by Larry Niven
"Yeah-you sure make it complicated."
"Wasn't us wanted you in here."
"Right. Thanks, Sergeant."
"Sure. Any time."
The truck started up. After a while it stopped again. "Okay, you can come out for a minute," Harry said.
They were on a hillside. Off to the left was the harbor. Mist obscured water from water's edge. There were outlines of ships, like ghosts. Closer in there were big structures, domes, some on land, some apparently floating on water. Further out in the harbor was the dim outline of a really big dome. A rounded metallic shape lay in the dock area—
"Look like greenhouses to me," Harry said.
"Too much activity," Roger said. "Look. Listen." Vehicle moved among the domes. Industrial sounds—rivet guns, pounding hammers, the whine of electrical drills—drifted up to them.
A thing like the shell of a huge metal crab covered several of the docks. It was a slice of a sphere—curved, with curved edges—like a section of a nuclear plant containment, before the section were welded together. Curved and wedge-shaped and two yards thick! If they were building a power plant here, it would be the biggest ever.
He said aloud, "There's lots of work happening, but it's inside They're not building those domes. They're built. So what are they hiding inside the domes? That piece of steel shell, what does that have to do with anything?"
"Not snouts?"
"Well, sure, snouts. But what do they have them working on Slave labor? We better get moving." Roger ducked back behind the seats.
* * *
It wasn't much of a house for a general to live in. There was moss growing on the roof, and it hadn't been painted in years.
"What the hell do I do if they catch me?" Harry demanded.
"Catch you what?" Roger asked. "Walking the streets? Harry there's a whole city here. Look out there, a lot of uniforms, a lot of civvies too. Act natural. Nobody'll know you don't belong here." He glanced at his watch. "Meet you here in an hour."
"Well, all right."
Roger waited until Harry was out of sight down the street. Then he went up the steep stairway to the dilapidated wooden porch and knocked.
The door opened. "Yes—Roger! What in the world?"
"Special delivery from— Carlotta. She sends her best," Roger said. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
Automatically she stepped aside. Roger closed the door behind him. "Is Ed here?"
"Working. He works all the time. Roger, what are you doing here?"
"Carrying Carlotta's mail—"
"Roger, that's silly!"
"Well, we're touring the country, getting stories on how people are living. It's not all just news, I'm reporting back to Colorado Springs. When I told Carlotta I was coming to the Northwest, she said I should look you up." Roger had never felt less horny in his life, but he did his best to leer at her. "You don't look glad to see me—"
"Ed isn't in orbit this time, Roger! And security—Roger, I don't know how hard they watch the housing, but— Ed effectively owns this place. Roger, you'd be better off doing espionage for the snouts!"
* * *
At four o'clock there were crowds streaming out of the harbor area. Men, women, mostly dressed for work. They spread outward through the gloomy afternoon drizzle. They must live close, Harry thought. They didn't seem to be making for parking lots.
These weren't guards for snouts. There were far too many. The men were big, loud, dressed for durability even in their civvies, and many still wore hard hats and coveralls. Heavy construction work types. What in hell is going on?
Half a dozen men, a dozen, more, streamed toward a smallish building. It wasn't labeled, but Harry suddenly knew. A club, a tavern, a bar.
He contrived to emerge from between two buildings. He strolled toward the bar, trying to look thirsty as opposed to nervous. The noise level was high. A machine-shriek could be heard through a hundred boisterous conversations. That, and a sound like an elephant's scream, but elaborated, like a maniac's babbling too. Somewhere there was a snout. Harry ignored it for the moment.
Nobody stopped him at the door.
The bar was two deep in customers and getting deeper. Harry eased into the crowd; His hand came out of his pocket with money in a clip. Think priorities. Drink first, talk second, or I'll look funny.
The hard hats were being stacked in piles near the door; no problem that Harry didn't have one. He was dressed rough enough otherwise. At the tables they were already chugging beer. From the corner of his eye Harry watched a big guy finish a pitcher, what am I doing here?
