Lucifer's Hammer

by Larry Niven

  Jellison nodded. “Hardly surprising. And of course their most important cities were on the coasts. I don’t suppose you know how high the tsunamis got in the Southern Hemisphere?”

  “No, sir, but I’d guess they were big,” Johnny Baker said. “The one that hit North Africa was over five hundred meters high. We saw that, just before the clouds covered everything. Five hundred meters of water sweeping across Morocco…” He shuddered. “Europe’s gone. Completely. Oh, and all the volcanoes in Central and South America let go. The smoke came right up through the clouds. The whole Ring of Fire has let go. You’ve got volcanoes east of you, somewhere out in Nevada, I think, and up north of here Mount Lassen and Mount Hood and maybe Rainier, a lot of them in northern California and Oregon and Washington.”

  He went on, and as he spoke they realized just how alone they were. The Imperial Valley of California: gone, with a Hammerstrike in the Sea of Cortez that sent, had to have sent, waves washing clear up to the Joshua Tree National Monument in the mountains west of Los Angeles. Scratch Palm Springs and Palm Desert and Indio and Twentynine Palms, forget about the valley of the Colorado River.

  “And something must have hit in Lake Huron,’-’ Baker said. “We saw the usual spiral pattern of cloud with a hole in the center, just before everything turned white.”

  “Is there anything left of this country outside Colorado?” Al Hardy asked.

  “Don’t know again,” Baker said. “With all that rain, I’d think the Midwest is drowned out — no crops, no transportation, lots of people starving—”

  “And killing each other for what’s left,” Al Hardy said. He looked at each of the others in turn, and they all nodded agreement: The Stronghold was lucky. More than luck, because they had the Senator, and they had order, a tiny island of safety in a world that had very nearly been killed.

  Why us? Harvey Randall wondered. Johnny Baker’s report hadn’t surprised him, not really. He had thought it out long before. There was the matter of no radio communications. True, the constant static made it unlikely they’d receive messages, but there ought to be something, once in awhile, and there almost never was, which had to mean that nobody was broadcasting, not with any real power, not constantly.

  But it was different to know they were one of the few pockets of survivors.

  What had happened to the world? A revolution a week in Latin America. Maybe that was the answer everywhere. What the Hammer and the Sino-Soviet war hadn’t done, people were busily doing to themselves.

  Al Hardy broke the silence. “It doesn’t look as if the U.S. Cavalry will come charging over the hill to rescue us.”

  Deke Wilson’s laugh was bitter. “The Army’s turned cannibal. What we saw of it, anyway.”

  “We’ll have to fight,” George Christopher said. “That goddam Montross—”

  “George, you can’t be sure he’s in charge,” Al Hardy said.

  “Who cares? If he’s not, it’s worse, it’s the fucking cannibals. We’ll have to fight sooner or later, we may as well do it while we’ve got Deke’s people on our side.”

  “I’ll go for that,” Deke Wilson said. “Unless…”

  “Unless what?” Christopher asked, his voice suddenly suspicious.

  Wilson spread his hands. Harvey couldn’t help noticing. Wilson had been a big man, who was now two sizes too small for his body and clothes. And he was scared.

  “Unless you’ll let us in,” Wilson said. “We can hold that gang off. You’ve got hills to defend. I don’t. All I’ve got is what I can build, no ridgelines, no natural boundaries, nothing. But in here we can hold the bastards off until they starve to death. Maybe we can help that along. Go on raids and burn out what they’ve stored up.”

  “That’s obscene,” Harvey Randall said. “Aren’t there enough people starving without burning crops and food? Jesus! All over the world, what the Hammer didn’t get, we’re doing to ourselves! Does it have to happen here, too?”

  “We couldn’t feed all of your people for the winter, Deke,” Al Hardy said. “Sorry, but I know. The margin’s just too thin. We can’t do it.”

  “We don’t know enough, not yet,” Jellison said. “Maybe it’s possible to come to terms with the New Brotherhood.”

  “Bullshit,” George Christopher said.

