Footfall (48 page)

“Sir.” Harrison was invisible somewhere off to the left.

Lieutenant Carruthers unlimbered a light antitank tube. “Custer’s last stand.”

“Something like that,” Carter said. “Maybe they won’t come.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Semeyusov spoke quickly into his phone. “They are ready—”

The first skimmer reached the bottom of the hill. Another converged toward it.

Carter lifted the transmitter. “Mvubi. uSuthu!”

“Tchaka!” A moment later automatic weapons chattered from the veldt between Carter and the spaceport. The trailing skimmer

wobbled, then fell.

“Launch your bloody missile,” Carter ordered. “It’s too late to get the spaceship. Try for the laser anyway.”

“With respect, Colonel, perhaps they will launch their ship anyway. It is a better target.”

“Why in hell would they launch during an ambush?”

For answer, Semeyusov pointed. Thick white smoke rose from the base platform around the alien spacecraft.

“Son of a bitch! Okay!”

“Only now we got to stop those tanks,” Carruthers said carefully. “I don’t think Mvubi’s people will hold them long.”

“We’ll do the best we can—”

The alien ship rose suddenly. The rocket platform that boosted it fell back, as a brilliant blue-green beam stabbed up from the concrete structure at the center of the spaceport.

“Any time now!” Carter shouted. Lieutenant Semeyusov spoke rapidly.

The leading skimmer was climbing the hill toward them. There was a sharp flash from the bush to their right. A dark shadow moved toward the alien hovercraft, rushed at it, touched it— The skimmer exploded in fire. “Two down! Hoo hah!” Carruthers shouted. “Bring on the motherfucking tanks!”

Tanks hell, where’s that damn missile? Thunder rolled toward them. The spacecraft rose on its beam of green fire. Three smaller beams stabbed downward. They moved in an odd pattern. There was a flash of fire, and the Russian missile tumbled in smoke. It fell into the veldt.

The smaller beams moved up the hill toward Carter, moved past him, curved back toward him.

He was encased in a wide spiral of green. The spiral tightened.

The alien spacecraft vanished in the clouds.

The truck was an older Ford Club Cab with a roomy area behind the backseat. The space back there gave Roger ideas. He brooded

The truck rattled and stank of manure, but the seats were padded and softer than a motorcycle saddle, a difference Roger sorely appreciated.

“Snouts,” Roger said. “Harry, why would they hide snouts al the way up here in Bellingham?”

“Beats me—”

“Me too, but there’s a story in it. One the people are entitled to know.”

“Well, maybe—”

“Maybe a Pulitzer Prize,” Roger mused.

“Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman,” Harry said. “Both with beards. Yeah. Look, though, they’ve got guards on all the gates There’s no way in.”

“Maybe I can think of something.” I see the fine hand of Colorado Springs here. In’s no problem. Out’s something different. “Want to give it a try?”

“I guess so. Sure. Why not? But how do we get in?”

“Harry Reddington. I have a letter from Mrs. Carlotta Dawson for Mrs. Linda Gillespie. In case you haven’t heard, Mrs. Dawson and I captured a snout in the Kansas war.”

“That doesn’t add up to a pass.”

“Nobody in Colorado-Springs knows dick about passes,” Harry said. “Dawson. Did you catch the name? Dawson, as in the poor schmuck up there on the snout ship.”

“I heard the speech,” the guard said. “Whose side does he think he’s on?”

“Ours, by God, and he’s the only spy we’ve got, too!” From the sound of that indignant scream, Harry was about to deck the schmuck! But his next words were almost calm. “And here’s my ID. Gas ration card, even. Presidential commendation. Look, here’s the letter. For Linda Gillespie,” Harry said. “Mrs. General Edmund Gillespie.”

“I heard of her.”

Roger’s heart pounded. If they searched the truck…

If Harry knew how serous this was, he’d never carry it off. Snout prisoners, in Washington State? Bullshit. Not a bad story, because the snouts on the mother ship wouldn’t drop a meteor on their own people. And it would have to be concealed, because the good citizens might rise to violence against snout prisoners. But why confiscate the CBs?

Something was happening here that would bring meteors if the snouts ever learned of it. The CBs had to disappear, Bellingham had to vanish from the news… and what if they found Roger Brooks of the Capital Post hidden in the back of a pickup truck?

There was a long silence, with things happening but no way for Roger to know what they were. Finally he heard the guard again.

“Okay, Mrs. Gillespie says to send you on down with your letter. Her house is downhill from the Officer’s Club. That’s the old university student union building. I’ve marked it on this map. Just before you get to the Officer’s Club, you’ll come to another guarded gate. They’ll be expecting you. Go straight there. Nowhere else. When you’ve gone through that gate, go directly to Mrs. Gillespie’s house. Nowhere else. Here. Take this pass. You’ll need it to get out. Come back through the same way you went in, and end up back here. Nowhere else. Got all that?”

“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 hartx 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.”