The Sudden Star

by Pamela Sargent

  He looked down the road going south. He had no choice now; he would have to follow Simon and Aisha.

  He hurried down the road after them, his heart thumping, trying not to think about what lay ahead, cursing the Snake as he went.

  "What is it?" Rocca asked.

  "I don't know," Simon replied. They gazed across the flatlands to the east at a rectangular structure surrounded by rubble. Rocca shivered; it was getting darker and he felt cold. "I think maybe we should check it out."

  "All right," Rocca said meekly, not wanting to go near the place, sitting there like a block thrown away by a child. He wasn't about to argue with Simon, who had told him he could come along only if he didn't cause trouble. He didn't want to fight anyway. It was easier having someone take care of him for a change, though he wished he could be sure Simon knew what he was doing. At least, he thought, they hadn't seen any ghosts yet.

  They walked toward the building. It had seemed small from a distance; now it seemed to grow. Rocca kept trying to figure out how big it was. It grew until it seemed to take up half the horizon, looming over them. They came nearer, staring up at its flat, pitted sides. Only giants could have built it, Rocca thought, remembering that the Snake had said the ghost was a giant.

  Next to the tall building lay a long metal skeleton. Rocca, already disoriented by the rectangular structure, stumbled closer to the metal girders, which rested near a flat platform on treads. He crept nearer to one tread; it alone was bigger than the tanks he had seen in Titusville. One of its four corners had started to sink into the cracked asphalt; the crawlerways above the treads were rusting. Rocca thought of giants riding the platform, striding into the rectangle, peering down at the long low building which jutted out from one of the larger building's corners.

  Aisha stood near him. He turned, unable to take in everything, and grabbed her hand. "Let's go away," he said. His voice seemed high and frail.

  "They went to the moon from here," Simon said softly. Rocca looked up at the older man. "It's getting dark," he said. "Let's get outa here."

  Something was taking shape near the long low building. Terrified, Rocca clutched at Aisha. The shape, five times the size of a man, seemed wavy, unclear, unfocused. The image sharpened and became a giant, a man's form. It turned its head.

  Rocca wailed. His legs were rigid. He tried to move them and collapsed to the ground. I'm going to die, he thought in despair. He heard a scream. Aisha was clutching at Simon, pulling at his shirt.

  Simon began to laugh. He's gone crazy, Rocca thought, listening to the man's calm laughter. Simon suddenly looked down at him. "It isn't a ghost," he said quietly. "Can't you see that? It isn't a ghost, it's just a hologram. Someone's here."

  Rocca didn't know what he was talking about. He staggered to his feet, ready to run. Simon seized his arm. The ghost disappeared. Simon waited. Rocca closed his eyes, praying he would die quickly, sweaty with fear.

  "Put your hands up," a voice said at last. Rocca, stiff and aching from the wait, opened his eyes.

  An old woman with a rifle was walking toward them.

  SEVEN

  Jeri Chapman

  Jeri Chapman and Lorene Skalton had gone to the Launch Control Center early in the afternoon. Jeri had waited outside while Lorene went into the building, to do whatever it was she wanted to do. Jeri did not bother to ask Lorene whether she came to the complex to find out something, or whether it was simply nostalgia that drew her to the place where she had once monitored the assembly of space vehicles. Lorene had, years ago, been full of optimism and plans, ideas and hopes. She had become a sour old woman, waiting to die.

  Like me, thought Jeri. I'm something of a sour old woman myself. Lorene was still inside, had probably forgotten the time while she relived her youth. Jeri wandered over to the huge rectangular monolith, which had been the Vehicle Assembly Building, and stopped at the entrance. She stood there, dwarfed by the vastness of the building, unable still to grasp its size, the acres it covered. She knew its dimensions, but could never really perceive them at close range. She turned away from the entrance, not wanting to go inside and peer through the fog to the ceiling she could never quite see, hundreds of feet above her. The ventilation system had broken down and clouds had formed inside, bedewing the girders, walls, and platforms. She had gone inside long ago, seen the fog, and fled, thinking: at last, it's the end of everything.

