by Larry Niven
“Shorey’s group sounds serious enough. I got some good recordings through the static.”
“Hold the fort, Jack,” Harvey said, and he went on. Four Presidents now, he thought. Littman was just a ham radio operator, and half mad. But Colorado Springs… that was near Denver, a mile above sea level. That could be for real.
The big front room was crowded. This was no ordinary meeting. The Senator sat near the fireplace in the big leather armchair that reminded Harvey of a throne — and was probably meant to. Maureen sat on one side, and Al Hardy on the other, heiress and chief of staff.
Mayor Seitz and the police chief were there; and Steve Cox, Jellison’s ranch foreman, the man now responsible for most of the agriculture in the valley; and half a dozen others who spoke for the valley people. And of course George Christopher, alone in one corner, with only one vote, though it counted for as much as the rest together except for Maureen’s.
Harvey smiled at Maureen. He got a quick impersonal smile and nod, nobody home, and he pulled his eyes away fast.
Bloody hell! She wore two faces, and so did he. Maureen had been up to see him in the hut at the top of the ridge several times when Harvey had night guard duty. She’d met him at other times and places, too, but always very privately. It was always the same. They talked of the future, but never of their future, because she wouldn’t. They made love with care and tenderness, as if they might never meet again; they made love, but never promises. She seemed to draw strength from him, as he knew he did from her; but never in public. It was as if Maureen had an armed, jealous, invisible husband. In public she barely knew him.
But in public she treated George Christopher no differently. She was a bit more friendly, but still cold. He wasn’t her invisible husband… was he? Was she different with him when they were alone? Harvey couldn’t know.
These thoughts ran through his head before an old reflex pushed them down below conscious thought. He didn’t have time for them. Harvey Randall wanted something, and these were the men who could refuse him. It was a familiar situation.
“Come in, Harvey.” Senator Jellison had not lost the warm smile that had won him elections. “We can start now. Thank you all for coming. I thought it might be wise to get a full report on how things are here.”
“Any reason for doing it now?” George Christopher asked.
Jellison’s smile didn’t falter. “Yes, George. Several. We have word from the telegraph that Deke Wilson’s coming in for a visit. Brought some visitors, too.”
“There’s news from Outside?” Mayor Seitz asked.
“Some,” Jellison said. “Al, would you begin, please?”
Hardy took papers from his briefcase and began to read. How many acres cleared of rocks, and how much they’d be able to plant in winter wheat. Livestock inventory. Weapons, and equipment. Most of the people in the room looked bored before Hardy finished. “The upshot is,” Hardy said, “that we’ll make it through the winter. With luck.”
That got their interest.
“It’ll be close,” Hardy warned. “We’ll get damned hungry before spring. But we’ve got a chance. We’ve even got medical supplies — not enough, but some — and Doc Valdemar’s clinic is set up and running.” Hardy paused for a moment. “Now for the bad news. Harvey Randall’s people have been looking over the dams and powerhouses above here. They can’t get them working again. Too much washed out. And out of the lists of stuff the engineering people have asked for, we don’t have a quarter of the supplies. It’ll be a while before we rebuild much of a civilization here.”
“Hell, we’re civilized,” Police Chief Hartman said. “Almost no crime, and we’ll have enough to eat, and we’ve got a doctor and a clinic and most of us have plumbing. What more do we need?”
“Electricity would be nice,” Harvey Randall said.
“Sure, but we can live without it,” Chief Hartman said. “Goddam. We can live till spring.”
And Harvey felt his joy. The journey to the Stronghold had been a terrible time: the end of the world passing in endless agony… and goddam! Listen to us now, talking like it isn’t enough just to be alive! I could have been turned away, sent down the road…
“I think I would express thanks in a more positive way,” Reverend Varley said. “We should be singing hosannas.” The minister’s expression was grim, in contrast to his words. “Of course the cost has been high. Perhaps, Chief, you have said it correctly after all—”
Senator Jellison cleared his throat to get their attention. The room fell silent.
