Larry Niven - Footfall

“You could be right.”

Her headlights picked up a reflective sign.

“Gas food ahead,” Melissa said. “We could use some. Eat and run the car on the gas—”

“Very funny.” Jeri watched for the off-ramp. There it was. Everything was dark over there, but she took the ramp anyway. If a town was nearby, it was invisible.

“There’s the station,” Melissa said. “Somebody’s in it.”

“You’re right.” Jeri pulled into the station.

“Yes, ma’am?” a voice said from nowhere. The station attendant switched on his flashlight. He was a young man, certainly not more than twenty, and dark. Jeri thought he looked Indian.

This is the right part of the country for it. “Uh — I need some gasoline. Badly.”

“The power’s off,” the attendant said. “Can’t get the pumps to work.”

“Oh. But I have a long way to go, and I really need some gasoline. Isn’t there anything you can do?”

He looked thoughtful. “I have a hand pump. I suppose I could pump some out into a can. It’d be a lot of work—”

“Oh, please,” Jeri said. “I’d be glad to pay you.”

“Not sure money’s worth much now. Did you hear the news?”

“Yes—” If you don’t want money, what do you want?

“Guess it’ll he all right, though.” He went inside the station. The flashlight flickered through the windows.

He seems nice enough. So why am! scared? Is civilization that fragile?

Part of her kept saying Yes!

The eastern windows blazed. The television hissed and sprayed random light. The radio spoke of an explosion on Interstate 5 between Everett and Marysville.

Close. Isadore rolled to his feet and turned the TV off. The radio announcer sounded hysterical. That’s got to be the long causeway, Isadore thought. We got over it just in time …

All of the kids were asleep. Vicki Tate-Evans had staggered away an hour ago. Her husband George was snoring on the couch with Clara’s feet in his lap. They got along fine as long as they were both asleep.

Isadore felt punchy, twitchy, as if he should be doing something. War in the sky … Just in time! Clara was right, push on, don’t stop, something might happen. If we’d waited any longer for Jeri, it would have been too late.

And where is she? On the road somewhere, and nothing I can do about it.

We were near enough dead getting in last night. He remembered the bright flashes on the highway behind them. Maybe that was the causeway. We hadn’t got to Sedro Wooley, so if we’d been an hour later — That’s cutting things close …

They’d come in ready to collapse, to find the television set running and a dead silence in the crowd that faced the set. When the TV went blank they’d all trooped outside to watch the war in the sky.

He said, as he’d said before, “Son of a bitch.”

“Yeah,” Shakes said. He came in from the kitchen carrying a cup of coffee. “You were right.” He looked like he would never sleep again.

“We were right.” Isadore laughed, and didn’t like the high pitch of it. “Seventeen years we were right before it looked even sensible. We should be putting the shutters over the windows. We should have bricked up the windows! Is anybody feeling ambitious?”

Nobody stood up and went out to fix the metal screens in place. Shakes said, “I never thought it was real.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“My whole damn family gets to use this place for only about thirty percent of what it would cost us. That’s a damn good deal for a vacation spot. I don’t even mind admitting it now. We haven’t slacked off. This place is built to keep all of us alive, and me and my family did most of it. You haven’t even seen the shelter, Izzie.”

Clara suddenly sat upright. “Food. How are the food supplies?”

“The food supplies are fine,” Shakes said in some irritation.

“Good. I could eat your arm off. I’m going to make breakfast,” Clara said, and she stood, staggering a little, and made her way into the kitchen, veering around Jack and Harriet McCauley, who were asleep on the rug.

By eight-thirty the line ran around the corner. The original police had gone, but two other pairs had come, and one team of two had stayed.

Rosabell Hruska had come at eight. She was a slender, frightened woman in her twenties. She carried a baby girl, and she didn’t talk to anyone except one of the visiting police.

At ten Harry watched an old man in a guard’s uniform open the doors. The line behind him rustled impatiently, but he waited. When the doors opened, Harry held it for Rosabell. Two more elbowed past him before he could let go and get to a cashier.

The cashier looked nervous.

At least there is a cashier, Harry thought. He’d been worried. Would they all stay home? There were twelve windows, but only four had cashiers.

“I want to make a withdrawal,” said Harry.

“We’re restricting withdrawals to five hundred dollars.” The cashier was an older woman, probably long since graduated from sitting in a cage and talking to customers, now filling in. She looked defiant and afraid at the same time.

The eastern banks had been open for three hours. Harry wondered, not whether there was a rush on the banks, but how bad it was.

Two windows down, Rosabell was shouting at the younger cashier she’d chosen. “It’s our money!” she screamed.

Too bad, Harry thought. But it was no skin off Harry’s nose. He had only fifty-eight dollars in his account. He asked for it all in coins, got two twenty-dollar rolls of quarters and eighteen ones. Then he moved to the deposit boxes. His contained one Mexican gold peso and thirty silver dimes. He’d been able to keep them because of the symbolic number; if he’d spent one, he’d have spent them all.

Once there had been a lot more. He took his money and left the bank. Tap city, he thought. Tap city on my total resources.

The radio spoke of the need for calm.

The Herdmaster’s family occupied two chambers near the center of Message Bearer. Space was at a premium. The sleeproom was not large, though it housed two adults and three children. It was roomier now; the Herdmaster’s eldest male child was aboard one of the digit ships that would presently assault the target world.

The mudroom, smaller yet, gave privacy. Some discussions the children might be permitted to hear, but not this one.

Herdmaster Pastempeh-keph lay on his side in the mud. He was far too relaxed for his mate’s aplomb. “It’s a thoroughly interesting situation,” he said.

K’turfookeph blared a trumpet blast of rage. A moment later her voice was quietly intense. “If your guards heard that they’ll think we’ve lost our reason … as your Advisor has. Keph, you must dissociate yourself from him!”

“I can’t. That is one of the interesting aspects. The sleepers expected to wake as masters of the ship. They are as docile as one could hope, and no more. Fathisteh-tulk was their Herdmaster. They will not permit me to remove him completely from power, not even if they know him to be insane. They would lose too much status.”

K’turfookeph sprayed warm water along her mate’s back. He stirred in pleasure, and high waves marched toward the high rim of the tub. Gravity was inconveniently low, so near the ship’s center. But any force from outside would destroy the ship before it penetrated so far.