By the 1790's, philosophers and scientists were aware of many allegations that stones had fallen from the sky, but the most eminent scientists were skeptical. The first great advance came in 1794, when a German lawyer, E.F.F. Chladni, published a study of some alleged meteorites, one of which had been found after a fireball had been sighted. Chladni accepted the evidence that these meteorites had fallen from the sky and correctly inferred that they were extraterrestrial objects that were heated from falling through the earth's atmosphere. Chladni even postulated that they might be fragments of a broken planet—an idea that set the stage for early theories about asteroids, the first of which was discovered seven years later. Chladni's ideas were widely rejected, not because they were ill conceived, for he had been able to collect good evidence, but because his contemporaries simply were loath to accept the idea that extraterrestrial stones could fall from the sky.William K. Hartmann, Moons and Planets:
An Introduction to Planetary Science
The young man walked with a decided limp. He almost tripped on the thick rug in the big office, and Carrie, Senator Jellison's receptionist, took his arm for a moment. He shrugged her angrily away. "Mr. Colin Saunders," Carrie announced.
"What can I do for you?" Senator Jellison asked.
"I need a new leg."
Jellison tried not to look surprised, but he wasn't successful. And I thought I'd heard 'em all, he thought. "Have a seat." Jellison glanced at his watch. "It's after six . . ."
"I know I'm taking up your valuable time." Saunders's voice was belligerent.
"Wasn't thinking about my time," Arthur Jellison said. "Being it's after six, we can have a drink. Want something?"
"Well . . . yes, please, sir."
"Fine." Jellison got up from the ornate wooden desk and went to the ancient cabinet on the wall. The building wasn't that old, but the cabinets looked as if they might have been used by Daniel Webster, who was reputed not to wait until six. Senator Jellison opened the cabinets to reveal a huge stock of liquor. Nearly every bottle had the same label.
"Old Fedcal?" the visitor asked.
"Sure. Don't let the labels fool you. That's Jack Daniels bourbon in the black bottle. The rest of 'em are top brands, too. Why pay brand prices when I can get it from home a lot cheaper? What'll you have?"
"Scotch."
"Right here. I'm a bourbon man myself." Jellison poured two drinks. "Now tell me what this is all about."
"It's the VA." Saunders poured out his story. This would be his fourth artificial leg. The first one the Veterans Administration gave him had fit fine, but it had been stolen, and the next three didn't fit at all, they hurt, and now the VA wasn't going to do anything about it.
"Sounds like a problem for your representative," Jellison said gently.
"I tried to see the Honorable Jim Braden." The young man's voice was bitter again. "I couldn't even get an appointment."
"Yeah," Jellison said. "Excuse me a second." He took a small bound book from a desk drawer. "HAVE AL LOOK INTO PRIMARY OPPOSITION FOR THAT SON OF A BITCH," he wrote. "THE PARTY DON'T NEED CREEPS LIKE THAT, AND THIS AIN'T THE FIRST TIME." Then he drew a memo pad toward him. "Better give me the names of the doctors you've been dealing with," he said.
"You mean you'll really help?"
"I'll have somebody look into it." Jellison wrote the details on the memo pad. "Where'd you get hit?"
"Khe Sanh."
"Medals? It helps to know."
The visitor shrugged. "Silver Star."
"And Purple Heart, of course," Jellison said. "Want another drink?"
The visitor smiled and shook his head. He looked around the big room. The walls were decorated with photographs: Senator Jellison at an Indian reservation; Jellison at the controls of an Air Force bomber; Jellison's children, and staff, and friends. "I don't want to take any more of your time. You must be busy." He got up carefully.
Jellison saw the visitor to the door. Carrie had to unlock it. "That's the last," she said.
"Fine. I'll stick around awhile. Send Alvin in, and you can go home—oh, one thing. See if you can get me Dr. Sharps at JPL first, will you? And call Maureen to tell her I'll be a little late."
