Joe Haldeman: Earthbound

“People flying,” Paul said. “Unless the planes had pilots, and the pilots were able to glide in and land. Not many can do that, without computers. Even if they were near a runway.”

Card nodded. “A lot of people in cars. The LA freeways would be a moving junk pile. Everybody on autopilot, going 150.”

“Don’t cars have failsafes?” I said.

“Yeah, but they’re like the opposite of an electromagnet, engine braking. I don’t see how they could work without current flowing.” My kid brother was suddenly an engineer with a lifetime of experience.

We got to the door of the motor pool building. Paul knocked twice and pushed it open. “Hello? Anybody here?”

“We’re over here,” a voice reverberated in the gloom. “Who are you?”

“Space Force pilot,” he sort of lied. “We were down on the beach, watching the launch.”

“So were we.” Sound of footsteps coming our way. A man and a woman in blue NASA coveralls came out of the murk. “When we couldn’t raise anyone, we came back here. What was that gunfire?”

“We don’t know,” Paul said. “Came from the reviewing stand, sounds like.”

“Press Relations getting rid of witnesses,” the man said.

“Be serious, Wilbur. I’m Katie, this is Wilbur…” She pointed at Paul. “You’re the famous guy. And you’re the Mars Girl.”

“When I was a girl.” I introduced Meryl.

“You went off to the aliens, the Others.” She shook her head. “My grandmother was a girl then, she watched the take-off. Brightest star in the sky. But you’re not, she’s eighty-some… I guess that relativity does work.”

I had to smile. “Seems to work for me.”

The man cleared his throat. “The Others are behind this? The rocket failing and the power going off?”

“As punishment,” Paul said, and explained what we’d seen. Not everybody had been glued to the cube during the launch. How long would it take for the word to get around? Word of mouth and written message, carried by hand.

Two more bursts of automatic-weapons fire. Wilbur went to the door and peered out in that direction. “Hope that’s our guys.”

“Has to be, doesn’t it?” Katie said. “But who are they shooting at?”

“Probably just shooting in the air, crowd control. But I wish we had a weapon here, just in case.”

“We have a couple,” I said, and he looked at me sharply. “We didn’t want to look dangerous, walking up here. They’re back on the road to the beach, with the rest of us.”

“Better bring ’em up.”

I started to reach for my cell; how long would that reflex survive? Went to the door and waved both arms.

The four of them came out. “Holy shit!” he said. “Is that a Martian?”

No, it’s two ostriches sharing a potato costume. Elza and Dustin trotted toward us; Namir came slowly, covering Snowbird. She was wearing a dirty white smock the size of a tablecloth, dragging along on four legs made for Martian gravity. She liked humans and Earth as abstractions, but I think the reality was getting a little hard on her.

“We heard there was a Martian on the base,” Katie said.

“They’re not dangerous,” Wilbur said.

“Heavens, no.” Snowbird might hurt you if she fell on you.

“The three people look dangerous,” she said, “though it might be the guns.”

“Soldiers,” I said, simplifying. “They were with us on the starship.” I introduced Elza and Dustin as they sidled in, and then Snowbird and Namir.

“Keep a lookout, Dustin,” Namir said. “Thank you for sheltering us. We shouldn’t be here long.” He gestured toward a long lunch table. “Let’s sit.”

Namir sat at the head of the table and began disassembling and inspecting his weapon. “If this were a military operation—”

“Which it’s not,” Paul said quietly.

“We won’t forget that. But if it were, there’s a standard hierarchy of concern: first ammunition, then water, then food. Communication is in there, irrelevant now, and mobility, which seems to be shoe leather. First ammunition. You don’t have any here?”

“No guns,” Wilbur said. “Couple of signal-flare pistols in the locker with the life rafts.”

“Water, we have plenty of,” Katie said, “our own water tank. Not much in the way of food. A snack machine, some left-over bagels.”

“Food is going to be the long-term concern, with supply lines broken down. Dustin, tell them about the farm. Fruit Farm?” Namir slapped his gun back together and traded places with Dustin.

“Yeah, the family farm, the commune where I grew up. It’s only about a couple of hundred miles to the north.”

“I thought they disowned you,” I said.

“Well, they did. But that was like seventy years ago. The conservative bunch who ran things will all have died out by now.”

“Long walk,” Paul said.

“Moving at night,” Namir said. “Still, less than ten days.”

“How far would you have to walk before you get out of the desert?” I asked.

“Twelve miles,” Wilbur said. “Actually, 11.6, going straight west on the access road just north of here. Where is this farm?”

“Near Viva Lento,” Dustin said. “Up by the Oregon border.”

“Head north on 17,” Katie said.

“Good as any. No traffic.”

“What are you two going to do?” I asked. “Strength in numbers, if you want to come with us.”

“No, I’d better head home,” she said.

Wilbur nodded. “No disrespect, Ms. Snowbird, but I don’t think I want to be traveling with a Martian.”

“I wouldn’t either,” Snowbird said. You could never tell when they were being ironic, or just logical.

“All of us ought to ransack this place for provisions,” Namir said. “Could you show me those snack machines?”

We followed Wilbur through the gloom to the snack bar alcove. There were two machines full of snacks, behind glass, which turned out to be unbreakable plastic. We toppled them over with a crash, and Wilbur found a crowbar that allowed us to break the locks and pry the backs open. Satisfying in an obscure way.

The machines weren’t operated by money, but by ration card. So Wilbur or Katie could sit there and get a candy bar every four hours. We didn’t have cards, not having yet joined the 22nd century.

While the men ransacked the machines, I went with Katie on a fruitless search for something like knapsacks to carry the booty in. In the mail room, I found a metal cart, a frame that held an empty mail bag and rolled on four sturdy casters. We took it to the water rescue lockers, where I liberated two flare pistols with two belts of four flare rockets each.

Back at the snack bar alcove, we let Katie and Wilbur stuff their pockets and two bags, then arranged the rest into piles according to shelf life, so we could put the relatively perishable things on top. Fruit and sandwiches that had been refrigerated. A drink machine yielded ten liter bottles of water and a couple dozen less useful soft drinks and near beer.

My rolling cart would hold about a quarter of the bounty. Nobody turned up anything like knapsacks, but a storage room had a drawer full of random sizes of cloth bags. Together we could carry all of the water and most of the food. We could leave behind most of the soft drinks and near beer.

Snowbird insisted on carrying two light bags of snacks, though she couldn’t eat any of it. She refused water. “I can live a week or more without it. I come from a dry planet.” And she wasn’t going to last a week unless they turned the power back on.

Katie and Wilbur wished us luck and headed home, facing hours of walking. Neither had family to worry about, but Katie had cats and fish to feed.

“Might as well feed the fish to the cats,” Meryl said after they left. “Or fry them up.”