Kate Wilhelm - Let the Fire Fall

Blake grinned at the reports and never denied anything or admitted anything. He flew low over the mountain, under the Air Patrol radar. He didn’t want to be challenged. It always upset the Air Patrol to challenge his craft and see it elude them. The copter he had stolen over two years ago had undergone radical changes, so that although it looked much the same, it was not. Near Harrisburg the challenge came. Blake sighed. He hadn’t really expected to be allowed to fly from upper Pennsylvania all the way to Cincinnati without being hailed. Any unauthorized craft was a menace to air traffic, theoretically, and there could be no exceptions.

“Aircraft of E designation, heading west, number 927-083, proceed immediately to Air Patrol strip A-27. You will be escorted by an Air Patrol craft.”

Blake looked at his instruments, setting his course, then looked for the A.P. craft. It was a hovercraft outfitted with a booster jet. It dipped at him, turned slightly to the left, slowing down somewhat for him to follow. He maintained his course. They were passing north of Harrisburg, well out of the traffic lanes. The voice repeated the message, this time more stridently. They were now west of Harrisburg. The designated field was changed from A-27, to C-33. The hovercraft drew in closer and Blake could see the cop making a hand signal for him to turn to. He thumbed his nose and pressed his acceleration stud. The copter lifted vertically, shooting up like a rocket. At two thousand feet he leveled and, still accelerating, streaked westward. There was a moment of leeway while the cop got over his stunned surprise, then he used his booster and came after Blake. The copter dropped as suddenly as it had risen, dropped and reduced speed so that the hovercraft overshot it and lost it before the pilot could make a turn. Blake hugged the ground and headed for the nearest wooded area, half a mile away, folding his blades all he went. When he entered the woods the craft was a ground effect vehicle. The cop searched the area for half an hour before giving up.

When Blake got near Cincinnati, he crossed the river to approach from the Kentucky side. It was less heavily populated here, and the hills that lined the river made better cover than the myriad subdivisions where the houses stood window to window, matched up like dominoes over the flatter Ohio land. It was a dark, frosty night, no moon, no stars either, hidden as they were by the dense layers of smoke, smog, and airborne wastes of all sorts. The copter made the only noise, and not wanting to attract more attention, Blake converted it again to a ground effect vehicle and skimmed over the black earth. Excitement and anticipation were rising in him.

He took a wide detour around the U.N. area of the spaceship, and his new direction took him within two blocks of the Voice of God Memorial Temple erected as near the spot as had been possible where Obie first communicated with God. Blake saw the roadblocks in time to turn again; every road leading to the river was blocked off. He stopped at the side of the woods and considered his next move. He didn’t know what was happening in the area, but he’ did know that he didn’t want to get mixed up in anything at all, not now, not when home was within hailing distance practically. The sky was being patrolled by police copters and hovercraft, so he didn’t even consider taking to the air. He knew his little craft would get through the woods without any trouble, but there was the river after that, and he was certain that if there was an official net out, the river would be heavily patrolled. While he was sitting there quietly trying to decide what to do, he heard a distant rumble as indistinct and rolling as summer thunder. He cocked his head. He knew the sound. Here? Out in the middle of the woods?

He lifted the craft from the roadbed so he could get a better view and he saw them coming. People, thousands of people, carrying electric torches, kerosene torches, flares. Over them the police craft hovered, spotlights blazing down on the masses. Blake couldn’t hear the message being directed at them, but he suspected that they were being ordered to turn back. The police craft dipped and swayed, and others joined it. A line of ground cars was across the road, and there were more police manning that barricade. Blake shook his head. There were thousands of marchers. And four, five hovercraft. Where were the National Guards? Why didn’t the cops release anti-mob gas? His eyes narrowed. They wanted them to get through. The cops were going through the motions only. He watched the oncoming mob for another moment, then turned into the woods, keeping high enough to see them. They stretched across the road, coming in like a tidal wave, chanting, yelling, screaming, roaring. The hovercraft over them simply lighted their way, and now and again Blake could catch snatches of the messages being sent down: “…turn back… arrest… anti-mob gas…”

It meant nothing. If they had wanted to stop the mob they would have done so already. If they made a move now, with so many people packed along the road, there would be a stampede. Thousands would be trampled. Blake had thought at first that they were heading toward the U.N. area and the spaceship; now he realized that they should have turned left. They were still coming directly toward him. The temple! They were attacking the Voice of God temple.

Very cautiously he retreated, keeping in the woods, invisible against the black of the trees, until he had a view of the temple. The long hairs were there. Not as many as the gang marching down the road, but ready for them. He nodded then. It was as predictable as a slum war when the short hairs and long hairs mixed it up on Saturday night. Predictable if bigger than any slum war he had seen. He was too far from either group to see what their weapons were. He knew he should leave before the battle started. He had no desire to enter into it on either side. He retreated the way he had come, was stopped again by the instruments on his control panel. Interference ahead. He directed his scanners to probe the source and his mouth tightened. The defenders had set up ambushes, probably throughout the woods to pick off those that decided to run. He crept cautiously to his left until he spotted another patrol. They were taking up positions up and down the woods paralleling the road.

The advancing mob was much louder. when he realized that he was not going to be allowed to leave. He began to search for a place to sit it out, and brought his craft to a stop high in a gigantic spruce tree that was thick and black all the way to its peak, over one hundred feet above the ground. The short hairs coming up the road made such a din now that the trees trembled. Blake sealed off his craft and opened his oxygen supply to escape the noise. He trained his receiver toward the park where the temple stood, adjusted the volume so that the oncoming roar was bearable, then waited.

When the mob got within a hundred feet of the park, brilliant lights suddenly came on on both sides of the road. The scraggly hordes were illuminated and blinded. There were screams and a milling about as of hens terrorized in an enclosed barnyard by the unexpected incursion of a drooling fox. From his position high over it all Blake could see clearly the panic on the faces, the fear of instant death. He expected to hear the soft stutter of stun guns, but there was nothing. Only the glare of spotlights. Those farther back on the road were pushing on, an irresistible force that would have overrun those who had halted had they not moved ahead. The mob became tighter, body against body, flares and torches and electric lights now hanging down unused, unusable. The noise lessened. Those approaching the park were silent and very afraid. From off to the right there came three quick explosions, not very loud, leaving a deeper stillness afterward. There was one more explosion, then silence. Blake turned his gaze to the park and studied the encircling woods. A movement had caught his eye. He saw it again. The short hairs had split off from the main crowd and were gathering at the edge of the clearing. He couldn’t tell how many of them there were. The masses below him were being pushed reluctantly toward the clearing and the approach to the temple grounds now.