"Sure." Carrie grinned to herself as the Senator went back into his office. Before she finally left he'd have nine other last-minute items. She was used to it. She looked into the staff rooms on the other side of her office. Everyone was gone except Alvin Hardy. He always waited, just in case. "He wants you," Carrie said.
"So what else is new?" Al went into the big office. Jellison was sprawled out in his judge's chair, his jacket and narrow striped tie laid across the desk, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down. A big glass of bourbon sat next to the bottle. "Yes, sir?" Al said.
"Couple of things." He handed Al the memo. "Check this story out. If it's true, I want a medium-size fire built under those people. Let 'em save money on their goddamn salaries, not cheating a Silver Star vet out of a leg that fits."
"Yes, sir."
"And then you can take a look at Braden's district. Seems to me the Party ought to have a bright young chap in there. I mind a city councilman—"
"Ben Tyson," Al said helpfully.
"That's his name. Tyson. Think he could beat Braden?"
"He might. With your help."
"Look into it. I've about had it with Mr. Braden being so goddam busy saving the world he hasn't got time to look after his constituents." Senator Jellison wasn't smiling at all.
Al nodded. Braden, he thought, you're dead. When the boss gets in that mood—
The intercom buzzed. "Dr. Sharps," Carrie said.
"Right. Don't go, Al. I want you to hear this. Charlie?"
"Yes, Senator?" Dr. Sharps said.
"How's the launch going?" Jellison asked.
"Everything's fine. It would be even better if I didn't have every VIP in Washington calling me to ask about it."
"Goddammit, Charlie, I went out on a long limb for you. If anybody's got a right to know, it's me."
"Yes. Sorry," Sharps said. "Actually, things are better than we expected. The Russians are helping a lot. They've got a big booster, and they're taking up a lot of consumables they'll share with our team. Lets us take up more science packages. For once we've got a division of labor that makes sense."
"Good. You won't ever know how many favors I used up getting that launch for you. Now tell me again how valuable all this is."
"Senator, it's about as valuable as we can get—given what we're doing. It's not going to cure cancer, but we'll sure learn a lot about planets and asteroids and comets. Also, that TV fellow, Harvey Randall, wants you in his next documentary. He seems to think the network ought to thank you for getting this launch."
Jellison looked up at Al Hardy. Hardy grinned and nodded vigorously. "They'll love us in L.A.," Al said.
"Tell him I like it," Jellison said. "Any time. Have him check with my assistant. Al Hardy. You got that?"
"Right. Is that all, Art?" Sharps asked.
"Nooo." Jellison drained the whiskey glass. "Charlie, I keep getting people in here who think that comet's going to hit us. Not crazies. Good people. Some of 'em with as many degrees as you have."
"I know most of them," Sharps admitted.
"Well?"
"What can I say, Art?" Sharps was quiet for a moment. "Our best projected orbit puts that comet right on top of us—"
"Jesus," Senator Jellison said.
"But there's several thousand miles' error in those projections. And a miss by a thousand miles is still a miss. It can't reach out and grab us."
"But it could hit."
"Well . . . this isn't for publication, Art."
"Didn't ask for it for publication."
"All right. Yes. It could hit us. But the odds are against it."
"What kind of odds?"
"Thousands to one."
"I recall you said billions to one—"
"So the odds have narrowed," Sharps said.
"Enough so we ought to be doing something about it?"
"How could you? I've spoken with the President," Sharps said.
"So have I."
"And he doesn't want to panic anybody. I agree. It's still thousands to one against anything happening at all," Sharps insisted. "And a complete certainty that a lot of people will get killed if we start making preparations. We're already getting crazy things. Rape artists. Nut groups. People who see the end of the world as an opportunity—"
"Tell me about it," Jellison said dryly. "I told you, I saw the President too, and he's got your opinion. Or you've got his. I'm not talking about warning the public, Charlie, I'm talking about me. Where will this thing hit, if it does?"
There was another pause.
"You've studied it, haven't you?" Jellison demanded. "Or that crazy genius you keep around, uh, Forrester, he's studied it. Right?"