  She went back to the Jeep and sat in it. She picked up her rifle out of habit, not expecting anyone. Her fingers ached as she held it; her knuckles felt a bit inflamed. Her arthritis was acting up. She hadn't planned to live so long and wondered why she had; there was little left for her. She had once thought it unlikely she would reach forty; now she was seventy-three. She was lucky. She had her eyesight, her mental clarity, and a strong body. She had even kept most of her teeth. Damned lucky, that's what she was, damned lucky to live and see how things were going to be. She looked around idly, hoping Lorene would be out before it got dark.

  "Jeri." She lifted her wrist radio to her ear. "Someone's coming along the crawlerway," Lorene's voice said. Jeri got out of the Jeep and hid behind it, waiting. Lorene would wait until they got closer, then scare them off with the holo, and that would be it. Once they had dreamed of luring people here, rebuilding, getting everything back on track. Now they thought only of defending what little they had left. Jeri mused on the burning of the library in Alexandria, the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem, the sacking of Rome, the crumbling ruins of Angkor Wat, the Vehicle Assembly Building with its own internal weather.

  She squatted by a wheel and peered cautiously around the Jeep. Three figures were approaching; two were small, perhaps children. That did not reassure her; children, pragmatic and unsentimental, were usually the most vicious. She and the others had found that out the hard way, a long time ago. Fortunately, children were also the most superstitious.

  They were standing near the crawler now. One of the children was staring at the mobile service structure, which had collapsed on its side when the crawler began to sink into the asphalt. Jeri moved around the Jeep, crouching in front of it. She looked over her shoulder. A giant was forming; Lorene was broadcasting.

  She heard a wail, then a scream. One child fell to the ground, the other pulled at the man's blue shirt. The man shook his head.

  Jeri waited for them to run, but they did not. The man leaned over the children, then stood up straight and began to laugh.

  Jeri ground her teeth in frustration. "Lorene," she whispered into her wrist radio. "They aren't leaving. Get your gun and come out." She stood up quickly and pointed the rifle at the invaders. She began to walk toward them. She said, "Put your hands up." They obeyed her. She saw that the man had a rifle slung over his back. One child, a small, tanned, black-haired boy in shorts, carried a knife; the other, a big-eyed dark-skinned child, had a knife and gun attached to her waist.

  She moved closer to them, wishing Lorene would hurry. "Just keep them up." The bearded man watched her. The children, obviously frightened, stuck their arms up as far as they would go. "All right, I want you to take your weapons, slowly, and throw them near me." She backed away as the children threw out their knives and gun. The man hesitated, then carefully reached over his shoulder for his rifle and dropped it to the ground. He removed the pistol at his waist and tossed it near the rifle.

  She heard a tapping sound behind her. She glanced out of the corner of her left eye. Lorene was beside her, holding her pistol with one hand, leaning on her cane with the other. Her heavy, overalled body shifted as she adjusted her cane; her long white hair streamed down her back.

  The bearded man chuckled. "What the hell's so funny?" Lorene shouted in her low hoarse voice. Her hand trembled slightly as she aimed her gun at the man.

  The man smiled. "You have to admit it's funny, two old women getting ready to shoot us." Jeri tried to repress a smile. Lorene scowled.

  "Let's shoot them now," she murmured to Jeri. Jeri shook her head. "I suppose yo
u want to take them back to checkpoint two."

  "I want to find out who they are," she replied. "You cover them. I'll pick up their guns." Jeri moved over to the weapons, picked them up, and hurried to the Jeep, throwing them in the back. She went back and stood near Lorene.

  "I still say we should shoot them," Lorene muttered.

  "Why don't you go inside," Jeri replied, "and get us some help? Tell them to send Cilla if she's around, and Leo."

  "I think—"

  "Shit, Lorene, go call them." Lorene glared at her, shaking her head; the jowls on her pudgy face shook, and bright red spots appeared on her cheekbones.

  "All right." Lorene shuffled off toward the Launch Control Building.

  "You can put your hands down, and sit if you want," Jeri said. The children crumpled, folding their legs in front of them. The man squatted, then sat. "Where you from?"

  "New York," the man said. "At least the girl and me are. The boy there's from around here."

  That explained his accent at least. She wondered what he was doing here; he might be a fugitive. The boy was, she was sure, a beach crawler. It didn't look good. Lorene was probably right.

