what the government's going to do with the stuff it grows, but you can be sure we don't get any of it."
"Sure," Kevin said. "Why else would they build greenhouses at the harbor unless they were going to ship it all out? We'll never get any."
"What make you so sure it is a greenhouse?" George asked.
"Oh, come on, it's been all over the radio," Isadore said. "Anyway, what else could it be? They say they're setting up a whole regional grain belt. They'll renovate the harbor and dredge it because they need it to ship the grain out. Isn't that great? After all the trouble we spent finding ourselves a sleepy little backwater town. . ."
"Yeah, I suppose," George said.
Isadore nodded. "Another thing. Prices'll go up. That'll kill your dad, Kevin, but we can stand it. Rohrs should like it."
"Things'll get crowded. Tourists. Traffic jams."
"Kevin?" Miranda called.
"Yeah?"
"Let's take a break."
"But . . ." When his sister had that edge in her voice, there was something to it. Even their father knew that. "Be right with you." He slid down the ladder.
"What?" he asked when they got to the water bucket.
"I was out with Leigh last night. . ."
"Yeah, you sure were. You were out late enough to have Dad pacing the floor. Mother wasn't too happy, either. She kept saying you had to be safe, you were out with a policeman, but she didn't mean it. Something happen — something we need to tell them? — Did he propose? Are you pregnant?
"Well, maybe, but not that." She giggled. "No, Leigh told me something. He's seen an astronaut."
"Astronaut?"
"Gillespie. The one who commanded the last Shuttle, the flight that took that poor congressman up to the Russian space station. Gillespie's in charge of this big government project — and they're setting up all kinds of guard stations, fences, everything."
"For a greenhouse?"
"That's what I wondered. Leigh says they told him it's to protect the food—"
"That makes sense. Look at all the trouble Dad went to to protect ours!"
"Sure, maybe, but an astronaut? Why, Kevin?"
"I don't know, Randy."
"I don't either, and I think we should tell Dad."
Bill Shakes was toting up accounts with the help of his pocket computer. Kevin and Miranda waited until they saw him pause. Then Kevin said, "We've got an astronaut in Bellingham."
Shakes looked up. "So?"
"Major General Edmund Gillespie. He went up to Kosmograd with Dawson. Now he's here. Miranda found out about it yesterday." He was careful not to say last night.
Miranda took up the tale. "Leigh spent day before yesterday and part of yesterday taking him all over Bellingham. I asked him where he was, and he told me all about it."
"What's he want? I mean Gillespie."
"I don't know. Leigh says he looked over everything. He looked at the harbor, he looked at the railroad, he toured the whole to
wn. All that, for a government greenhouse?"
Shakes scowled. "So we've got a real live astronaut scouting Bellingham. We're getting too damn conspicuous. The thing about being a survivalist is you keep your head down."
"We have to," Miranda said. "There's no gasoline, and Leigh says they're going to close off the highway except for essential traffic, to save maintenance."
"Hmm." It was easy to see what Bill Shakes was thinking. Bellingham lay between mountains and the Straits of Juan de Fuca. Restricting highway use was the same as not letting them leave town. "Not that there's anyplace better for us to go to," Shakes said carefully. "We've invested a lot here, and we can't take it with us."
"Well, we thought you should know," Kevin said.
"Yeah. Yeah . . . why an astronaut? I suppose he doesn't have much of anything better, with the snouts shooting spaceships out of the sky. Still . . . it doesn't fit." Shakes frowned. "You like this deputy sheriff, don't you?"
"Yes—"
"Good. See more of him."
Kevin suppressed an urge to giggle.
* * *
Jack Clybourne stood in the doorway, blocking the President's path. "No, sir," he said firmly.
"Mr. Clybourne," Admiral Carrell said mildly.
"No," Jack said firmly. "Before the President goes in there, you get that alien out, or you give me a hell of a lot more gun than this pistol, and that's final."
Admiral Carrell sighed.
"Jack—" Jenny stepped forward. How do I get him out of this? "Jack, will you agree if I bring in Sergeant Bonner and two MPs with military rifles?"
"You can't do that," Sherry Atkinson protested. "We can't make Harpanet feel that we don't trust him!"
"Damn it all. Mr. President!" Wade Curtis said.
"Yes, Mr. Curtis?" the President asked. He sounded as if he was suppressing a chuckle.