Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [199]
Do your job. That's what life is all about, doing one's job. Harvey hadn't really said that, that was Albert Camus, The Plague, but it was what Harvey meant. And doing my job includes a lot of things, but I'm not sure it includes Harvey Randall. There's a paradox. He tells me what I should be living for, and I know damned well I can't hold onto it by myself, but what would George do if he knew where I was now?
He'd put Harvey on the road.
"What's the matter?" Harvey asked. His voice came from a long way off.
She turned to him and tried to smile. "Nothing. Everything. I was just thinking."
"You shivered. Are you cold?"
"No. Harvey … what about your boy? And Marie's son?"
"They're up there, somewhere. And I have to go look for them. I've been trying to get Hardy to let me, but he's been too busy to talk to me. I'll go without permission if I have to, but I'll ask once more. I'll try again tomorrow. No. Not tomorrow. There's something else tomorrow."
"The Roman place."
"Yes."
"You're in that?"
"Mark and I seem to have drawn the lucky numbers. With Mr. Christopher and his brother. And Al Hardy. And a few others, I guess."
"Will there be shooting?" Are you going to be killed?
"Maybe. They shot at Harry. They killed that other man, the one from the dude ranch."
"Aren't you afraid?" she asked.
"Terrified. But it's got to be done. And when it is, I'll ask Hardy to let me take Mark up to the mountains."
She didn't ask him if he had to go. She knew better than that. "Will you come back?"
"Yes. Do you want me to?"
"Yes. But … but I'm not in love with you."
"That's all right," he said. He chuckled. "After all, we hardly know each other. Will you ever be in love with me?"
"I don't know." I don't dare let myself be. "I don't think I'll ever love anyone." There's no future in it. There's no future at all.
"You will," he said.
"Let's not talk about it."
There is rain in the Sahara. Lake Chad fills to overflowing, and engulfs the city of Nguigmi. The Niger and the Volta are in flood, drowning millions who have survived the tsunami. In eastern Nigeria the Ibo tribe rises in rebellion against the central government.
Further to the east the Palestinians and Israelis suddenly realize there are no great powers capable of intervening; this time the war will go to a conclusion. The remnants of Israel, Jordan, Syria and Saudi Arabia are on the march. There are no jet planes, and little fuel for tanks. There will be no ammunition resupply, and the war will not end until it is fought with knives.
Second Week: Mountain Men
Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day.
Isaac Watts, 1719; Anglican Hymnal #289
Water poured from the sky. Harvey Randall was almost past noticing, as he hardly noticed the places where the road was gone. It was automatic to avoid the deepest holes, to walk carefully across the mud that flowed in rivers across the blacktop. It felt good to be moving, to stride up the steep winding road into the High Sierra. There were no cars and no people; only the road. He had food, and a knife, and the target pistol. Not much food, and not much ammunition, but he was lucky to have anything at all.
"Hey, Harv, how about we take a break?" Mark called from behind him.
Harvey kept on walking. Mark shrugged and muttered something under his breath, and shifted the shotgun from his right shoulder to his left. He carried the weapon barrel down under his poncho. The weapon was kept dry, but Mark didn't believe he was dry anywhere. He'd sweated enough that he might as well not have the poncho. It felt like a steam bath inside the rain gear.
Harvey picked his way across a rivulet of water. So far he hadn't found anyplace that he couldn't have taken the TravelAll, and he cursed the Senator and his hardnosed assistant; but he did that silently. If he said anything, Mark would agree, and Mark was in enough trouble with Al Hardy. One of these days Mark would get himself shot, or thrown out of the Senator's Stronghold,