  "I'm a doctor," the man went on, thrusting his arms out, palms up. "I can help you, I could be useful."

  Jeri giggled, clutching her rifle tightly. "Are you really? And you can help us." She shook her head. "We have medical people here, we even have a dentist. We have records of research from all over the country, and you can help us." She paused, pressing her lips together.

  The man slouched, looking defeated. "What about you two?" she said, waving her rifle at the children.

  The girl looked up with her big dark eyes. "I can read," she said.

  "What an accomplishment," Jeri said. "And just what brought you down here?"

  The man looked up appealingly. "I was arrested in New York and sent to prison for illegally practicing medicine."

  Jeri frowned. "Just what does that mean?"

  "It means I helped people that the law said I shouldn't. The way I looked at it, I was abiding by my oath, but—" He shrugged. "Look, just give us a little food, that's all, and some water. We won't bother you, if you don't want us here."

  "Where you headed?" she said.

  The man and the girl looked at each other, as if trying to decide what to say. He held up one hand; she turned her head from him. "Look," he said, "does it matter now? I'm in Florida, I can't be extradited. That's all that matters to me now."

  "You mean you're just satisfied to stay alive."

  "You could put it that way."

  She did not believe him.

  Cilla and Lorene had taken the three newcomers inside to one of the first-floor offices. Jeri waited outside the entrance with Leo Carlson, hoping the visitors would get through the interrogation while at the same time relieved that she wouldn't have to shoot them if they didn't. Cilla and Lorene would handle that. She thought of Lorene; there was no one quite as cold as a betrayed idealist. Lorene would never forgive people for failing to live up to her expectations. And Cilla simply didn't know any better.

  "We may all have to go back in your Jeep," Leo said. "I had a hell of a time with that cart of ours. The batteries need recharging."

  "The Jeep's no prize either," she replied. "It stalls a lot." She pressed her back against the wall and stretched out her legs. Leo, sitting across from her, kept glancing apprehensively at the door. He stroked his black beard nervously. From a distance, with his black hair and unlined, dark-brown skin, he still looked like a middle-aged man. From close up, one could see the sagging, paralyzed muscles on the right side of his thin face—the drooping eyelid, the turned-down corner of his mouth that he often wiped with a piece of cloth when he could not stop drooling. Leo had high blood pressure. He had suffered a small stroke already; sooner or later the condition would kill him.

  "We shouldn't be sitting out here," Leo said. "We should be inside, helping those people. They didn't do anything to us."

  "They might."

  "Three people? Not much they can do."

  "We have to protect ourselves. If they can convince Lorene they're all right, then we can relax."

  "I know, just let Lorene and Cilla do the dirty work," he said. "I don't know how you ever ended up with a daughter like Cilla."

  Jeri shrugged her shoulders. She didn't really know either, in spite of all the explanations for Cilla's behavior she had found. It all probably came down to one thing: Cilla seeing her father shot dead by a band trying to raid the complex. Jeri hadn't been able to reach her after that; she hadn't really tried. By the time Cilla was grown, Jeri had felt nothing for her daughter.

  The door opened and Jeri got up, moving out of the way. The newcomers came through first, followed by Lorene. They marched toward the Jeep. Cilla strode over to Jeri.

  "Well?" Jeri said, looking up at the tall, middle-aged woman.

  Cilla peered down her long nose. "We're taking them back with us."

  "You're being generous."

  Cilla frowned. "The man's a doctor, he could be useful. He seems to be attached to the girl, so we can use her as leverage if he acts up. The boy—" She paused and rubbed her pointed chin. "He can work," she went on. "He knows he'll get a bullet in the head if he doesn't."

  Leo rose to his feet. "We'd better get going, Cilla. It's dark and we’ll have to crawl to avoid potholes."

  Cilla nodded. I wish I'd never had her, Jeri thought, I wish she'd never been born. "Come on, Mother," Cilla said, taking her arm. Jeri pulled away violently and hurried to the Jeep.

  Simon knelt on the couch and pulled back the curtain. The street below was deserted, the nearby buildings apparently empty. Thousands could have lived here, though he was sure there weren't that many now. He pushed at the window, then saw it could not be opened.

