No one knows how many objects ranging in size from a few miles in diameter downward may pass near the Earth each year without being noticed.Dr. Robert S. Richardson, Hale Observatory, Mount Wilson
Tim Hamner was waiting by the TravelAll when Harvey came out of the studio building. Harvey frowned. "Hello, Tim. What are you doing out here?"
"If I go inside, it's a sponsor calling, and that's a big deal, right? I don't want a big deal. I want a favor."
"Favor?"
"Buy me a drink and I'll tell you about it."
Harvey eyed Tim's expensive suit and tie. Not really appropriate for the Security First. He drove to the Brown Derby. The parking attendant recognized Tim Hamner, and so did the hostess; she led them in immediately.
"Okay, what's it about?" Harvey asked when they had a booth.
"I liked being out at JPL with you," Hamner said. "I've sort of lost control of my comet. Nothing I can do the experts can't do better, and the same with the TV series. And it is your series. But . . ." Tim paused to sip his drink. He wasn't used to asking for favors, especially from people who worked for him. "Harvey, I'd like to come along on more interviews. Unpaid, of course."
Oh, shit. What happens if I tell him it can't be done? Will he talk to his agency? I sure as hell don't need a test of strength just now. "It's not always so exciting, you know. Right now we're doing man-in-the-street interviews."
"Aren't those pretty dull?"
"They can be. But sometimes you get pure gold. And it doesn't hurt to check in with the viewers now and then." And I work my way, goddammit!
"What are you looking for? Can you use much of it?"
Harvey shrugged. "I won't throw away good film—but that's not the point. I want attitudes. I want the unexpected. If I knew what I was after, I could have someone else do it. And . . ."
"Yeah?" Tim's eyes narrowed in the dim light. He'd seen a funny expression on Randall's face.
"Well, there are strange reactions I don't understand. They started after Johnny called it the Hammer—"
"Damn him!"
"And they'll probably get stronger after we air the Great Hot Fudge Sundae strike. Tim, it's almost as if a lot of people wanted the end of the world."
"But that's ridiculous."
"Maybe. But we're getting it." Ridiculous to you, Harvey thought. Not so ridiculous to a man trapped in a job he hates, or a woman forced to sleep with a slob of a boss to keep her job . . . "Look, you're the sponsor. I can't stop you, but I insist on making the rules. Also, we start early in the mornings—"
"Yeah." Tim drained his glass. "I'll get used to it. They say you can get used to hanging if you hang long enough."
* * *
The TravelAll was crammed full of gear and people. Cameras, tape equipment, a portable field desk for paper work. Mark Czescu had trouble finding a place to sit. Now there were three in back, since Hamner claimed the front seat. Mark was reminded of trips out to the desert with the dedicated bike racers: motorcycles and mechanic's equipment braced with care, riders shoved in as afterthought. As he waited for the others to come out of the studio building, Mark turned on the radio.
An authoritative voice spoke with the compelling quality of the professional orator. "And this Gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come. When ye therefore see the abomination of desolation spoken of by Daniel the prophet stand in the holy place: then let them which be in Judea flee into the mountains." The voice quality changed, from reader to preacher. "My people, have you not seen what is now done in the churches? Is this not that abomination? 'Whoso readeth, let him understand.' And the Hammer approaches! It comes to punish the wicked.
" 'For then shall be great tribulation, such as was not since the beginning of the world unto this time, no, nor ever shall be. And except those days be shortened, there should be no flesh saved.' "
"Really lays it on," a voice said behind Mark. Charlie Bascomb got into the TravelAll.
"The Gospel has been brought to you by the Reverend Henry Armitage," the radio announcer said. "The Voice of God is broadcast in every language throughout the world in obedience to the commandment. Your contributions make these broadcasts possible."
"Sure hear him a lot nowadays," Mark said. "He must have a lot of new contributors."
They drove out into Burbank and parked near the Warner Brothers Studios. It was a good street: lots of shops, from hole-in-the-wall camera stores to expensive restaurants. People flowed along the wide avenue. Starlets and production people from the studios mingled with straight business types from insurance offices. Middle-class housewives parked station wagons and took to the streets. A famous TV personality who lived in nearby Toluca Lake strolled past. Mark recognized the ski-shaped nose.
While the crew set up camera and sound equipment, Harvey took Tim Hamner into a restaurant for coffee. When everything was ready, Mark went inside. As he neared the booth he heard Randall speaking. Harvey's voice had an edge that Mark recognized.
". . . whole purpose is to find out what they think. What I think, I hide in neutral questions and a neutral voice. What you think, you hide in silence. Clear?"