  “It is not bullshit,” Harvey Randall said. “I knew Montross, and dammit, he is not crazy, he is not a cannibal, and he is not an evil man even if he did come onto your land and try to help the farm workers organize a union—”

  “That will do,” Jellison said. He was very firm about it. “George, I suggest that we wait for Harry. We have to know more about conditions out there. I gather that Deke knows almost nothing he hasn’t told us. Harvey, have you time to help, or do you have other work?” Jellison’s tone made it plain that Harvey Randall wouldn’t be needed in the library just now.

  “If you can spare me, there are a few things…” Harvey got up and went to the door. He almost chuckled when he heard George Christopher coming behind him.

  “I’ll see the maps when they’re done,” Christopher was saying. “I have some work too. Nice to meet you, General Baker.” He followed Harvey out. “Just a minute.”

  Harvey walked slowly, wondering what would happen now. The Senator had obviously been unhappy about Harvey’s outburst. As well he might have been, Harvey thought. And he tried to separate us, and it didn’t work…

  “So what do we do now?” Christopher was saying.

  Harvey shrugged. “We just don’t know enough. Besides, we do have a few days. Maybe if we went out with Deke we could come up with enough fertilizer and greenhouse materials to keep all of Deke’s people going through the winter—”

  “That wasn’t what I was talking about,” Christopher said. “We’re going to have to fight those damned cannibals, and we may as well do it before they get any stronger. Take every gun and every man big enough to carry one and go out there and get it the hell over with. I don’t want to spend the winter looking over my shoulder. When somebody scares you there’s only one thing to do, knock him down and stomp on him until he can’t hurt you anymore.”

  Or run like hell. Or talk a lot, Harvey thought, but he didn’t say anything.

  “I used to get nervous about you and Maureen,” George said.

  “I want her too,” Harv said. He stopped short of the closed kitchen door and stood facing Christopher in the narrow hallway. “If you knock me down and stomp on me a lot, we’re all going to be terribly embarrassed. Your move.”

  “Not yet. When you get me mad enough, you’ll be for the road. Right now we’ve both got a problem.”

  “Yah. I noticed that too,” said Harvey. “Are you going to put him on the road?”

  “Don’t be stupid. He’s a hero. Come on outside.” Christopher led the way through the kitchen. There was no one there at the moment. They went out into the dusk.

  “Look, Randall,” Christopher said. “You don’t like me much.”

  “No. I expect it’s mutual.”

  Christopher shrugged. “I got nothing against you. I don’t think you’ll shoot me in the back or slug me when I’m not looking—”

  “Thanks.”

  “And unless you do, you can’t lick me. Question is, suppose she decides to marry General Baker. What’ll you do about that?”

  “Cry a lot.”

  “Look, I’m trying to be polite,” Christopher said.

  “Well, what do you want me to say?” Harvey asked. “If she marries Baker, she marries Baker, that’s all.”

  “And you’ll leave her alone? Not sneak around seeing her?”

  “Why the hell would I do that?” Harvey demanded.

  “Look, you think I’m some kind of bumpkin fool, don’t you?” Christopher said. “And maybe I am, the way you see things. I lived out here before I had to. Went to church. Minded my own business. No swinging parties, no girl friend in every city to go see on expense accounts…”

  Harvey laughed. “I didn’t live
that way,” he said. “You’ve been reading too many playboys.”

  “Yeah? Look, Randall, I’m a cornball, I guess, but I happen to think that if a man’s married, he stays at home. Now I never got married. Engaged once, but it didn’t work, and then I found out Maureen got her divorce, and while I wasn’t exactly just waiting for her — I knew better than to think she’d want to come live in this valley again or that I could live in Washington — I never found anybody. Then this happened. Now she has to live here. Maybe she could live with me. We would have married, once, only it didn’t quite work, we were too young…”

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Because I’ve got something to say. Dammit, Randall, if I ever do get married, I’ll stay married. Yeah, and I’ll be faithful to my wife, too. Maybe Baker will be. You sure as hell wouldn’t.”

  “Now what the hell… ?”

  “I know what goes on in this valley, Randall. I knew before the goddam comet hit us and I know now. So you just leave Maureen alone. You’re not the kind of man she needs.”

  “Why not? And who appointed you the guardian of public morals?”