"Yes." The reluctance was plain in Sharps's voice. "The Hammer has calved. If it does hit, it's likely to be in a series of strikes. Unless the central head whams us. If that happens, don't worry about preparations. There aren't any."
"Wow."
"Yeah," Sharps said. "That bad."
"But if only part hits—"
"Atlantic Ocean, for sure," Sharps said.
"Which means Washington . . ." Jellison let his voice trail off.
"Washington will be under water. The entire East Coast up to the mountains," Sharps said. "Tidal waves. But it's long odds, Art. Very long. Best guess is still that we get a spectacular light show and nothing more."
"Sure. Sure. Okay, Charlie, I'll let you get back to work. By the way, where'll you be on That Day?"
"At JPL."
"Elevation?"
"About a thousand feet, Senator. About a thousand feet. Goodbye."
The connection went before Jellison could switch off the phone. Jellison and Hardy looked at the dead instrument for a moment. "Al, I think we want to be at the ranch. Good place to watch comets from," Jellison said.
"Yes, sir—"
"But we want to be careful. No panic. If this gets a big play the whole country could go up in flames. I expect Congress will find a good reason for a recess that week, we won't have to do anything about that, but I want my family out at the ranch, too. I'll take care of Maureen. You see that Jack and Charlotte get there."
Al Hardy winced. Senator Jellison had no use for his son-in-law. Neither did Al. It wouldn't be pleasant, persuading Jack Turner to take his wife and children out to the Jellison ranch in California.
"May as well be hung for a sheep," Jellison said. "You're coming out with us, of course. We'll need equipment. End-of-the-world equipment. Couple of four-wheel-drive vehicles—"
"Land Rovers," Al said.
"Hell no, not Land Rovers," Jellison said. He poured another two-finger drink. "Buy American, dammit. That comet probably won't hit, and we sure as hell don't want to be owning foreign cars after it goes by. Jeeps, maybe, or something from GMC."
"I'll look into it," Al said.
"And the rest of it. Camping gear. Batteries. Razor blades. Pocket computers. Rifles. Sleeping bags. All the crap you can't buy if—"
"It's going to be expensive, Senator."
"So what? I'm not broke. Get it wholesale, but be quiet about it. Anybody asks, you're . . . what? You're going along on a junket to Africa. There must be some National Science Foundation project in Africa—"
"Yes, sir—"
"Good. That's what all this is for, if anybody asks. You can let Rasmussen in on the plot. Nobody else on the staff. Got a girl you want to take along?"
He really doesn't know, Al thought. He really doesn't know how I feel about Maureen. "No, sir."
"Okay. I'll leave it to you, then. You realize this is damn foolishness and we're goin' to feel awful silly when that thing has passed by."
"Yes, sir." I hope we are. Sharps called it the Hammer!
* * *
"There is absolutely no danger. The asteroid Apollo came within two million miles, very close as cosmic distances go, back in 1932. No damage. Adonis passed within a million miles in 1936. So what? Remember the panic in 1968? People, especially in California, took to the hills. Everyone forgot about it a day later—that is, everyone who hadn't gone broke buying survival equipment that wasn't needed.
"Hamner-Brown Comet is a marvelous opportunity to study a new kind of extraterrestrial body at comparatively—and I emphasize comparatively—close range, and that's all it is."
"Thank you, Dr. Treece. You have heard an interview with Dr. Henry Treece of the United States Geological Survey. Now back to our regularly scheduled program."
* * *
The road ran north through groves of oranges and almond trees, skirting the eastern edge of the San Joaquin Valley. Sometimes it climbed over low hills or wound among them, but for most of the way the view to the left was of a vast flatland, dotted with farm buildings and croplands, crossed by canals, and stretching all the way to the horizon. The only large buildings visible were the uncompleted San Joaquin Nuclear Plant.
Harvey Randall turned right at Porterville and wound eastward up into the foothills. Once the road turned sharply and for a moment he had a view of the magnificent High Sierra to the east, the mountaintops still covered with snow. Eventually he found the turnoff onto the side road, and further down that was the unmarked gate. A U.S. Mail truck had already gone through, and the driver was coming back to close the gate. He was long-haired and elegantly bearded.