“There’s a bit more news,” Jellison said. “We have a new claimant to the office of President of the United States. Hector Shorey.”
“Who the devil is Hector Shorey?” George Christopher demanded.
“Speaker of the House. Newly selected by the party caucus. I don’t even remember the House taking a formal vote. Still, his claim is the best we’ve heard, and the Colorado Springs government at least talks like it’s still in charge of the country.”
“I could do that myself,” Christopher said.
The Senator laughed. “No, George, you couldn’t. I could.”
“Who cares?” George Christopher was belligerent. “They can’t help us and they can’t jail us. They’d have to fight their way through all the other United States Governments, and even then they can’t get to us. Why do we give a damn what they say?”
Al Hardy said, “I point out that Colorado Springs probably has the largest military detachment surviving in this part of the world. The cadets at the Academy. The NORAD — North American Air Defense — command under Cheyenne Mountain. Ent Air Force Base. And at least a regiment of mountain troops.”
“They still can’t get to us,” Christopher insisted. “Understand, I’ve nothing against getting the United States going again. But I want to know the cost. Will they tell us to pay taxes?”
Jellison nodded. “Good question.” He looked around him. “Whatever happens, it can wait till spring, can’t it? Either we’ll be out of the woods by then, or we’ll be dead. Al says we won’t be dead.”
There were nods and murmurs of agreement.
“Now,” Jellison said. “I asked Harvey to come to this meeting because he has a proposal. Harvey has asked for another expedition Outside, to get more equipment that we’ll need for next spring.” He held up a paper that Harvey recognized as a list he and Brad Wagoner and Tim Hamner had prepared. “Mostly things we won’t need before spring.”
“But perishable, Senator,” Harvey said. “Electrical tools, transistors, components, electric motors… a lot of things that might still be useful even though they’ve been underwater. By spring they won’t be.”
“We lost four good men the last time we went Outside,” George Christopher said. “It’s bad out there.”
“Because we didn’t take enough men,” Harvey answered.
“We need to go in force. A big column won’t be attacked.” He was proud of his control: He didn’t think anyone would guess from his voice how the thought of going out of this valley terrified him. He glanced at Maureen. She knew. She wasn’t looking at him, but she knew.
“And will use a lot of gasoline,” AI Hardy said. “As well as throw work schedules off. And you still might have to fight.”
“Well, we take enough men, it might not be so bad,” George Christopher said. “But I’m not going out with just a couple of trucks anymore. Harvey’s right. If we go, we go with a lot of people. Ten trucks, fifty to a hundred men.”
“I suppose we have to think of these things,” Reverend Varley said. His voice was wistful and sad.
“Yes, sir.” Christopher was determined. “Reverend, I want peace as much as you do, but I don’t know how to get it. Don’t forget Deke’s neighbors. The ones that got eaten.”
Reverend Varley shuddered. “I hadn’t,” he said.
There was a pause, and Harvey jumped in. “Tim’s worked with the phone book and maps,” he said. “We’ve located a scuba shop. It shouldn’t b
e under more than ten feet of water. We could dive in there and get the scuba gear—”
“What are you going to use for air?” Steve Cox demanded.
“We can build a compressor,” Harvey said. “That’s not hard to design.”
“Might not be hard to design, but without electricity it’s going to be hard to build,” Joe Henderson said. He had owned the filling station in town, and was now helping Ray Christopher set up a blacksmith and mechanic shop.
“Let me name some other things we need,” Harvey said. “Machine tools. Lathes, drill presses, all kinds of tools, and we’ve located most of them — on the map, that is. And we’ll need them, one day.”
Henderson smiled wistfully. “I could sure use some good tools,” he said.
“Generator wire,” Harvey continued. “Bearings. Spare parts for our transport vehicles. Electrical wire.”
“Stop,” Henderson said. “I give up. Let’s go out.”
“Al, could we spare fifty men for a week?” Jellison asked.
Hardy looked unhappy. “Eileen?” he called. She came in from another room. “Get me those manpower trade-offs, please.”
