Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [119]
"Turn around," Eric said. Lauren didn't move. "Turn around or I'll shoot your kneecaps out. That hurts a lot."
Fred whimpered and turned. He saw the shotgun leveled at him. The policeman was holding the light off to one side, almost behind himself, so that Fred could see.
"Do you know who I am?" the policeman asked.
"Yes. You kept the other policeman from beating me last night." Fred moved closer. He stared at the shotgun. "Is that for me?"
"I brought it for you," Eric said. "I came to turn the others loose. I couldn't let you loose. So I brought the shotgun."
"It's the end of the world," Fred Lauren said. "All of it. Nothing will be left. But … " Fred whimpered deep in his throat. "But when? Would … please, you've got to tell me. Wouldn't she be dead now? Already? She couldn't live through the end of the world. She'd have died and I'd never have talked to her—"
"Talked to her!" Eric brought the shotgun up in rage. He saw Fred Lauren standing calmly, waiting, and he saw the bed and the ruins of a young girl, and the closet with the pathetically small wardrobe. There was a smell of copper blood in his nostrils. His finger tightened on the trigger, then relaxed. He lowered the shotgun.
"Please," Fred Lauren said. "Please—"
The shotgun came up quickly. Eric hadn't known it would kick so hard.
Hot Fudge Tuesdae: Two
Oh, I run to the hills and the hills were a-fallin
Run to the sea and the sea was a-boilin',
Run to the sky and the sky was a-burnin'
All on that day.
Static roared in the crowded room. Random blobs and colors filled the large TV, but twenty men and women stared at the screen where they had watched lights blaze and die above the Atlantic, above Europe, Northwest Africa, the Gulf of Mexico. Only Dan Forrester continued to work. The screen above his console held a computer-drawn world map, and Forrester laboriously called up all the data received at JPL, plotting the strikes and using their locations as input for more calculations.
Charles Sharps felt that he ought to be interested in Forrester's calculations, but he wasn't. Instead he watched the others. Open mouths, bulging eyes, feet thrusting them back into their chairs. They cringed back from their blinded consoles and screens, as if these were the danger. And still Forrester typed instructions, made precise movements, studied results and typed again …
"Hammerfall," Sharps said to himself. And what the hell do we do about it? He couldn't think of anything, and the room depressed him. He left his station and went to the long table against one wall. There were coffee and Danish there, and Sharps poured himself a cup. He stared into it, then lifted it in a mock salute. "Doom," he said. He kept his voice low. The others began to rise from their stations.
"Doom," Sharps repeated. Ragnarok. And what use now was man's proud civilization? Ice Age, Fire Age, Ax Age, Wolf Age … he turned to see that Forrester had left his station and was moving toward the door. "What now?" Sharps asked.
"Earthquake." Forrester continued to walk rapidly toward the exit. "Earthquake." He said it loudly, so that everyone could hear, and there was a rush toward the door.
Dr. Charles Sharps poured his cup almost full. He took it to the tap and ran a splash of cold water into it. It was Mocha-Java made less than an hour ago with a Melitta filter and kept in a clean Thermos. A pity to water it; but now it was just cool enough to drink. How long would it be before ships crossed major oceans again? Years, decades, forever? He might never taste coffee again. Sharps drained the cup in four swallows and dropped it onto the floor. The heavy china bounced and rolled against a console. Sharps went outside at a run.
The others had passed Forrester in the hall; the glass doors at the entrance were just closing behind him. That urgent waddle: Dan Forrester had never been athletic, but surely he could move faster than that? Did they have time to spare, then? Sharps jogged to catch up.
"Parking lot," Dan puffed. "Watch it—"
Sharps stumbled, recovered. Dan was dancing on one