Larry Niven - Footfall

“Would looters know that?”

A silence fell. Jack said, “Shall we let him in if he shows at the gate? Assuming he’s got equipment and supplies. But I see no reason to phone him up and invite him.”

There were nods, and some relief showed. George said, “Harry Reddington wants to come.”

Two heads shook slowly. Jack McCauley asked, “Have you seen Hairy Red lately?”

George hesitated, then nodded. “We used to be friends. I guess we still are. Hell, we took motorcycles up along the Pacific Coast Highway one time. Three hundred miles. We’d stop in a bar and Harry would sing and play that guitar and get us our drinks that way, and maybe our dinners. Hairy Red the Minstrel. I—”

“Lately?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him lately.”

“He looks like he’s about to have twins, and he has to use that cane. It isn’t because he had those accidents.” Jack shook his head in bewildered pity. “Rear-ended twice in two weeks, in two different cars, and neither of them had head rests! Typical of Harry. But that’s not the point. The insurance company’s been fastshuffling him for two years, and his lawyer tells him he won’t win if he’s too healthy when he gets on the stand.” Now Jack’s speech slowed and his enunciation improved, as if he were making a point for someone who didn’t quite understand English. “Harry Red has been letting his insurance company tell him to stay sick! So he doesn’t exercise, and he lets his belly grow like a parasite.”

“All right, all right. Ken Dutton?”

“He had his chance.”

“Interesting mind. He collects some odd stuff, and it all seems to make sense. Maybe we’re too much alike, the four of us.”

“George, you offered to let him in. He waffled. Now there’s something coming, and suddenly it’s not fun and games anymore. He could have got in when it was fun and games — Why didn’t he? Was it the money?”

“Oh, partly. Not just the dues for the Enclave, but the gear we make each other buy. He has to pay alimony… Only he’s got gear. It’s just not like ours. And partly it’s because he never really gets all the way into anything.”

“Hardly a recommendation. What has he got for weapons?”

George smiled reluctantly. “That crossbow. It’d kill a bear, that thing, and it’s advertised as ‘suitable for SWAT teams.’ And his liquor, he calls it ‘trade goods,’ and he really does keep an interesting bar …”

“A crossbow. And a rocket pistol! I’ve seen his little 1960s Gyrojet. How many shells has he got for it? It’s for damn sure they’ll never make any more. He could have been in and he didn’t pay his dues, George!”

Isadore said, “You could say the same about Jeri Wilson. We want her, don’t we?”

“You’re married, Ia. And I’m very married.”

“Martie isn’t. John Fox isn’t, and we’d take him. There are men we want besides us, aren’t there? Do we want the men seriously outnumbering the women? I don’t think we do.”

“We can’t invite the whole city,” Jack said. “We don’t have the room. Izzie, who else are you going to try to drag in? You knew we wouldn’t have Harry, and you wouldn’t want him anyway.”

“It’s just that a month from now … I can see us all being terribly apologetic.”

“The hell you say,” said Jack.

“This could be our invitation to join the Galactic Union. It could be a flock of… funny looking alien grad students here to give us cheap jewelry for answering their questions.”

George made a rude noise. Jack, at least, looked more thoughtful than amused. Isadore steamed on through the interruption. “…and who knows what they might consider cheap jewelry? Okay, so we’re going off to hide. Somebody has to. Just in case. But I can hear the remarks from some people I like, because we left them outside.”

Jack’s look was stony. “Remember a science-fiction story called ‘To Serve Man’?”

“Sure. They even made, a Twilight Zone out of it. About an alien handbook on how to deal with the human race.”

George smiled, “Some science-fiction fans actually published the cookbook,” and sobered. “Yeah. Somebody has to hide till we know what they want. And just in case, we do not take liabilities.”

The Areo Plaza Mall was deep underground, with four-story shafts reaching high to street level. Around the corner from the government bookstore was a B. Dalton’s, and near that was a radio station with its control room in showcase windows. A few people with nothing better to do sat on benches watching the radio interviewer. His guest was a science-fiction author who’d come to plug his latest book but couldn’t resist talking about the alien ship.

The government bookstore had been crowded all day. Ken Dutton noticed Harry shuffling in, but was too busy to hail him.

Harry Reddington was still using a cane. Ken remembered him as a biker. He still had the massive frame, but it had turned soft years ago. He’d trimmed his beard and cut his hair short even before the two successive whiplash accidents. He might have lost some weight lately — he’d claimed to when Ken saw him last — but the belly was still his most prominent feature. He stopped just past the doorway and looked around at shelves upon shelves of books and pamphlets before he sought out Ken Dutton behind the counter. “Hi, Ken.”

“Hello, Harry. What’s up?”

Harry ran his hand back through graying scarlet hair. “I was listening to the news. Not much on the intruder. It’s still coming and I got to thinking how most of these books will be obsolete an hour after that thing sets down.”

“Some will.” Dutton waved toward a shelf of military books. “Others, maybe not. History still means something. Some will go obsolete, but which books? Maybe medicine. Maybe they’ve got something that’ll cure any disease and they’re just dying to give it away.”

“Yeah.” Harry didn’t smile. “I remember there’s one on how to take care of a car—”

“More than one.”

“Cars and bikes and… and bicycles, for that matter. Okay, maybe they’ve got matter transmitters. Talked to George today?”

“No. I guess I should have,” Dutton said. Hell’s bells. I should have joined that survivalist outfit when I had a chance. Now. “I’ll call after we close.”

“Good luck,” Parry said.

“You talked to them?”

“Yeah. They’re not recruiting. But they’re running scared. Scared of the aliens a little, and of the Russians a lot.” Harry looked thoughtful. “George mentioned a book on cannibal cookery. Supposed to be funny, but it was well-researched, he said—”

“We don’t carry it. And, Harry, I’m not sure I want to think you’ve got a copy.”

“Well, you never know Harry couldn’t keep it up, and laughed. All right, but maybe what we’ll need is survival manuals. I thought I’d come in and look around.”

The shelves had been seriously depleted. Harry chose a few and came to the counter. “There was a new book from the Public Health Service, on stretching exercises. Got it in yet?”

“Sure, but we’re out. Others had the same thought you did.” “Ken, you’re actually one of the Enclave group, aren’t you?”

Ken hesitated. “They invited me in. I haven’t moved yet.” And maybe it’s too late, maybe not. Jesus.

“Are you hooked for dinner?”

“I don’t know. Need to make a phone call.” He went to the back room and dialed George’s number. Vicki answered.