"Absolutely," Hamner drawled. He looked more awake than he had on the drive out. "So what do I do?"
"You can look useful. You can help Mark with the release forms. And you can stay out of the way."
"I've got a good tape machine," Hamner said. "I could—"
"We couldn't use anything you've got," Randall said. "You're not in the union." He looked up and saw Mark, got the nod and left.
Mark walked out with Hamner. "He gave me that same routine," Mark said. "Really ate me out."
"I believe you. I think if I blew an interview for him he'd abandon me on the spot. And cabs home from here cost a lot."
"You know," Mark said, "somehow I got the idea you were the sponsor."
"Yup. That Harv Randall is one tough mother," Hamner said. "Have you been in this business very long?"
Mark shook his head. "Just temporary, just working for Harv. Maybe one day I'll do it permanently, but you know how the TV business is. It'd cut into my freedom."
There was smog in Burbank. "I see Hertz has reclaimed the mountains," Hamner said.
Mark looked up in surprise. "How's that?"
Hamner pointed northward where the San Fernando Valley horizon faded into a brown smear. "Sometimes we keep mountains up there. I even have an observatory on one of them. But I guess Hertz Rent-A-Mountain has taken them back today." They reached the TravelAll. The cameras were set up, ready to zoom in for close-ups or pan out for a wide view. Harvey Randall had already stopped a muscular man in hard hat and work clothes; he looked out of place among the shoppers and business types.
". . . Rich Gollantz. We're putting up the Avery Building over there."
Harvey Randall's voice and manner were intended to get the subjects talking; his questions could be filmed again if they were needed on camera. "Have you heard much about the Hamner-Brown Comet?"
Gollantz laughed. "I don't spend as much time thinking about comets as you might expect." Harvey smiled. "But I did see the 'Tonight Show' where they said it could hit the Earth."
"And what did you think about that?" Harvey asked.
"Buncha . . . crap." Gollantz eyed the camera. "Same kind of thing people are always saying. Ozone's gone, we'll all die. And remember 'sixty-eight, when all the fortune-tellers said California was going to slide off into the sea, and the crazies took to the hills?"
"Yes, but the astronomers say that if the head of the comet hit. it would cause—"
"Ice age," Gollantz interrupted. "I know about it. I saw that thing in Astronomy magazine." He grinned and scratched under the yellow metal helmet. "Now that'd really be something. Think about all the new construction projects we'd need. And the Welfare boys could pass out polar bear furs instead of checks. Only, somebody'd have to shoot bears for them. Maybe I could get that job." Gollantz grinned widely. "Yep, it might be fun. I wouldn't mind trying life as a mighty hunter."
Harvey dug for more. The interview wasn't likely to produce usable film, but that wasn't its purpose. Harvey was fishing, with the camera as bait. The network didn't approve of this method of research. Too expensive, too crude, and unreliable, they said. They got that opinion straight from the motivational-research outfits that wanted NBS to hire them.
A few more questions. Science and technology. Gollantz was enjoying being on camera. Had he heard about the Apollo shot to study the comet, and what did he think of that?
"Love it. Be a good show. Lots of good pictures, and it'll cost me less than I paid for Rose Bowl tickets, I guarantee you that. Hey, I hope they let Johnny Baker go up again."
"Do you know Colonel Baker?"
"No. Wish I did. Love to meet him. But I saw the pictures of him fixing Skylab. Now that was construction work. And when he got back down, he sure gave those NASA bastards hell, didn't he? Hey, I got to be moving. We got work to do." He waved and moved off. Mark chased him with a release form.
"Sir? Moment of your time?"
The young man walked with his head down, lost in thought. He was not bad-looking, but his face was curiously wooden. He showed a flash of anger when Randall interrupted his thoughts. "Yes?"
"We're talking with people about Hamner-Brown Comet. May I have your name?"
"Fred Lauren."
"Have you any thoughts on the comet?"
"No." Almost reluctantly he added, "I watched your program." Muscles knotted at Fred Lauren's jaws, in a manner that Harvey recognized. Some men go through life perpetually angry. The muscles that clamp their jaws and grind their teeth are very prominent.
Harvey wondered if he had found a mental patient. Still . . . "Have you heard there's a chance the head of the comet might hit the Earth?"
"Hit the Earth?" The man seemed stunned. Abruptly he turned and walked away striding rapidly, much faster than he'd approached.
"What was that all about?" Tim Hamner asked.
"Don't know," Harvey said. Man on his way to do murder? The violently insane are constantly released back to the public. Not enough hospitals. Was Lauren one of those, or just a man who'd had a nonfight with his boss? "We'll never know. If you can't stand not knowing, you're in the wrong game."
