The Sheep Look Up (45 page)

Carl paced up and down, staring at the flames and wishing they might engulf the country. Pete, confined to a chair by his weak back, spent the time in quiet cursing.

At long long last Doug McNeil came down the passage and Carl rushed to meet him.

“Is she—?”

“Jeannie’s going to live,” Doug muttered. “Just. Pete, what make is that cooker of yours? Is it an Instanter?”

“Why ...” Staring, Pete gave a nod. “How did you know?”

Doug didn’t look at him. He said, “I thought it might be. We’ve had trouble with that brand before. I’ve seen—oh, four cases. Don’t know what the hell stopped them from closing down the company.”

He drew a deep breath.

“It leaked, Pete. Leaked some of its radiation. Bad shielding. And it literally cooked Jeannie’s baby in her womb.”

At two in the morning Carl was roused by the sound of movement in the living-room, and padded barefoot to see what was happening. He found Pete turning the pages of a book and making notes on a memo-pad.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

Pete didn’t raise his head. He said, “I’m learning how to build a bomb.”

THE SHOCK OF RECOGNITION

Still not used to being in uniform again after ten years in civilian clothes ... Philip Mason wriggled his shoulders inside his shirt. The cloth was rough. But discomfort was among the penalties people were going to have to pay to buy back the good life of the past, and it didn’t really amount to much, in his view.

There must be a hell of a lot of people refusing to part with even that token, though. He glanced up uneasily as a vast noise came from the sky, and saw a flight of helicopter gunships just disappearing into the overcast, no doubt to mount another strike against the insurrection in Cheyenne. It was incredible how the cities were going off like a string of firecrackers, one after another ...

He wondered whether the guy he’d taken over this demolition gang from was up there in one of those gun ships. He’d been pulled out, like the majority of the career soldiers originally assigned to reconstruction duty, as the situation worsened. They said that in Harlem and the Bronx the Army was committing tanks ...

But best not to worry about other people’s problems. Best to concentrate on the way things were coming right for himself, little by little, just as these ruins here were being cleared. It was going to take months to make Denver presentable again; it was already showing signs of the firm central control it enjoyed, though, and there were even a few stores open around noon each day for three hours. For himself life had been fairly easy since he was promoted acting sergeant: a gas ration, use of his car, permission to sleep and eat at home with Dennie except when it was his turn as duty noncom.

And with Harold. But he tried not to think about Harold any more than Harold apparently thought about him.

“Hey!”

He turned to see who was calling. From across the street where another gang was clearing a house which had been burned to a shell like the one his own men were pulling down, a National Guard sergeant. He looked vaguely familiar. Hunting in memory, Philip placed him. One of the fitters he and Alan (poor Alan!) had hired to install the Mitsuyama purifiers.

If only they’d been installed all over the city! If only they hadn’t clogged with those filthy bacteria!

But it was no use wishing.

He told his Pfc to keep the gang working and strolled over to say hello. He couldn’t quite remember the man’s name. Chicano, though. Gomez? Perez? Something like that.

“You’re Mason, aren’t you?” the man said. “Thought I recognized you. You’re the mother that put in those foreign filters and poisoned the water. What the hell are you doing running around loose—and in one of our uniforms, too? Well, if no one else has taken care of you, I will.”

He unslung his rifle and shot Philip at pointblank range.

THE RATIONAL PROPOSAL

Page:
Well, I’m sorry about the gunfire on that last segment, which I hope didn’t spoil your viewing and listening pleasure, but as you heard the fire in Chicago Old Town is now officially “under control” and the rioters are being contained. Before we go on to our next guest, I’ve been asked to say that the guerrilla strikes against Jacksonville, Omaha and San Bernardino, which our on-the-spot reporter mentioned while speculating about the cause of the Chicago fire, are unconfirmed, repeat not confirmed. So! Let me just reassure our audience here in the studio that even if something similar to what we were just hearing about took place in New York, we’d be in no danger—this building was designed in conjunction with Civil Defense experts. Are we ready for ...? Yes, fine, I see we are. Well, world, everyone knows by this time that an astonishingly large proportion of our population accepted the precepts of the late Austin Train and still clings to them, despite what the president has said about their being based on an appeal to emotion and a rejection of rationality. Just where that’s led us, you all know. One man, however, while all this has been going on, has been quietly and persistently pursuing another path. As you’ve almost certainly heard, the famous Dr. Thomas Grey of the Bamberley Trust has been trying for years to work out, with the aid of computers and all possible modern methods, a solution to the desperate problems facing us. I’m delighted that he’s chosen this show to take the wraps off his findings. Tom Grey! (
Audience applause.
)

Grey:
Thank you, Miss Page.