Order another, drink a glass of that, while the big round table was filling up around him. That one would be loose enough already.
Harry ordered a pitcher. The bartender looked curiously a Harry's money. "New in town, huh?" he said.
"Yeah."
The change he gave back said "Federal Reserve Note: Northwestern Grain Project." It was colored dull blue.
Harry took the pitcher to the big table. "Mind if I sit here?"
"All the same with me." The big man had nearly white blond hair cut very short. He was bigger than Harry, with huge hands that had been through the wars.
The voice was accented. Lots of them are. Southern, southwestern. Not from up here. Why? Harry sat down next to him. He pocketed his clip of Colorado Springs notes, but not before the big man had seen it. He'll know I'm new here.
"Whitey Lowenstein," the burly man said. "You?"
"They call me Hairy Red."
Lowenstein chuckled. "Reckon they might. What crew you with?"
"Well—"
"Yeah." Lowenstein's grin was knowing. "You'll get over that after a while. The security system's ridiculous. Me, I'm a welder." He studied Harry carefully. "Bet you a pitcher I can figure out your job."
"You're on." Harry remembered to drink.
Lowenstein reached out suddenly to pat Harry's breast pocket. "Hmm. No film badge. Maybe you pocketed it, though. Clean clothes. Big guy. You an educated man?"
Harry laughed. "School of hard knocks—"
"Sure. I got a feeling about you, though. All newcomers get the security lecture, but you didn't say nothing. You're an atomjack, Harry."
Atomjack? In a snout prison?
"I'll buy the next pitcher, and let's leave it at that." And what in hell is an atomjack? An hour later he knew. It wasn't difficult. Everyone in the bar knew.
Somewhere in Bellingham-nobody seemed to know or care exactly where-there were more than a thousand atom bombs. The atomjacks tended them. A thousand fucking atom bombs.
* * *
"You've got to get out of here, Roger."
"I never thought I'd see the day when you started checking papers! Linda, what is going on here?"
"Believe me, Roger, you don't want to know."
She's colder than a witch's tits. Jeez—
"Linda, you're actually scaring me!" "I hope so."
He'd never heard her speak in that tone of voice. "What do you think I'll do, reveal the dark secret of the captured Invaders?
Don't you think I've figured it out?"
She looked thoughtful. "I never thought you were stupid, Roger."
"Look, Linda, for God's sake, maybe I should just wait for Ed to come home—"
"You won't be here that late."
"Linda, I give up. What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to go away and not come back."
"You sure made that plain enough!"
"If it's plain, why haven't you left?"
"Linda, damn all, I came thousands of miles to see you—"
"Uninvited."
"Uninvited, but I haven't always been unwelcome. I know you don't love me, but you can at least be friendly—"
"That's all over, Roger."
"It isn't what I meant by friendly, either." Roger sighed. It was coming home to him with an impact he hadn't expected: It's over.
But there's something else here—
"Look, I wanted to see you
again. But I've got a girl back in Colorado Springs. I think I'm going to marry her. I don't know why I wanted to see you first, but I did. Does that make sense?" That got her! "I—who is she?"
"Her name is Rosalee. Linda, you won't believe it, I picked her up in a parking structure in Kansas."
She laughed. "No, I don't think I do believe that."
"It's true, though, and she's wonderful." Goddam, she really is. Roger told her about Kansas. She's listening, just like the Enclave people listen. Not much news gets to Bellingham. Roger told it long, but paced the story so Linda wouldn't get bored. "So that's Rosalee, and I guess I'm in love."
"Does she see through you, Roger?"
"Better than you do."
"I think you really should marry the girl," Linda said. "No, the problem is to get you out of here. I'll call the gate."