* * *
Fred had not been watching Randall's previous program. He had been watching Colleen watch a program about a comet . . . but some of what he had heard began to surface. The Earth was in the comet's path. If the comet hit, civilization would end in fire.
The end of the world. I'll be dead. We'll all be dead. He gave up all thought of going back to work. There was a magazine stand down the street and he walked rapidly toward it.
* * *
There were other interviews. Housewives who'd never heard of the comet. A starlet who recognized Tim Hamner from the "Tonight Show" and wanted to be filmed kissing him. Housewives who knew as much about the comet as Harvey Randall did. A Boy Scout taking a merit badge in astronomy.
There were few trends that Harvey could spot. One wasn't surprising: There was a lot of space industry in Burbank, and people there overwhelmingly approved of the coming Apollo shot. Still, the near unanimity was unusual, even for this area. People, Harvey suspected, wanted another manned shot and more looks at their heroes, the astronauts, and the comet was a good excuse. There were mutters about costs, but, like Rich Gollantz, most thought they paid more for worse entertainment every month.
They were about to pack it in when Harvey spotted a remarkably pretty girl. Never hurts to have a few feet of beauty, Harvey thought. She seemed preoccupied, and scurried along the sidewalk, her face abstracted with weighty matters and lean with efficiency.
Her smile was sudden and very nice. "I don't watch much television," she said. "And I'm afraid I never heard of your comet. Things have been hectic at the office—"
"It will be a very big comet," Harvey said. "Look for it this summer. There's also a space mission to study it. Would you approve?"
She didn't answer immediately. "Will we learn a lot from it?" When Harvey nodded, she said, "Then I'm for it. If it doesn't cost too much. And if the government can pay for it. Which seems doubtful."
Harvey said something about the comet study costing less than football tickets.
"Sure. But the government doesn't have the money. And they won't cut back on anything. So they'll have to print the money. Bigger deficit. More inflation. Of course we'll get more inflation no matter what, so we might as well learn about comets for our money."
Harvey made encouraging noises. The girl had turned very serious. Her smile faded into a pensive look that turned to anger. "What difference does it make what I think, anyway? Nobody in government listens. Nobody cares. Sure, I hope they do send up an Apollo. At least something happens. It's not just pushing papers from one basket to another."
Then that smile was back again, a sunburst on her face. "And why am I telling you about the political sorrows of the world? I've got to go." She scurried off before Harvey could ask her name.
There was a conservatively dressed black man standing patiently, obviously waiting to get on camera. Muslim? Harvey wondered. They dressed that way. But he turned out to be a member of the Mayor's staff who wanted to tell everyone that the Mayor did care, and if the voters would approve the Mayor's new smog-control bond issue, people would be able to see the stars from the San Fernando Valley.
"You might be on for all of five seconds. A flash of that lovely smile," Tim Hamner was saying. "And 'Hamner-Brown? What's that?' Then cut to someone who's sure it's going to blast Culver City to smithereens."
She laughed. "All right. I'll sign your form."
"Good. Name?"
"Eileen Susan Hancock."
Hamner wrote it carefully. "Address? Phone number?"
She frowned. She looked at the TravelAll, and all the camera gear. She looked at Hamner's expensive leisure suit, and the thin Pulsar watch. "I don't see—"
"We like to check with people before we use them on camera " Tim said. "Blast. I didn't mean it that way. I'm not really a professional at this. Just unpaid labor. Also the sponsor. And the man who discovered the comet."
Eileen made a face: mock astonishment. "How . . . incestuous!" They both laughed. "How did you get to be all that?"
"Picked the right grandfather. Inherited a lot of money and a company called Kalva Soap. Spent some of the money on an observatory. Found a comet. Got the company to sponsor a documentary on the comet so I could brag about it. See, it all makes perfect sense."
"Of course, it's all so simple now that you've explained it."
"Listen, if you don't want to give me your address—"
"Oh, I do." She lived in a high-rise in West Los Angeles. She gave him her phone number, too. She shook his hand briskly, and said, "I have to run, but I'm really glad I met you. You've made my day." And she was gone, leaving Hamner with a dazed and happy smile.
"Ragnarok," the man said. "Armageddon." His voice was strong, persuasive. He had a great beard, a full black beard with two tufts of pure white at the chin, and mild, kindly eyes. "The prophets of all lands saw this day coming. The Day of Judgment. The war of fire and ice is foretold by the ancients. The Hammer is ice, and it will come in fire."