Page:
Speaking of wraps, I notice you have your arm in a sling, Tom. I hope—Oh, excuse me just a second ... I’m sorry, world, but we’ve been asked to yield a minute of air time for a public service announcement. We’ll be back with you in a moment. Go ahead.

Naval commander:
This is an emergency announcement from the Department of Defense, Navy. Hear this, hear this, all personnel currently on shore leave in the following states: New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Florida, Texas, California. Report at once to the nearest Army or Air Force base or National Guard headquarters and place yourselves at the disposal of the commanding officer. Your assistance is required in quelling civil disorder. That is all.

Page:
I see we have someone right here in the studio who’s off to answer that call. We’ll just stand by for a moment while he’s leaving. (
Audience applause.
) That’s okay, then. Tom, I was wondering about your arm.

Grey:
It’s nothing serious, I’m glad to say. I—uh—I got caught on the fringes of one of those civil disorders they were just talking about. (
Audience laughter.
) But I got off with just a wrenched shoulder.

Page:
Fighting back? (
Audience laughter.
)

Grey:
No, my car ran over a caltrap and hit a lamppost. (
Audience laughter.
)

Page:
Well, I hope you’re better soon. Now about this idea of yours— Just a second, is something wrong?

Voice from audience:
Smoke! I’m sure I can smell smoke!

Page:
I’ll check with my producer. Ian? ... You’re right, friend, but it’s nothing to worry about. It’s blowing up from Newark, apparently. You know there’s a big fire there. Count yourself lucky to be in here—I’m told it’s far worse out-of-doors! (
Audience laughter.
) Tom, this undertaking of yours must have been incredibly complex. You’ve had to analyze literally every major factor affecting our predicament, right?

Grey:
Yes, every one.

Page:
And you’re now in a position to reveal the chief conclusion—Sorry! Hold on. Yes, Ian, what is it this time? ... Oh. Yes, of course; that sounds urgent. I’ll tell them ... Another announcement for you, world—sorry to keep interrupting like this, but of course we can’t ignore what’s going on. And this is an important and very tragic piece of news. It seems the Niagara Falls Bridge is out—either blown or collapsed, no one yet knows which, but because there are so many people trying to get over the Canadian border there, all TV and radio networks are being asked to tell people to avoid the area so that essential help can get through—the highways are kind of crowded up that way, I’m told ... Tom, as I was saying: you can unveil your conclusions now, right?

Grey:
Yes, and they’re crucially important. Of course, I’ve been able to take into account only such items as natural resources, oxygen level, food stocks, water reserves, and so on, and—ah—it’s curiously ironical in a way because one might say—

Page:
Tom, I’m sorry, but the producer is buzzing me again. Yes? ... I see. Will do. Tom, they’re going to pre-empt us in about two minutes. The president is winding up to a new pitch. Can you keep your main point short, please?

Grey:
Well, as I was about to say, it’s sort of ironical, because we’re already engaged, in a sense, in the course of action my findings dictate.

Page:
Don’t keep the world on tenterhooks, Tom! Out with it! What’s the best thing we can do to ensure a long, happy, healthy future for mankind?

Grey:
We can just about restore the balance of the ecology, the biosphere, and so on—in other words we can live within our means instead of on an unrepayable overdraft, as we’ve been doing for the past half century—if we exterminate the two hundred million most extravagant and wasteful of our species.

Page:
Follow that if you can, Mr. President. It’s your reward for pre-convicting Austin Train. World, what about lighting him a funeral pyre? Doesn’t he deserve—?

(Transcript ends.)

THE SMOKE OF THAT GREAT BURNING

Opening the door to the visiting doctor, all set to apologize for the flour on her hands—she had been baking—Mrs. Byrne sniffed. Smoke! And if she could smell it with her heavy head cold, it must be a tremendous fire!

“We ought to call the brigade!” she exclaimed. “Is it a hayrick?”

“The brigade would have a long way to go,” the doctor told her curtly. “It’s from America. The wind’s blowing that way.”

NEXT YEAR

The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,

But swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw,

Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread.

—Milton: “Lycidas”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

John Brunner was born in England in 1934 and educated at Cheltenham College. He sold his first novel in 1951 and has been publishing sf steadily since then. His books have won him international acclaim from both mainstream and genre audiences. His most famous novel, the classic
Stand on Zanzibar,
won the Hugo Award for Best Novel in 1969, the British Science Fiction Award, and the Prix Apollo in France. Mr. Brunner lives in Somerset, England.