"Lost?" the mailman asked.
"Don't think so. This Senator Jellison's ranch?" Harvey asked.
The mailman shrugged. "They say so. I've never seen him. You'll close the gate?"
"Sure."
"See you." The mailman went back to his truck. Harvey drove through the gate, got out and closed it, then followed the truck up the dusty path to the top of the hill. There was a white frame house there. The drive forked, the right-hand branch leading down toward a barn and a chain of connected small lakes. Granite cliffs reared high above the lakes. There were several orange groves, and lots of empty pastureland. Pieces of the cliff, weathered boulders larger than a California suburban house, had tumbled down into the pastures.
An ample woman came out of the house. She waved to the mailman. "Coffee's hot, Harry!"
"Thanks. Happy Trash Day."
"Oh, that again? So soon? All right, you know where to put it." She advanced on the TravelAll. "Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Senator Jellison. Harvey Randall, NBS."
Mrs. Cox nodded. "They're expecting you, up to the big house." She pointed down the left-hand branch of the drive. "Mind where you park, and look out for the cats."
"What's Trash Day?" Harvey asked.
Mrs. Cox's face already wore a suspicious look. Now it changed to deadpan. "Nothing important," she said. She went back onto the porch. The mailman had already vanished inside the house.
Harvey shrugged and started the TravelAll. The drive ran between barbed-wire fences, orange groves to the right, more pasture to the left. He rounded a bend and saw the house. It was large, stone walls and slate roof, a rambling, massive place that didn't look very appropriate for this remote area It was framed against more cliffs, and had a view through a canyon to the High Sierra miles beyond.
He parked near the back door. As he started around to the big front porch, the kitchen door opened. "Hi," Maureen Jellison called. "Save some walking and come in this way."
"Right. Thanks." She was as lovely as Harvey had remembered her. She wore tan slacks, not very highly tailored, and high-top shoes, not real trail shoes but good for walking. "Waffle-stompers," Mark Czescu would have called them. Her red hair looked recently brushed. It hung down just to her shoulders, in waves with slight curls at the ends. The sun glinted off in pleasing highlights.
"Did you have an easy drive?" she asked.
"Pleasant enough—"
"I always like the drive up here from L.A.," Maureen said. "But I expect you can use a drink right about now. What'll you have?"
"Scotch. And thanks."
"Sure." She led him through a service porch into a very modern kitchen. There was a cabinet full of liquor, and she took out a bottle of Old Fedcal scotch, then fought with the ice tray. "It's always all over frost when we first come up," she said. "This is a working ranch, and the Coxes don't have time to come up and fuss with the place much. Here, it will be nicer in the other room."
Again she led the way, going through a hall to the front room of the house. The wide verandah was just beyond it. A pleasant room, Harvey decided. It was paneled in light-colored wood, with ranch-style furniture, not really very appropriate for such a massive house as this. There were photographs of dogs and horses on most of the walls, and a case of ribbons and trophies. mostly for horses, but some for cattle. "Where is everybody?" Harvey asked.
"I'm the only one here just now," Maureen said.
Harvey pushed the thought firmly down into his unconscious, and tried to laugh at himself.
"The Senator got caught by a vote," Maureen was saying. "He'll catch the red-eye out of Washington tonight and get here in the morning. Dad says I'm to show you around. Want another drink?"
"No, thank you. One's enough." He put the glass down, then picked it up again when he realized he'd set it on a highly polished wood lamp-table. He wiped the water ring off with his hand. "Good thing the crew didn't come up with me. Actually they've got some work to finish up, and I'd hoped we could get the footage on Senator Jellison tomorrow morning, but if he couldn't be available tomorrow I've got the gear in the car. I used to be a fair cameraman. They'll be here in the morning, and I thought I would use the evening to get acquainted with the Senator, find out what he'd like to talk about for the camera . . ." And I'm chattering, Harvey thought. Which is stupid.