“Right.” She flashed Harvey one of her sunburst smiles before she left. Eileen Hancock Hamner had been wrong: Good administrators were needed even after Hammerfall. Al Hardy often told the Senator that she was the most useful person in the Stronghold. Strong backs, farmers, riflemen, even mechanics and engineers weren’t so hard to find; but someone who could coordinate all that effort was worth her weight in gold.
Or in black pepper. Hardy scowled. He didn’t like this expedition; it was an unnecessary risk. If Randall had his way… Was Randall still chasing the blue van and the men who had murdered his wife? At least he’d stopped talking about it…
“While she’s getting that,” Chief Hartman said, “let me put in a nickel’s worth. We can spare fifty men for a week if nobody comes after us while they’re gone. Fifty men and rifles is a big part of our strength, Senator. I’d like to be sure nobody’s going to attack us before I go along with sending that many out at once.”
“I can go along with that,” Mayor Seitz said. “And maybe we send a patrol out through Trouble Pass before we go. Just to see if anybody’s coming that way.”
“Harry’s due back from a sweep in a day or so,” Senator Jellison said. “And Deke’s coming within the hour. We’ll find out what things are like Outside before we make any final decisions. George, you got anything to say about this?”
Christopher shook his head. “Either way suits me. If things aren’t too bad out there, if there’s nobody just waiting for us to send out a big party so they can jump us, then sure, we can go.” He fell silent and stared at the wall, and they all knew what he was thinking. George Christopher didn’t want to know what went on Outside. No one else did either. It just made things harder, to know of the chaos and death and starvation a few miles away while they were safe in their valley.
Eileen came back with papers. Hardy studied them for awhile. “It all depends on what you find,” he said. “We need more fields cleared. We haven’t got enough land cleared to plant all the winter seed. On the other hand, if you can find more materials to make greenhouses out of, we won’t need so much land planted for the winter. Same for fertilizer and animal feed, if you can get those. Then there’s the gasoline. …”
It was gasoline and man-hours against a return that could only be guessed at. So they guessed, and they talked it around, and presently Senator Jellison said, “Harvey, you’re proposing that we take a risk. Granted it’s a risk with a high payoff, and we don’t lose much, but it’s still a risk — and at the moment we don’t need risks to stay alive.”
“Yes, that’s about the size of it,” Harvey said. “I think it’s worth it, but I can’t guarantee it.” He stopped for a moment and looked around the room. He liked these people. Even George Christopher was an honest man and a good one to have on your side if there was trouble. “Look, if it was left to me I’d stay here forever. You can’t imagine how good it felt to get into this valley, to feel safe after what we saw in Los Angeles. If I had my druthers I’d never leave this valley again. But — we do have to look ahead. Hardy says we’ll get through the winter, and if he says so, we will. But after winter there’s spring, and the winter after that, and more years — years and years — and maybe it’s worth some effort right now to make those future years easier.”
“Sure, provided it don’t cost so much there aren’t any more years,” Mayor Seitz said. He laughed. “You know, I was talking to that lady head doctor. Doc Ruth says it’s a ‘survivor syndrome.’ Everybody who lives through Hammerfall gets changed by it. Some go completely nuts, and life isn’t worth a damn to them, they’ll do anything. But most get like us, so cautious we jump at our shadows. I know I’m that way. I don’t want to take any chances at all. Still, Harvey’s got a point. There is a lot of stuff out there we could use. Maybe we’ll even find Harv’s—”
“Blue van!” cried at least four men, and Hardy winced. Randall might have stopped talking about the blue van, but nobody else had. Black pepper, spices, beef jerky, pemmican, canned soup and canned ham, coffee, liquor and liqueurs and a partridge in a pear tree, everything you could dream of and all measured in ton lots. Machine tools, hah! If Hardy could read the minds of fifty men as they set out on this fool expedition, he knew what he would find: fifty images of a blue van, just behind their eyes.