"And what do you advise?" Harvey Randall asked.
The man hesitated; he may have feared that Randall was mocking him. "Join a church. Join any church you can believe in. 'In my father's house are many mansions.' The truly religious will not be turned away."
"What would you do if Hamner-Brown happens to miss?"
"It won't."
Harvey turned him over to Mark and the release form, and gave Charlie the signal to pack it in. It had not been a bad day; they had a few minutes he could use, and Harvey had learned something about the mood of his viewers.
Mark came up with the form. "Went well, didn't it. You will notice that I kept my mouth shut."
"So you did. Nice going."
Hamner came grinning at some private pleasure. He stowed his recording equipment in the truck and climbed aboard. "Did I miss anything?"
"Ragnarok is coming. Earth will die in fire and ice. He had the best beard I've ever seen. Where the hell were you?"
"Getting a release form," said Tim. He wore that sappy smile all the way back to the lot.
From the NBS lot Tim Hamner drove to Bullocks. He knew what he was after. From there to a florist, and then to a drugstore. At the drugstore he bought sleeping pills. He was going to be keeping strange hours.
He flopped on the bed, fully dressed. He was deeply asleep when the phone rang around six-thirty. He rolled over and felt around for the receiver. "Hello?"
"Hello, I'd like to speak to Mr. Hamner, please."
"This is me. Eileen? Sorry, I was asleep. I was going to call you."
"Well, I beat you to it. Tim, you really know how to get a girl's attention. The flowers are beautiful, but the vase—I mean, we'd only just met!"
He laughed. "I take it you're a Steuben crystal fan, then. I've got a nice collection myself."
"Oh?"
"I go ape over the animals." Tim shifted to a sitting position. "I've got . . . Let's see, a blue whale, a unicorn, a giraffe I got from my grandmother, it's in an older style. And the Frog Prince. Have you seen the Frog Prince?"
"I've seen pictures of His Majesty. Hey, Tim, let me take you to dinner. There's an unusual place called Dar Magrib."
A man would usually pause when Eileen asked him to dinner. With Tim the pause was barely noticeable. "Mr. Hamner accepts, with thanks. Dar Magrib's unusual, all right. Have you been there?"
"Yes. It's very good."
"And you were going to let me go without warning? Without telling me I'd be eating with my fingers?"
Eileen laughed. "Test your flexibility."
"Uh-huh. Why don't you come over here for cocktails first? I'll introduce you to His Majesty and the other crystal" Tim told her how to get there.
* * *
Fred Lauren came home with a stack of magazines. He dropped them beside the easy chair, sank into the sagging springs and began reading the National Enquirer.
The article confirmed his worst fears. The comet was certain to hit, and nobody had any idea where. But it was going to hit in summer, and therefore (the sketch made clear) it would hit in the Northern Hemisphere. Nobody knew how massive the comet head would be, but the Enquirer said it might mean the end of the world.
And he had heard that radio preacher, that fool who was on all the stations. The end of the world was coming. His jaw tightened, and he picked up the copy of Astronomy. According to Astronomy it was a hundred thousand to one against any part of the head striking the Earth, but Fred barely noticed that. What drew him were the artist's conceptions, infinitely vivid, of an asteroid strike sending up jets of molten magma; of an "average" asteroid poised above Los Angeles for comparison; of a comet head striking ocean, the sea bed laid bare.
The pages had grown too dark to see, but Fred didn't think of turning on the light. Many men never believe they are going to die, but Fred believed, now. He sat in the dark until it occurred to him that Colleen must have come home, and then he went to the telescope.
The girl wasn't in view, but the lights were on. An empty room. Fred's eye suddenly painted it with flame. The stucco wall around the window flashed blinding light, which died slowly to reveal curtains flaming, bedclothes, couch, tablecloth and table, everything afire. Windows shattered, splinters flying. Bathroom door—opened.
The girl came out struggling into a robe. She was naked. To Fred she glowed like a saint, with a beauty almost impossible to see directly. An eternity passed before she closed the robe . . . and in that eternity Fred saw her bathed in the light of Hammerfall. Colleen glowed like a star, eyelids clenched futilely shut, face speckled with glass splinters, robe charring, long blonde hair crisping, blackening, flaming . . . and she was gone before they had met. Fred turned away from the telescope.
We can't meet, the voice of reason told him. I know what I'd do. I can't face prison again.
Prison? When the comet was coming to end the world? Trials took time. He'd never reach prison. He'd be dead first. Fred Lauren smiled very strangely; the muscles at the corners of his jaw were knotted tight. He'd be dead first!