  Aisha was asleep on a couch in the corner; Rocca sprawled on the floor. Simon, feeling trapped, surveyed the room, which looked like it had once been a lounge. The thin old woman had told him to consider himself honored; astronauts had once used this room. He slumped down on the couch, wondering how he was going to get out of here. He was locked in, and someone was standing guard on the other side of the door. He doubted he could have left the area anyway. He would never even get to the barbed wire surrounding the complex; the old woman had told him an alarm would go off if he left the room, even if he got past the guard. He made a fist and punched his thigh. He didn't know how to act with these people, what to tell them. He had permissions to enter Miami Beach, stamped by armies on both sides of the Maryland border—the thing he had thought would be most difficult to accomplish—and he was a prisoner of a bunch of old fools in an abandoned industrial complex.

  Rocca rolled over on his back and opened his eyes. His long black hair lay in snakelike tresses on the rug. "Shoulda kilt the Snake," the boy said. "Shoulda kilt him right there."

  Aisha sat up and yawned, gazing vacantly around the room. The door opened, and the woman who had brought them to the room entered, carrying a large tray. She kicked the door shut with her foot and walked toward Simon, setting the tray down on the low table in front of the couch. "Breakfast," she muttered. She stepped back, putting her hand on the revolver at her waist. "Remember, there's still a guard outside, so don't try anything."

  Simon looked at the tray of food. Rocca scampered across the floor and grabbed a piece of bread. "There's bread, oranges, scrambled eggs there. You'll have to eat with your fingers. There aren't any knives and forks for you. I was told not to bring any."

  Simon didn't care. He scooped up some eggs with his fingers and put them on a slice of bread. Aisha, still yawning, wandered to the table and picked up an orange.

  "What's in the cups?" Simon asked, his mouth full.

  "Herb tea." Her face was like a bird's, small, dark eyes, a big nose, a pointed chin. Her yellowish skin looked leathery. Simon finished the eggs and bit into an orange, chewing the bitter fruit.

  "Good orange," he mumbled as he chewed.

 
; "Good orange," the woman said. She chuckled. "Oranges used to be sweet, and twice that size, but I guess you wouldn't know about that."

  Aisha slurped some tea. Simon finished the orange, feeling full, wishing he could eat more. He leaned back. "What's going to happen to us?" he asked.

  "I don't know. We're going to have a meeting about it later on."

  "We won't make trouble for you. Can't you let us out of here?"

  "Not right now." The old woman shifted her weight, sticking out her left hip. "I'm going to be looking after you for a bit. My name's Jeri Chapman. Don't ask me anything else because I can't tell you anything right now."

  "I don't care," Simon said. "I don't want to bother you. Why can't you just let us go?" He glanced over at Rocca as he spoke. Aisha, at least, was his ally, but this boy was excess baggage he'd have to ditch sooner or later.

  "I never runs from food," Rocca said, as if guessing what Simon was thinking.

  "You don't understand, Dr. Simon," Jeri Chapman said. "We don't want people finding out about this place and coming here. So far we've done a good job of keeping them away."

  "But I don't care about what's here," Simon said. "Why should I tell anyone?" He thought of the hard-eyed women who had questioned him yesterday; his ribs were still bruised from where the younger one had poked them with her gun. Every time he had winced, she had laughed. "We're of no use to you anyway."

  "You might be," the old woman answered. "And if you're not, I guess they'll shoot you."

  They'll shoot you. She had grimaced as she said it. They. She obviously disapproved. She might become an ally. "Finished with that food?" she asked.

  Simon nodded. Rocca grabbed the last piece of bread. Jeri picked up the tray and balanced it on her hip as she opened the door, then disappeared into the hall. The door slammed shut.

  "What do we do now?" Aisha said sadly.

  "What can we do?" Simon replied. "We wait. We behave ourselves." He thought of the permits in his pocket. He had to get out of here, and soon. If he didn't get to Miami before spring, too many questions might be asked about papers stamped the previous fall. He couldn't think about it now; he had more immediate problems. His only hope rested with Jeri Chapman, who would probably shoot him herself if he seemed dangerous. He gritted his teeth.