Larry Niven - Footfall

Grushin shrugged. “Minor ways. An example. He has aboard Kosmograd his old sergeant, the maintenance crew chief of his helicopter during the Ethiopian conflict. This man lost both legs in the war. When it came time for this sergeant to be rotated back to Earth, Rogachev found excuses to keep him. He said that no better man was available, that it was vital to Kosmograd that this man remain.”

“Was he right?’

Grushin shrugged. “Again, that is something I will know when I arrive there. Understand, Comrade Academician. I am to be only a Deputy Commander of Kosmograd when I board. Thtsikova will be First Deputy. But I will report directly to you. If there is need, you may remove Rogachev from command.”

Bondarev nodded comprehendingly. Inside he was frightened.

I command this space station, but there are many technical matters. I will not know which are important and which are not. I require advice-but whose advice can I trust? He smiled thinly. That would be the dilemma faced by Chairman Petrovskiy and First Secretary Narovchatov. It is why I have been given this task.

It will be a great opportunity, though. At last, Pavel Bondarev thought, at last I can tell them where to aim the space telescope. And be able to see the pictures instantly.

It was a bright clear spring day, with brilliant sunshine, the kind of day that made it worthwhile living through Bellingham’s rainy seasons. The snow-crowned peaks of Mount Baker and the Twin Sisters stood magnificently above the foothills to the east. The view was impressive even to añative; it was enough to have Angelenos gawking. They stood near the old Bellingham city hail, a red brick castle complete with towers and Chuckanut granite, and alternately looked out across the bay to the San Juan Islands, then back to the mountains.

When Kevin Shakes saw a uniform coming toward them he wondered if something was wrong. His eyes flicked toward the truck-had he parked in the wrong place? A city kid’s reaction. In a small town like Bellingham you could park nearly anywhere you liked.

The uniform was brown, short-sleeved, decorated with badges and a gun belt. The man wearing it was three or four years older than Kevin’s eighteen. He was grinning and taking off his hat, showing fine blond hair in a ragged cut. “Hello. Miranda,” he called. “Is this the whole clan?”

“All but Dad and Mom.” Miranda was smiling, too. “Leigh, meet Kevin and Carl and Owen. We were just doing some shopping.”

Carl and Owen-thirteen and eleven, respectively, with identical straight brown hair but a foot’s difference in height between them-were looking mistrustfully at the uniformed man, who seemed mainly interested in Miranda. He said, “Looks like you bought out the store.”

Kevin said, “Well, maybe Miranda told you. we, don’t own the ranch all by ourselves. There are three other families, and they each own a fifth, and they’re all coming up for a vacation.”

“Won’t that be crowded?”

Kevin shrugged. Miranda lost a little of the smile. “Yeah. We’ve never done this before. The idea was to take turns, one week Out of five, a vacation spot, you know? But it never seems to work out that way. We’ve lucked out a lot. This time, well, maybe it’ll work out. The other families aren’t as big as we are. But I don’t know them very well.”

Miranda and the cop drifted away, and Kevin let them have their privacy. Later, when they were in the truck, he asked, “Who is he? How did you meet him?”

“Leigh Young. He was at the club and we played some tennis. He’s not very good, but he could be.”

“You like him?”

“Some.”

“I think Dad would approve of your dating a policeman. Useful.”

Miranda smiled. “It doesn’t hurt that he’s got good legs, either.”

Kevin looked back to be sure his younger brothers were settled inside the truck with the mounds of groceries before he started the truck. “Sure going to be crowded.”

“Yeah.”

“Rafidy, what do you think about all this? Is Dad right?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t used to think so. All our friends laugh at George, old Super-Survivor. I think Dad used to laugh at him, too.”

“You never know with Dad,” Kevin said. Miranda was only a year older than Kevin, and they’d become good friends as well as brother and sister. They both knew about their father’s half smiles.

He also kept their home computers busy analyzing the cost of everything they did. William Adolphus Shakes hadn’t wasted a nickel in years.

Gee, Kevin, there really is an alien spaceship.”

“Yeah. And Mrs. Wilson says it’s been hiding for a long time. Claims she was out at some lab when-when something happened. But nobody knew it was the aliens, then. Why would they hide out that long?’

“I don’t know.” She opened the glove compartment. “At least it’s pretty here,” Miranda pushed a tape into the player, and the stereo crashed out with the sounds of a new group. “Glad we have the tapes,” she shouted.

“Yeah.” There sure wasn’t anything on radio up here. William Shakes and Max Rohrs walked back toward the house, across the concrete apron Rohrs had poured last week. It felt dry and solid beneath their feet. Rohrs was a tall, broad-shouldered, muscular man. William Shakes felt like a dwarf beside him, though there wasn’t that much difference. Rohrs said, “Looks like we’re finished. If it gives you any trouble, you know my number.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I guess I’ll be seeing you.”

“I hope so. You’re good for business,” Rohrs said. “The way you’ve been planting pipe, I wonder if you’re planning to open up a hotel.” When Shakes didn’t react he said, “Just kidding.”

“Well, I’m not laughing. It’s going to feel like a hotel. We’ve got three more families coming up. I expect we’ve finally got enough septic tanks to keep everyone happy, and I know we’ve got enough beds.”

“That’s still a lot of elbows to be taking up your elbow room.”

Shakes nodded. A secretive smile lived just underneath his blank expression. Rohrs had built the septic tank last April. He’d been told that the second septic tank on the other side of the house was too old, too small. It was neither. Rohrs had just finished pouring this concrete apron; but he had no way of knowing that there was a second concrete apron under it, covered with rock and dirt. And under that, a roomy bomb shelter that nobody knew about.

William Shakes’ smile showed in Max Rohrs’ rearview mirror as Rohrs drove away.

Jack and Harriet McCauley had invited them into the Enclave six years ago. The Shakes had known pretty well what they were getting into. Jack and Harriet, and several others, were survivalists, perpetually prepared for the end of civilization. They collected news clippings on Soviet encroachments and economic failures and the national collapse of law and church and patriotism. They were bores on the subject.

Why had they picked on Bill and Gwen Shakes? Was it only because they lived in the neighborhood, or because they could afford the expense? Or because they were good listeners and never called the McCauleys fools? In fact neither Bill nor Gwen thought that any man was a fool to prepare for disaster. But disasters couldn’t be predicted. The Enclave was preparing for something far too specific. Reality would fool them when it came.

So the Shakes had not jumped at the chance. They had talked around the subject… until Bill realized what the Enclave group had in mind.

They joined. They paid their dues, a moderately hefty fee. They bought and maintained equipment as they were told to. Guns and spare food were good to have around anyway. They stored the pamphlets and books and even read some of them, and taught the kids firearms safety. At the Thursday meetings they argued strongly for buying a place of refuge in some near-wilderness area, preferably near some small agricultural village. Ultimately they found such a place, and when the rest of the Enclave agreed, the Shakes had paid 20 percent of the costs.