  “I did. And you’re not good enough for her. You sleep around. All right, it was with her. I don’t like that, but I had no claim on her. Not then. But you were a married man, Randall. What the hell was Maureen to you? Another one to add to your scorecard? Look, I’m getting myself upset, and I didn’t want that. But you leave her alone. I’m telling you, leave her be.” He turned and walked away before Harvey could say anything else.

  Harvey Randall stood in shock, and barely restrained himself from running after the big rancher. I ought to be mad, he thought. I ought to hate the bastard…

  But he didn’t. Instead he felt a wild impulse to run and catch up and explain that it hadn’t been that way at all, that Harvey Randall thought about marriage the same way George Christopher did, and all right, so he and Maureen had…

  Had what? Harvey wondered. Maybe Christopher was right. But Loretta never knew, and she wasn’t harmed, and neither was Maureen, and it’s all a pile of excuses because you knew damned well what you were doing.

  Instead he went into the living room to talk with the other astronauts.

  Exile’s Story

  When the Sun shall be folded up and when the stars shall fall,

  And when the wild beasts shall be gathered together…

  And when the leaves of the Book shall be unrolled

  And when Hell shall be made to blaze and Paradise brought near,

  Every soul shall know what it hath produced.

  And by the Night when it cometh darkening on,

  And by the Dawn when it brighteneth…

  WHITHER THEN ARE YE GOING?

  The Holy Koran

  “Hot water to soak your feet in,” said Harry. “Cooked food. A change of clothes. And, man, they need you, and they’ll know it.”

  “I’ll make it,” Dan Forrester puffed. “I feel light… as a feather without… that pack. And they’ve got sheep?” He’d been afraid to look at his feet, these last few days, but in a while he wouldn’t need them. They’d served him well. As for his insulin stock, well, he’d had to increase the dosage; it must be deteriorating. “Have they got a working refrigerator?”

  “Refrigerator, no. Sheep, yes. We’ll have to deal with that right away. Won’t be long now, that’s the roadblock ahead.”

  Their companion, striding ahead of them on the deserted road with Dan Forrester’s backpack riding lightly on his hips, stopped suddenly and glanced back.

  “You’re with me,” Harry said. “It’ll be all right.” Hugo Beck nodded, but he waited for Dan and Harry to catch up. He was afraid, and it showed.

  There was a sign fifty yards from the log barricade. It said:

  DANGER! YOU ARE ENTERING GUARDED LAND. GO NO FURTHER. IF YOU HAVE BUSINESS HERE, WALK SLOWLY TO THE BARRICADE AND STAND STILL. THERE WILL BE NO WARNING SHOTS FIRED. KEEP YOUR HANDS IN PLAIN SIGHT AT ALL TIMES.

  Under it was another, in Spanish, and beyond that a large death’s head with the universal traffic symbol for “Do not enter.”

  “Strange welcome mat,” Dan Forrester said.

  Rotation of work: Mark Czescu was enjoying his day of guard duty while someone else made little rocks out of big ones. It wasn’t always fun, though. Earlier there had been a family on bicycles who had won their way through the San Joaquin and had tales of cannibals and worse, and Mark hadn’t much enjoyed turning them away. He’d shown them the road north, where there was a fishing camp that was just hanging on to life.

  Four people. The Stronghold could feed four more — but which four? If these, why not more? The decision was right, take in no one without special reasons, but it didn’t make it any easier to look a man in the eye and send him up the road.

  Mark sat behind a screen of logs and brush where he could watch without being seen. His partners watched him. One of these days Bart Christopher was going to be slow, and they’d lose the front man at the gate…

  There were three figures coming up the road, and Mark came out when he recognized the remnants of a gray U.S. Postal Service uniform. He hailed Harry joyfully, but his smile had vanished when the three trudged up to the barrier. He was looking at Hugo Beck when he said, “Happy Trash Day, Harry.”

  “I brought him,” Harry said. He said it belligerently. “You know the rules, he’s got my safe conduct. And this is Dr. Dan Forrester—”

  “Hi, Doc,” Mark said. “You and your damned Hot Fudge Sundae.”

  Forrester managed the ghost of a smile.

  “He’s got a book,” Harry said. “He’s got a lot of books, but this one he brought with him. Show him, Dan.”

  It was drizzling lightly. Dan didn’t open the tape seals. Mark read the title through four layers of Baggies: The Way Things Work, Volume II.