"Care for the grand tour?" Maureen asked. She glanced at Harvey's Roughrider trousers and walking shoes. "You won't need to change. If you're up to a tough walk, I'll show you the best view in the valley."
"Sure. Let's go."
They went out through the kitchen and cut across the orange groves. A stream bubbled off to their left.
"That's good swimming down there," Maureen said. "Maybe we'll have a dip if we get back early enough."
They went through a fence. She parted the barbed wire and climbed through effortlessly, then turned to watch Harvey. She grinned when he came through just behind her, obviously pleased at his competence.
The other side of the fence was weeds and shrubs, never plowed or grazed. The way was steep here. There were small trails, made by rabbits or goats. They weren't really suited for humans at all. They climbed several hundred feet until they got to the base of a great granite cliff. It rose sheer at least two hundred feet above them. "We have to go around to the left here," Maureen said. "It gets tough from here on."
Much tougher and I won't make it, Harvey thought. But I will be damned if I'll have a Washington socialite show me up. I'm supposed to be an outdoorsman.
He hadn't been hiking with a girl since Maggie Thompkins blew herself up on a land mine in Vietnam. Maggie had been a go-get-'em reporter, always out looking for a story. She had no interest in sitting around in the Caravelle Bar and getting her material third- or fourth-hand. Harvey had gone with her to the front, and once they'd had to walk out from behind Cong lines together. If she hadn't been killed . . . Harvey put that thought away, too. It was a long time ago.
They scrambled up through a cleft in the rocks. "Do you come up here often?" Harvey asked. He tried to keep the strain out of his voice.
"Only once before," Maureen said. "Dad told me not to do it alone."
Eventually they reached the top. They were not, Harvey saw, on a peak at all. They were at one end of a ridge that stretched southeastward into the High Sierra. A narrow path led up into the rock cliff itself; they'd come all the way behind it, so that when they got to its top they faced the ranch.
"You're right," Harvey said. "The view's worth it." He stood on a monolith several stories high, feeling the pleasant breeze blowing across the valley. Everywhere he looked there were more of the huge white rocks. A glacier must have passed through here and scattered the land with these monoliths.
The Senator's ranch was laid out below. The small valley carved by the stream ran for several miles to the west; then there were more hills, still dotted with bungalow-size white stones. Far beyond the hills, and far below the level of the ranch, was the broad expanse of the San Joaquin. It was hazy out there, but Harvey thought he could make out the dark shape of the Temblor Range on the western edge of California's central valley.
"Silver Valley," Maureen announced. "That's our place there, and beyond is George Christopher's ranch. I almost married him, once—" She broke off, laughing.
Now why do I feel a twinge of jealousy? Harvey wondered. "Why is it so funny?"
"We were all of fourteen at the time he proposed," Maureen said. "Almost sixteen years ago. Dad had just been elected, and we were going to Washington, and George and I schemed to find a way so I could stay."
"But you didn't."
"No. Sometimes I wish I had," she said. "Especially when I'm standing here." She waved expressively.
Harvey turned, and there were more hills, rising higher and higher until they blended into the Sierra Nevada range. The big mountains looked untouched, never climbed by human. Harvey knew that was an illusion. If you stooped to tie your bootlaces on the John Muir Trail, you were likely to be trampled by backpackers.
The great rock they stood on was cloven toward the edge of the cliff. The cleft was no more than a yard wide, but deep, so deep that Harvey couldn't see the bottom. The top of the rock slanted toward the cleft, and toward the edge beyond it, so that Harvey wasn't even tempted to go near it.
Maureen strolled over there, and without a thought stepped across the cleft. She stood on a narrow strip of rock two feet wide, a three-hundred-foot drop in front of her, the unknown depth of the cleft behind. She looked out in satisfaction, then turned.
She saw Harvey Randall standing grimly, trying to move forward and not able to do it. She gave him a puzzled look; then her face showed concern. She stepped back onto the main rock. "I'm sorry. Do heights bother you?"
"Some," Harvey admitted.
"I should never have done that—what were you thinking of, anyway?"
