Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [195]
"Snoopers. That's what we are," Maureen shouted to the wind and the rain. Her voice fell. "And it's all so damned useless."
The snooping didn't bother her. If anything was necessary, if anything could save them, it would be Al Hardy's careful work. It wasn't the snooping, or those who tried to hide their possessions. They were fools, but that was a folly that did not disturb her. It was the others; the ones who welcomed her. They believed. They were utterly certain that Senator Jellison would keep them alive, and they were pathetically happy to see his daughter. They didn't care that she had come to pry and snoop and perhaps take their possessions. They were only too glad to offer everything they had, freely, in exchange for a protection that did not exist.
Some farmers and ranchers had pride and independence. They understood the need for organization, but they weren't servile about it. But the others—the pathetic refugees who had somehow got past the roadblocks; the city people who owned houses in the valley, who had fled here to avoid Hammerfall, who had no idea what to do next; even rural people whose life-styles depended on feed trucks and refrigerated railroad cars and California weather—for them the Jellisons were "the government" which would care for them, as it always had.
Maureen couldn't bear the responsibility. She told them lies. She told them they would live, and she knew better. There would be no crops this year, here or anywhere. How long could the loot from flooded stores keep them alive? How many more refugees were there in the San Joaquin basin, and what right did she have to live when the world was dying?
Lightning flared nearby. She did not move. She stood on the bare granite, near the edge. I wanted goals. Now I have them. And it's too much. Her life didn't revolve around Washington parties and who was speaking to whom. You couldn't say that surviving the end of the world was trivial. But it is. If there's not more to life than just existing, how is it different? It was more comfortable in Washington. It was easier to hide the suffering. That's the only difference.
She heard footsteps behind her. Someone was coming along the ridgetop. She had no weapons, and she was afraid. She could laugh at that. She stood at the edge of a cliff, on a bare granite knob as lightning flashed, and she was afraid; but it was the first time she had felt fear of an approaching stranger in this valley, and that made it more terrifying. The Hammer had destroyed everything. It had taken her place of refuge. She looked toward the edge and slightly shifted her weight. It would be so easy.
The man came closer. He wore a poncho and a widebrimmed hat, and carried a rifle under the poncho. "Maureen?" he called.
Relief washed over her in waves. There was an edge of hysterical laughter in her voice as she said, "Harvey? What are you doing up here?"
Harvey Randall came to the edge of the rock. He stood uncertainly. She remembered that he was afraid of heights, and she stepped carefully toward him, away from the cleft.
"I'm supposed to be up here," he said. "What the devil are you doing here?"
"I don't know." She summoned up a reserve of strength she hadn't known she had. "Getting wet, I suppose." Now that she'd said it she realized it was true. Despite the raincoat, she was soaked. Her low boots were filled with water. The rain was just cool enough to feel clammy on her back where it had come down inside her jacket. "Why are you supposed to be here?"
"Guard duty. I have a shelter over there. Come on, let's get in out of the wet."
"All right." She followed him along the ridge. He didn't turn back to look at her, and she followed passively.
Fifty yards away were boulders leaning against