Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [246]
"The 1911 Britannica," Forrester said. "An 1894 book of formulae for such things as soap, with a whole section on how to brew beer starting with barley grains. The Beekeeper's Manual. Veterinary handbooks. Instructor's lab manuals starting with basic inorganic chemistry and running up through organic synthesis. I've got those for 1930 equipment as well as modern. The Amateur Radio Handbook. Farmer's Almanac. The Rubber Handbook. Peters's Pour Yourself a House, and two books on how to make Portland cement. The Compleat Gunsmith and a set of Army field manuals on infantry-weapon maintenance. The maintenance manuals for most cars and trucks. Wheeler's Home Repairs. Three books on hydroponic gardening. A complete set of—"
"Whoa!" Mark cried. "Enter, O Prince. Welcome back, Harry, they're getting worried about you up at the big house. Put your hands on the rail, Hugo, Spread your legs. You carrying heat?"
"You saw me unload the pistol," Hugo said. "It's in the waistband. And the kitchen knife. I need that for eating."
"We'll just put those in the bag," Mark said. "You probably won't be eating here. I won't say goodbye, Hugo. I'll see you on the way out."
"Up your nose."
Mark shrugged. "What happened to your truck, Harry?"
"They took it."
"Somebody took your truck? Did you tell them who you were?" Mark was incredulous. "Hell, this means war. They were wondering whether to take a big force Outside. Now they'll have to."
"Maybe." Harry didn't seem as pleased as Mark thought he would.
Dan Forrester cleared his throat. "Mark, did Charlie Sharps get here all right? There would have been a couple of dozen people with him."
"Was he coming here?"
"Yes. Senator Jellison's ranch."
"We never saw him." Mark looked embarrassed. So did Harry. It must be common enough to them, Dan thought sadly: Someone never got somewhere, and the only question was, would the survivor make a scene?
Harry broke an uncomfortable silence.
"I've got a message for the Senator, and Dr. Forrester isn't walking so good. Have you got transportation?"
Mark looked thoughtful. "Guess we'd better telegraph that request in," he said. "Wait here. Watch the road for me, Harry, I'll be right back." Mark spread both hands wide and waved from his waist, making it look casual like a shrug so that Hugo Beck wouldn't figure out that he was signaling, then went off into the bushes.
Dan Forrester watched with interest. He'd read his Kipling. He wondered if Hugo Beck had.
The sun was falling behind the mountains; golden light and violent reds showed beneath the edges of the cloud cover. Sunrises and sunsets had been spectacular since Hammerfall, and, Dan Forrester knew, they would be for a long time. When Tamboura blew up in 1814, the dust it sent into the sky kept sunsets brilliant for two years; and that was only one volcano.
Dan Forrester sat in the cab of the truck with the taciturn driver. Harry and Hugo Beck were in back under a tarpaulin. There was no other traffic on the road, and Forrester appreciated the compliment they'd paid him. Or was it for Harry? Perhaps both together were worth the gasoline when neither alone would have been. They drove through a light drizzle, and the truck heater felt good on Dan's feet and legs.
There were no dead bodies. It was the first thing Dan noticed: nothing dead to be seen. The houses looked like houses, with someone living in every one of them. A few had sandbagged defenses, but there were many that had no signs of defenses at all. Strange, almost weird, that there should be a place where people felt safe enough to have glass windows without shutters.
And he saw two flocks of sheep, as well as horses and cattle. He saw signs of organized activity everywhere—newly cleared fields, some being plowed with teams of horses (no tractors that he could see), others still in process of clearing with men working to carry boulders and pile them into stone walls. The men generally had weapons on their belts, but not all of them were armed. By the time they came to the large driveway up to the big