"How I could get out there if something happened. If I could make myself crawl across that crack—"
"That wasn't nice of me at all," she said. "Anyway, let me show you the ranch. You can see most of it from here."
Afterward, Harvey couldn't remember what they'd talked about. It was nothing important, but it had been a pleasant hour. He couldn't remember a nicer one.
"We ought to be getting back down," Maureen said.
"Yeah. Is there an easier way than the one we came up?"
"Don't know. We can look," she said. She led the way off to their left, around the opposite side of the rock face. They picked their way through scrub brush and along narrow goat trails. There were piles of goat and sheep droppings. Deer too, Harvey thought, although he couldn't be sure. The ground was too hard for tracks.
"It's like nobody was ever here before," Harvey said, but he said it under his breath, and Maureen didn't hear. They were in a narrow gully, nothing more than a gash in the side of the steep hill, and the ranch had vanished.
There was a sound behind them. Harvey turned, startled. A horse was coming down the draw.
Not just a horse. The rider was a little blonde girl, a child not more than twelve. She rode without a saddle, and she looked like a part of the huge animal, fitted so well onto him that it might have been an undergrown centaur. "Hi," she called.
"Hi yourself," Maureen said. "Harvey, this is Alice Cox. The Coxes work the ranch. Alice, what are you doing up here?"
"Saw you going up," she said. Her voice was small and high-pitched, but well modulated, not shrill.
Maureen caught up to Harvey and winked. He nodded, pleased. "And we thought we were the intrepid explorers," Maureen said.
"Yeah. I had enough trouble getting up by myself, without taking a damn big horse." He looked ahead. The way was steep, and it was absolutely impossible for a horse to get down there. He turned to say so.
Alice had dismounted and was calmly leading the horse down the draw. It slipped and scrambled, and she pointed out places for it to step. The horse seemed to understand her perfectly. "Senator coming soon?" she asked.
"Yes, tomorrow morning," Maureen said.
"I sure like talkie' to him," Alice said. "All the kids at school want to meet him. He's on TV a lot."
"Harvey—Mr. Randall makes television programs," Maureen said.
Alice looked to Harvey with new respect. She didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Do you like 'Star Trek'?"
"Yes, but I didn't have anything to do with that one." Harvey scrambled down another steep place. Surely that horse couldn't get down that?
"It's my favorite program," Alice said. "Whoa, Tommy. Come on, it's all right, right here—I wrote a story for television. It's about a flying saucer, and how we ran from it and hid in a cave. It's pretty good, too."
"I'll bet it is," Harvey said. He glanced at Maureen, and saw she was grinning again. "I'll bet there's nothing she can't do," Harvey muttered. Maureen nodded. They scrambled up the sides of their dry wash when it ended in a thicket of chaparral. The ranch was visible again, still a long way down, and the hillside was steep enough that if you fell, you'd roll a long way and probably break something. Harvey looked back and watched Alice for a second, then stopped worrying about her and the horse. He concentrated on getting himself down.
"You ride alone up here a lot?" Maureen asked.
"Sure," Alice said.
"Doesn't anybody worry about you?" Harvey asked.
"Oh, I know the way pretty good," Alice told him. "Got lost a couple of times, but Tommy knows how to get home."
"Pretty good horse," Maureen said.
"Sure. He's mine."
Harvey looked to be sure. A stallion, not a gelding. He waited for Maureen to catch up to him. Masculine pride had kept him trying to lead the way, although it was obvious that they ought to leave that to Alice. "Must be nice to live where the only thing to worry about is getting lost—and the horse takes care of that," he told Maureen. "She doesn't even know what I'm talking about. And last week a girl her age, about eleven, was raped in the Hollywood Hills not more than half a mile from my house."
"One of Dad's secretaries was raped in the Capitol last year," Maureen said. "Isn't civilization wonderful?"
"I wish my boy could grow up out here," Harvey said. "Only, what would I do? Farm?" He laughed at himself. Then the way was too steep for talking.