Roger fingered his beard. With Linda's call, he could pass if Reddington, seated in a truck, in the dark, with a new shift guards. No. Best wait for Harry. Maybe Harry would be outside already? He glanced at his watch. No. Not time enough. Have stall.
"Tell them Reddington."
"What?"
"Couldn't give my right name. And share a drink with me, for old times sake?"
"Maybe I'm a little ashamed of our old times, Roger."
"Maybe I am, too. Some of them. But not the real old times Linda. You didn't know Ed then. Goddam, I wish I'd married you. Would you, if I'd asked?"
"Yes."
"You say that quickly."
"I thought about it a lot."
"Are you sorry I didn't?"
"Let me get you a drink, Roger."
"Good night, Linda."
"Good-bye, Roger."
"This is final, isn't it?"
"It is final. Don't come back, Roger. Next time I'll call the guards."
"Speaking of that—"
"Sure. I'll see they let you out. Reddington."
"One kiss. Old times."
"I didn't give you that much whiskey. Even if I did, I didn't have that much myself. Good-bye, Roger."
Roger went down the wooden stairs to the truck. "She sure was glad to see you."
"Harry. I was hoping you'd be back."
"Yeah. Let's get out of here."
"Sure. Learn anything?" His voice sounds thick. Can he drive?
"Naw."
Damn! He did get something, What?
"Too bad. I hoped you'd be smart enough to pick up a clue. I struck out. She wasn't glad to see me." "Yeah. I saw. Here, you pile in back behind the seat and we'll get going. Did she call the guards to get us out?"
"Yes. Damn. We're both too stupid to get anything."
"Well, maybe I got something," Harry said. "For one thing, this is no prison."
"Really?"
"Nope. No guards. Lots of welders, plumbers, construction people, but no guards. You know what most of those guys are doing? Welding up a big hemispheric steel plate. I mean big. That was a piece of it we saw on the docks. Know something else? There's a thousand atom bombs in this town."
"Bullshit."
"No shit, Roger. A thousand motherfucking atom bombs, all identical. They got special crews to work with them. Call them atomjacks."
A thousand atom bombs. Why? Atom bombs, welders, big steel plate—
Atom bombs. Big hemispheric steel plate
. Long-buried memories surfaced. Freeman Dyson and Ted Taylor. Lectures at a meeting of the L-5 Society, that bunch of fanatics who wanted to put colonies into space. Steel plates and atom bombs and a whole moon colony comes down in one piece. Don't worry about the landing spot because it'll be flat when you get down. Christ on a crutch." "What?" Harry took the keys from his pocket and climbed into the driver's seat.
"Nothing." They let people in, but if they search on the way out . . .
Roger waited until Harry's attention was fully on the truck. Then he took the big jack handle from the floor of the cab and rose silently.
"Reddington," the guard said. Roger sighed in relief. As he'd thought, this was a new one, not the one who'd passed Harry into Bellingham. The guard shined his flashlight onto Roger's face. Roger clenched his eyes against the light . . . distorting his face.
"Sorry. Mind moving that blanket?"
"Sure." Roger turned from the light, twisting to lift the blanket from over the space behind the seat. I'd have been just there . . .
The guard was thorough. He looked behind the seats and under the truck. He inspected the pass. He looked at his clipboard notes and compared times.
But he was polite enough not to shine the light in Roger's eye again . . .
* * *
Harry woke in a bare-walled office. He was lying on a cot. Two Air Police sat at a desk across the room. When Harry groaned and opened his eyes, one of the APs went out the door.
"What the hell?" Harry demanded.
He got no answer at all. The AP didn't smile or get up or d anything at all.
Presently the door opened. The first AP came in with a mat in U.S. Air Force coveralls. Four stars gleamed from the shoulders.
"Thank you, Airman," the general said. He turned his attention to Harry. "All right, Mr. Reddington, would you care to tell us what's going on here?"
"Sure—hey! You're General Gillespie." Harry had watched TV coverage of the last Shuttle launch, a lifetime ago. Gillespie looked many years older.
