Whatever Gods May Be (10 page)

The announcements continued to transmit unfortunate news “… with the order by the President to destroy all Soviet submarines within a thousand miles of the United States.  He has informed the Soviet ambassador, who has remained in Washington, that such rash actions would be taken unless steps were taken by the Russian government to scale down the crisis..."

Zolan pulled himself to his feet, radio in one hand and the drinking jug in the other.  His head was swimming deliciously and for a moment he almost forgot that anything was wrong at all.  The hot desert air blew coolly against his sweat-drenched face, and the droning of the radio voice became an indistinct mumble in the wake of the hallucinogenic stupor he was enjoying.  If he could only forget for awhile...

"Zolan," the Rover called loudly through its amplified audio system.

Zolan snapped his eyes open and shook his head.

"...In case of an attack, and you are not indoors, find shelter away from structures, gas and electric lines..."

Zolan switched off the radio and tossed it carelessly on the rocker.  He stepped off the porch into the blinding sunlight and downed another massive shot from the jug.

"Whadayuwant, Rover," Zolan asked, approaching the barn with the cautious attention of a man who knew that he would miss it completely without such focused concentration.

The Rover waited until Zolan had entered the barn and climbed up the ramp inside the flight deck.  The television screens that had earlier been depicting various segments of battle footage, were all blank now with only the word EMERGENCY stenciled across them.  Zolan didn't notice this, however, as he threw himself drunkenly into a cushioned pilot seat.

"You're drunk, Zolan," the Rover observed tonelessly.  Though the ship had been programmed for near-human response and conversation mode, it did not, at least as far as Zolan knew, possess any human characteristics, such as a personality.  It was theoretically impossible for it, therefore, to be judgmental or critical in the way a human being could be.  In this case, it simply acknowledged the fact that Zolan was indeed highly intoxicated, stated as much, and awaited possible verification from Zolan as to the accuracy of its computation.  This Zolan did with a rather audible and lengthy burp and a nod of the head.

"You're dammed right I'm drunk," Zolan agreed pleasantly, "And I'm going to stay drunk until we lift off."

"It might not be a good idea, Zolan.  I've completed another probability scan, based on worldwide military escalations in the past three hours.  There is a ninety-eight percent likelihood of a nuclear exchange to take place in approximately two hours."

Zolan moved to get out of the chair.  "That's damn little time, Rover.  Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

"I just finished the computations as you entered, Zolan."

Zolan just sat there for a minute with his chin resting miserably on his chest.  "Two hours," he repeated in clear awe.  Rising slowly, he spoke like a man completely defeated.  "I'll pack what I can - "

:There is another problem, Zolan," the Rover droned on.  "Look!"

Viewing screens lighted up -- and hell raged across them.  Tidal waves, great storms, earthquake devastation flashed by, staring at Zolan as if casting a personal finger of guilt his way.

"This is what the Hall is doing to Earth.  It began about five minutes ago."

Zolan sunk into his chair, his throat dry, his eyes bleary.

"Oh no," was all he could muster.  "Close it, Rover.  Now!"

"There is a problem, Zolan," the Rover interrupted, "that's why I called you in and submitted my recommendation to you to cease drinking."

Zolan was still staring at the scenes of carnage before him; the cold, brutal scientific mind within swam through the drunken haze and said: You did this, Zolan.  You're a murderer.

"I have detected severe corrosion in the Hall-Sealant Unit.  Unless it is cleared, we would be unable to effect a closure after we have entered the Hall."

Zolan shrugged, not clearly understanding what the problem was.  "The Hall seals itself, Rover, you know that."

Perhaps," the Rover said quickly, "but in this instance, since it has been prematurely breached manually, containment manually would also seem to be indicated."

Zolan preferred not to argue with his ship.  "Alright, Rover.  So fix the unit."

"I am unable to do so without assistance."

"Why not?" Zolan asked, a little irritably.