There was a dirt road at the bottom of the steep hillside. They were still a long way from the ranch, but it was easier now. Alice somehow got onto the horse; Harvey was watching the whole time, but he didn't see how she managed it. One second she was standing next to the animal, her head lower than its back, and the next moment she was astride. She clucked and they galloped off. The illusion that she was somehow a part of the beast was even stronger: She moved in perfect rhythm with it, her long blonde hair flowing behind.
"She's going to be one real beauty when she grows up," Harvey said. "Is it the air here? This whole valley's magic."
"I feel that way sometimes too," Maureen told him.
The sun was low when they got back to the stone ranch house. "Little late, but want to catch a swim?" Maureen asked.
"Sure. Why not? Only I didn't bring a suit."
"Oh, there's something around." Maureen vanished into the house and came back with trunks. "You can change in there." She pointed to a bathroom.
Harvey got into the trunks. When he came out, she was already changed. Her one-piece suit was a shiny white material. She had a robe over one arm. She winked at him and dashed off, leaving Harvey to follow. The path led by a pomegranate grove and down to a sandy beach by a bubbling stream. Maureen grinned at him, then plunged quickly into the water. Harvey followed.
"Ye gods!" he shouted. "That's ice water"
She splashed water onto his dry chest and hair. "Come on, it won't hurt you."
He waded grimly out into the stream. The water was swift, out away from the banks, and the bottom was rocky. He had trouble keeping his feet, but he followed her upstream to a narrow gap between two boulders. The water plunged out swiftly there, threatening to dump both of them. It was just chest-deep for Harvey. "That cools you off fast," he said.
They paddled around in the pool, watching small trout dart near the surface. Harvey looked for larger fish, but they were keeping out of sight. The stream looked perfect for trout, deep pools below small rushing falls. The banks were overhung with trees except for two places where they'd been cleared, obviously by someone who liked fly fishing and had opened the banks out for his back cast.
"I think I'm turning blue," Maureen shouted finally. "You finished?"
"Tell the truth, I was done ten minutes ago."
They climbed out onto another of the enormous white boulders, the contours smoothed by floodwaters. The sun, low as it was, felt good on Harvey's chilled body, and the rock was still hot from old sunlight. "I've been needing this," he said.
Maureen turned over on belly and elbows to look at him. "Which? The freezing water, or the acrophobia, or the climbing your legs off?"
"All of the above. And not interviewing anyone today, I needed that, too. I'm glad your father didn't make it. Tomorrow—shazam! I'm Harvey Randall again."
She had changed back into the tan slacks. Harvey came out to find she'd also made drinks.
"Stay for dinner?" she asked.
"Well . . . Sure, but can I take you out somewhere?"
She grinned. "You haven't sampled the wild night life of Springfield and Porterville. You'll do better here. Besides, I like to cook. If you want, you can help clean up."
"Sure—"
"Not that there's much cooking involved," Maureen said. She took steaks out of the freezer. "Microwave ovens and frozen food. The civilized way to gourmet meals."
"That thing's got more controls than an Apollo."
"Not really. I've been in an Apollo. Hey, you have too, haven't you?"
"I saw the mock-up," Harvey said, "not the real thing. Lord, I'd like to do that. Watch the comet from orbit. No atmosphere to block it out."
Maureen didn't answer. Randall sipped at his scotch. There was an edge on his hunger. He searched the freezer and found frozen Chinese vegetables to add to the meal.
After dinner they sipped coffee on the porch, in wide chairs with wide, flat arms to hold the mugs. It was chilly; they needed jackets. They talked slowly, dreamily: of the astronauts Maureen knew; of the mathematics in Lewis Carroll; of social politics in Washington. Presently Maureen went into the house, turned off all the lights and came back out feeling her way.
It was incredibly dark. Randall asked, "Why did you do that?"
A disembodied voice answered, "You'll see in a few minutes." He heard her take her chair.
There was no moon, and the stars lit only themselves. But gradually he saw what she meant. When the Pleiades came over the mountains he didn't recognize them; the cluster was fiercely bright. The Milky Way blazed, yet he couldn't see his own coffee cup,
"There are city people who never see this," Maureen said.