Presently Senator Jellison ended the meeting. “It’s obvious we can’t decide anything until Deke gets here to tell us what things are like out there. Let’s wait for him.”
“I’ll see if Mrs. Cox has the tea,” Al Hardy said. “Harvey, would you help me a minute, please?”
“Sure.” Harvey went out to the kitchen. Al Hardy was waiting for him.
“Actually,” Hardy said, “Mrs. Cox knows what to do. I wanted a word with you. In the library, please.” He turned and led the way.
Now what? Harvey wondered. It was obvious Hardy didn’t care for the salvage expedition, but wasn’t this something more? When Al Hardy ushered him into the big room and then closed the door, Harvey felt a familiar fear.
Al Hardy liked things neat.
There was an admiral Harvey had interviewed, years ago. Harvey had been struck by the man’s desk. It was absolutely symmetrical: the blotter precisely centered, the identical IN and OUT baskets on either side, inkwell in the middle with a pen on either side… everything but the pencil the admiral was using to gesture. Harvey looked it over; and then he aimed the camera exactly down the middle of the desk, and he put the pencil right in front of him, in line with his tie tack.
And the admiral loved it!
“Sit down, please,” Hardy said. The assistant reached into a drawer of the Senator’s big desk and took out a bottle of bourbon. “Drink?”
“Thanks.” Now Harvey was definitely worried. Al Hardy held almost as much power as the Senator; he executed the Senator’s commands. And Hardy liked things neat. He precisely matched the network executives who would order Randall to cut the man-in-the-street crap and use motivational research; who would have found their jobs much easier if all men had been created not just equal but identical.
Could it be a problem with Mark? And if so, could Harvey save him again? Mark had almost got himself thrown out of the Stronghold: Hardy hadn’t appreciated Mark’s sign proclaiming the Stronghold “Senator Jellison’s Trading Post and Provisional Government”; neither had George Christopher. They hadn’t cared for the wasted paint, either.
Maybe it wasn’t Mark. If Al Hardy decided that Harvey Randall was upsetting his neat patterns… the Stronghold couldn’t survive without Hardy’s mania for organization. The road was always there, and nobody ever forgot it. Harvey shifted nervously in the hard chair.
Al Hardy sat across from him, pointedly not taking the big chair behind the desk. No one but the Senator would ever sit there if Al Hardy had any choice in the matter. He waved toward the big desk with its l
itter of paper. Maps, with penciled lines showing the current shore of the San Joaquin Sea; manpower assignments; inventories of food and equipment, anything they could locate, and another list of needed items they didn’t have; planting schedules; work details; all the paper work associated with keeping too many people alive in a world suddenly turned hostile. “Think all that’s worth anything?” Al asked.
“It’s worth a lot,” Harvey said. “Organization. That’s all that keeps us alive.”
“Glad you think so.” Hardy raised his glass. “What shall we drink to?”
Harvey waved toward the empty chair behind the desk. “To the duke of Silver Valley.”
Al Hardy nodded. “I’ll drink to that. Skoal.”
“Prosit.”
“He is a duke, you know,” Hardy said. “With the high, middle and low justice.”
That knot of fear in Harvey’s stomach began to grow.
“Tell me, Harvey, if he dies tomorrow, what becomes of us?” Hardy asked.
“Jesus. I don’t even want to think about it.” The question had startled Harvey Randall. “But there’s not much chance of that—”
“There’s every chance,” Hardy said. “I’m telling you a secret, of course. If you let it get out, or let him know I’ve told you, it won’t be pleasant.”
“So why tell me? And what’s wrong with him?”
“Heart,” Al said. “Bethesda people told him to take it easy. He was going to retire after this term, if he lived that long.”
“That bad?”
“Bad enough. He could last two years, or he could die in an hour. More likely a year than an hour, but there’s a chance of either.”
“Jesus… but why tell me?”
Hardy didn’t answer, not directly. “You said it yourself, organization is the key to survival. Without the Senator there’d have been no organization. Can you think of anyone who could govern here if he died tomorrow?”
“No. Not now…”