"Anticorrosive feed lines are empty.  I will need a complete fluid change on the HS Unit." the Rover paused for a moment.  " I should have had a complete overhaul ten years ago, Zolan.  You never got around to it."

It was only a statement of fact, but Zolan felt as if the Rover was actually accusing him of negligence.  He quelled the surge of anger that stirred inside of him.  There was too much work to be done for fighting.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

The Rover took a second to race through its two million individual systems that controlled everything from the light drive to Zolan's wake-up bell in his cabin.  The ship blinked and twittered then finally answered the man.

"You can bypass secondary feed lines to HS unit once we are space borne.  However, what is needed immediately is a powerful solvent solution to saturate the affected components."

"Like what?" Zolan asked through increasingly bloodshot eyes.

"You purchased a bicarbonate product on your last trip into town.  The soda will melt most of the rust in a few hours.  Afterwards, we will be in the Hall, and you can then effect the bypass procedure."

Zolan looked at the computers around him rather sheepishly.  "We don't have anymore soda, Rover." he said quietly.

"Please explain, Zolan."

Zolan looked down guiltily at the near empty jug in his hand.  "I used it for the still." he said, feeling incredibly stupid and drunk.  "It doesn't matter," he recovered' quickly, "like I said, the Hall will close up by itself and..."

"The Hall activator also needs fluid circulation, Zolan.  Besides, failure of HS unit would inflict enormous power drain to other Hall functions.  Recommend, Zolan, that you return to Earth city and procure more bicarbonate."

"Are you mad?" Zolan snarled, suddenly feeling twice as sober in a matter of seconds.  "You just said that an attack was only two hours away.  You don't expect me to stop for soda, do you?"

"ETA into Five Corners by land transport, thirty-five minutes.  You can be there and back well before departure schedule," the Rover said confidently.

Zolan just stood there, stupefied into silence.

"Is this really necessary, Rover?" Zolan finally asked almost plaintively.

"I'm afraid so, Zolan.  If the HS unit fails, there is a seventy nine percent probability that the Hall activator and scanner will also suffer impairment.  If that should happen, we would be helpless as far as navigating in the Hall itself."

Damn.  He was in no condition to be driving, but he had no choice.  Walking over to the pilot console, he put the jug to rest against one of the tv monitors.

"One more recommendation, Zolan," the Rover added.  Zolan took off his bispecs and wiped the lenses on his overalls.  "Yes, Rover?"

"Hurry back.  The first wave of attacks could come before the two hour estimate has lapsed.  After all, the creatures we're dealing with are only human."

TEN

Five Corners, population 350, was the kind of town one could pass on nearby Interstate 5 and not even know it was a town at all.  About a mile of the east-west freeway, it boasted only one general market, one tavern, and one gas station; together, these decrepit edifices looked like the wind-blown remains of some nameless ghost town, long abandoned and forgotten by the rest of the world; indeed, the wandering eye would have to search diligently for any signs of life to indicate the contrary.

I5 was Five Corners’ link to the rest of humanity, but as far as folks there were concerned, it could take its promise to a noisy and bustling civilization and keep it.  Quiet people lived in Five Corners; old ranchers, a few retirees and a dog or two made up the tranquil population.  Few cars roamed the streets; most folks simply walked or rode bicycles or horses from their homes to take care of shopping or whatever.  Rarely, did anything even remotely different shatter the mundane routine of Five Corners life.  If there had been something to constitute an event, it probably would have been regarded as an unwanted intrusion to the quiet, stagnant inactivity that pervaded across the town twenty four hours a day.  Until today, folks here had never had such problems.

Zolan came to a screeching halt on a low tumulus that overlooked Five Corners and the nearby freeway.  Drunk, hot and ill-tempered, Zolan leaned forward in the pick-up and stared at the unbelievable scene below.