  “Volume One is in a safe place,” Dan said. “With four thousand other books on how to put a civilization together.”

  Mark shrugged. He was pretty sure they’d want Dan Forrester up at the Stronghold anyway. But it would be nice to know what other gifts Forrester had available. “What kind of books?”

  “The 1911 Britannica,” Forrester said. “An 1894 book of formulae for such things as soap, with a whole section on how to brew beer starting with barley grains. The Beekeeper’s Manual. Veterinary handbooks. Instructor’s lab manuals starting with basic inorganic chemistry and running up through organic synthesis. I’ve got those for 1930 equipment as well as modern. The Amateur Radio Handbook. Farmer’s Almanac. The Rubber Handbook. Peters’s Pour Yourself a House, and two books on how to make Portland cement. The Compleat Gunsmith and a set of Army field manuals on infantry-weapon maintenance. The maintenance manuals for most cars and trucks. Wheeler’s Home Repairs. Three books on hydroponic gardening. A complete set of—”

  “Whoa!” Mark cried. “Enter, O Prince. Welcome back, Harry, they’re getting worried about you up at the big house. Put your hands on the rail, Hugo, Spread your legs. You carrying heat?”

  “You saw me unload the pistol,” Hugo said. “It’s in the waistband. And the kitchen knife. I need that for eating.”

  “We’ll just put those in the bag,” Mark said. “You probably won’t be eating here. I won’t say goodbye, Hugo. I’ll see you on the way out.”

  “Up your nose.”

  Mark shrugged. “What happened to your truck, Harry?”

  “They took it.”

  “Somebody took your truck? Did you tell them who you were?” Mark was incredulous. “Hell, this means war. They were wondering whether to take a big force Outside. Now they’ll have to.”

  “Maybe.” Harry didn’t seem as pleased as Mark thought he would.

  Dan Forrester cleared his throat. “Mark, did Charlie Sharps get here all right? There would have been a couple of dozen people with him.”

  “Was he coming here?”

  “Yes. Senator Jellison’s ranch.”

  “We never saw him.” Mark look
ed embarrassed. So did Harry. It must be common enough to them, Dan thought sadly: Someone never got somewhere, and the only question was, would the survivor make a scene?

  Harry broke an uncomfortable silence.

  “I’ve got a message for the Senator, and Dr. Forrester isn’t walking so good. Have you got transportation?”

  Mark looked thoughtful. “Guess we’d better telegraph that request in,” he said. “Wait here. Watch the road for me, Harry, I’ll be right back.” Mark spread both hands wide and waved from his waist, making it look casual like a shrug so that Hugo Beck wouldn’t figure out that he was signaling, then went off into the bushes.

  Dan Forrester watched with interest. He’d read his Kipling. He wondered if Hugo Beck had.

  The sun was falling behind the mountains; golden light and violent reds showed beneath the edges of the cloud cover. Sunrises and sunsets had been spectacular since Hammerfall, and, Dan Forrester knew, they would be for a long time. When Tamboura blew up in 1814, the dust it sent into the sky kept sunsets brilliant for two years; and that was only one volcano.

  Dan Forrester sat in the cab of the truck with the taciturn driver. Harry and Hugo Beck were in back under a tarpaulin. There was no other traffic on the road, and Forrester appreciated the compliment they’d paid him. Or was it for Harry? Perhaps both together were worth the gasoline when neither alone would have been. They drove through a light drizzle, and the truck heater felt good on Dan’s feet and legs.

  There were no dead bodies. It was the first thing Dan noticed: nothing dead to be seen. The houses looked like houses, with someone living in every one of them. A few had sandbagged defenses, but there were many that had no signs of defenses at all. Strange, almost weird, that there should be a place where people felt safe enough to have glass windows without shutters.

  And he saw two flocks of sheep, as well as horses and cattle. He saw signs of organized activity everywhere — newly cleared fields, some being plowed with teams of horses (no tractors that he could see), others still in process of clearing with men working to carry boulders and pile them into stone walls. The men generally had weapons on their belts, but not all of them were armed. By the time they came to the large driveway up to the big stone house, it had sunk in: For a few minutes, possibly for as much as a whole day, Dan Forrester was safe. He could count on living until dawn.