He said, "That's obvious enough. Now who are you?"
"You said my name—"
"Mister, you have about twenty seconds to start explaining."
Oh, shit! "General, could you make that a minute? I'm just getting used to the idea that Roger whacked me on the head."
"Roger?"
"Roger Brooks, sir."
"Roger Brooks."
Shit fire, that name registered.
"I take it that the man who left this post using your credentials was Roger Brooks, then?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you and Brooks came to see Mrs. Gillespie. I take it that was Roger's idea."
"Sure. Didn't do him any good, though."
"What do you mean by that?"
"She threw him out."
"I see."
Shit, what have I got into?
"Your minute is up, Reddington."
"Yes, sir. Look, it started in Colorado Springs. Actually, it started earlier." Talk fast! Harry babbled, how Congressman Wes left Harry in charge of his house, how Harry and Carlotta Dawson had captured a snout and Harry got a presidential citation and a gas ration card- "Later," Gillespie interrupted.
"Dammit, General, I'm telling you the truth!"
"Oddly enough, I believe you. For now, though, I have a different question. Where has Roger Brooks gone?"
* * *
The Enclave looked normal, no one near the gate but Miranda Shakes. Roger drove up carefully.
He was tempted to drive on past, take the logging trail and fire roads that led to the Nooksack Valley, and continue east past Mount Baker. Great idea. One problem. Harry knows about those fire roads. He'll tell.
Even if Harry wouldn't tell about the route east, the truck would never get to Colorado Springs. The motorcycle would.
Emotions chased their way through Roger's mind. I've got a secret, a big secret, the biggest ever. Wow! No wonder they made Bellingham vanish. Orion!
If they catch me, they'll lock me up until the war's over. I need insurance. There's only one kind of insurance that can work. I have to tell an editor now, quick, so the Post will keep looking for me if they try to hide me somewhere.
Great plan. One problem. No telephones. No radios. Not even a CB. How am I going to tell the Post?
If I can't tell the Post, who can I tell?
"Hello, Roger," Miranda Shakes said. "Where's Harry?"
"Trying to pick up some supplies. I'll take the bike down to meet him and then we'll move on. Here's the truck key."
"Where to?"
"Back to Colorado Springs." I have to get moving. Harry can wake up any minute.<
br />
"Is something wrong, Roger?"
"Huh? No, it's just a long ride back. I'm not looking forward to it." Their packs stood next to the motorcycle. It took only a moment to lift them onto the rack and lash them in place. And now what? If they catch me—they could do anything.
What will I do if I get away? Damn, it's a big story, the biggest, too big? Like finding out about the atom bomb before they dropped it on Japan. Can't print it, can't let the snouts find out, but- But people have to know, have to know there's hope. So man doesn't give up, think there's no chance. They have to know then is a chance.
How? How to tell people but not snouts? There has to be way. It won't happen if they catch me. They'll lock me up, secrets security, they've made this whole town a prison. There's too good a chance they'll catch me and just make me vanish, an unperson. I need insurance. Maybe I need something else, too. Maybe I need help getting out of Bellingham
. "Is Fox around?" "In the greenhouse."
John Fox. If there's anybody who can get out of Bellingham and back to the Springs, it's Fox. He has friends everywhere. Jus telling him can be good insurance.
There was something reassuring in the smell of the greenhouse. It smelled like life. A green and brown smell, plants and rich dirt, growth and decay.
John Fox didn't turn as Roger came up behind him. He was even thinner than Roger remembered. The chamois shirt and lederhosen hung from bones and long, hard muscles. He was pulling smaller sprouts from a tray, leaving the largest. "Have to transfer these in a few days," he said.
"John?"
"Wha— Roger? What's news?" And he chuckled.
"The Navy's got a thousand atom bombs in the harbor complex."
Fox turned, stared into Roger's face. "You went in?"