"Yeah. Thanks."
She laughed. "It could have been clouded over. My powers are limited."
"If we could . . . No, I'm wrong. I was thinking, if we could show them all what it looks like—all the voters. But you see star scenes on the newsstands all the time, paintings of star clusters and black holes and multiple systems and anything you could find out there. You'd have to take the voters up here, a dozen at a time, and show them. Then they'd know. It's all out there. Real. All we have to do is reach out."
She reached out (her night vision had improved that much) and took his hand. He was a bit startled. She said "Won't work. Otherwise the main support for NASA would come from the farming community."
"But if you'd never seen it like this . . . Ahh, you're probably right." He was very aware that they were still holding hands. But it would stop there. "Hey, do you like interstellar empires?" Harmless subject.
"I don't know. Tell me about interstellar empires."
Harv pointed, and leaned close so she could sight down his arm. Where the Milky Way thickened and brightened, in Sagittarius, that was the galactic axis. "That's where the action is, in most of the older empires. The stars are a lot closer together. You find Trantor in there, and the Hub worlds. It's risky building in there, though. Sometimes you find that the core suns have all exploded. The radiation wave hasn't reached us yet."
"Isn't Earth ever in control?"
"Sure, but mostly you find Earth had one big atomic war."
"Oh. Maybe I shouldn't ask, but just where are you getting your information?"
"I used to read the science fiction magazines. Then around age twenty I got too busy. Let's see, the Earth-centered empires tend to be small, but . . . a small fraction of a hundred billion suns. You get enormous empires without even covering one galactic arm." He stopped. The sky was so incredibly vivid! He could almost see the Mule's warships sweeping out from Sagittarius. "Maureen, it looks so real."
She laughed. He could see her face now, pale, without detail.
He slid onto the broad arm of her chair and kissed her. She moved aside, and he slid in beside her. The chair held two, barely.
There is no harmless subject.
There was a point at which he might have disengaged. The thought that stopped him was: tomorrow, shazam! I'm Harvey Randall again.
Inside the house it was utterly black. She led him by the hand, by touch and memory, to one of the bedrooms. They undressed each other. Their clothes, falling, might as well have fallen out of the universe. Her skin was warm, almost hot. For a moment he wished he could see her face, but only for a moment.
There was gray light when he woke. His back was cold. They lay tangled together on a made bed. Maureen slept calmly, deeply, wearing a slight smile.
He was freezing. She must be too. Should he wake her up? His slow brain found a better answer. He disentangled himself, gently. She didn't wake. He went to the other of the twin beds, pulled off the bedclothes, took them back and spread them over her. Then—with the full conviction that he was about to climb under the covers with her—he stood without moving for almost a minute.
She wasn't his wife.
"Shazam," Harvey said softly. He scooped up an armload of his clothes, careful to miss nothing. He padded out into the living room. He was starting to shiver. The first door he tried was another bedroom. He dumped the clothes on a chair and went to bed.
* * *
Not dead, but transmuted! The comet is glorious in its agony. The streamer of its torn flesh reaches millions of miles, a wake of strange chemicals blowing back toward the cometary halo on a wind of reflected light. Perhaps a few molecules will plate themselves across the icy surfaces of other comets.
Earth's telescopes find the comet blocked by the blazing sun itself. Its exact orbit is still uncertain.
The glory of the tail is reflected sunlight, but more than sunlight glows in the coma. Some chemicals can lie intimately mixed at near absolute zero, but heat them and they burn. The coma seethes in change.
The head grows smaller every day. Here, ammonia boils from the surface of an ice-and-dust mixture; the hydrogen has long since boiled out. The mass contracts, and its density increases. Soon there will be little but rock dust cemented together by water ice. There, a stone monolith the size of a hill blocks the path of a gas pocket that grows hourly warmer, until something gives. Gas blasts away into the coma. The stony mass pulls slowly away, tumbling. The orbit of Hamner-Brown has been changed minutely.