Five Corners had become a city besieged.  The winding, cracked asphalt road that led from I5 into the town was hopelessly congested with cars and trucks of every description.  Even the surrounding desert was smattered with more daring vehicles braving the sand and rock, to either enter the town, leave it, or to bypass completely the equally cluttered highway a mile away.  Never - as he was sure was the case with the few people who lived in the town - had Zolan seen Five Corners so busy.

Zolan grumbled to himself as he took in the sight.  He could see throngs of people milling about rather quickly on Main Street; there was in fact a large crowd at the entrance of Grant's Market that Zolan found particularly displeasing.  There was no guessing what was happening down in Five Corners today, or for that matter every city probably all over the world.  He couldn't blame the panicked multitudes below; for wasn't he soon to become a running, frightened refugee of Earth's last war? Still, the thought that he would presently be forced to fight his way through the demanding crowds at Grant's place was not a pleasant one.  Slamming his hands against the driver's wheel, he cursed and pushed a button on his wrist watch.

"Rover," he said through grit teeth, "are you tracking me?" The radio-watch blinked red, then filled the pick-up cab with the spaceship's deep, mechanical voice.

"Of course I'm tracking you Zolan."

Zolan wiped his wet forehead and continued to stare out at the town.

"Rover, this isn't going to work," Zolan insisted, "the town is being overrun.  There must be several hundred people alone trying to get into old Grant's store.  I'll never get the soda in time."

The ship didn't miss a beat.

"That is a disturbing estimate, Zolan, but I'm afraid you must continue in your efforts.  The HS unit is under considerable strain as it is in restricting Hall spread, and its effectiveness can expect to diminish as the Hall becomes critical.  The forced breach has already caused Hall opening to display uncharacteristic behavior."

"Nothing you can't handle, I hope, Rover?" he said.

"No, but I don't like it.  I'm monitoring major fault activity in this hemisphere, along with tectonic deformation .

"Which are all normal perturbations any planet will experience when the Hall appears.  You can't blame me for that."

The Rover remained silent. Zolan sighed.

"I'll try Annie's Pub, Rover.  If I get delayed, I suppose you can always pick me up on the way out.  This late, it doesn't really matter who sees you."

That much was true.  The frightened masses in Five Corners were far too preoccupied in scrounging for whatever they could in the way of food and water, preparing for a nightmare none had believed could ever happen.  The Rover could well have rolled down Main Street with a line of parade floats following it and still have attracted little notice.

"Affirmative," the Rover answered equably, then beeped off.

Zolan started up the truck, then crept over the ridge on the dirt road leading into town.  Not even aiming for Main Street, Zolan steered towards the barn-like building of Annie's tavern.  Cars still dominated the streets, and people rushed back and forth to and from Grant's place, but the general vicinity around Annie's bar was reasonably uncluttered.

Zolan grinded to a halt in back of the bar, then got out and stumbled to the front porch.  Across the street, the Desert Fill gas station was surrounded by an army of demanding vehicles.  Zolan fiddled with his bispecs, trying to spot Bob Howe, the station's owner, but the mass of metal and people around the pumps made this task impossible.

A shrill, resonant voice rang out, that made Zolan visibly jump.

"I'll be dipped! The Town Beast is still here."

Zolan looked up at Annie Robles, standing in the doorway with an empty beer mug in one hand.  She looked genuinely pleased to see Zolan; probably the only person in Five Corners who did, considering his unsavory reputation.  On the rare instances he ever came into the town, he was deliberately unpleasant to everyone he came into contact.  He was especially surly to Annie, but the big, friendly woman had taken a liking to Zolan from the first moment she laid eyes on him.  Too jovial to take offense, the more Zolan insulted her whenever he stopped in for a quick snort, the more Annie's adoration would grow for the man.  Zolan always found this slightly irritating, but he had to admit that though he detested everyone in Five Corners, Annie was probably the least objectionable.  He was convinced in any case that this was because she was always very generous with her liquor.