“I’ll be glad when that goddam thing’s past,” Harris said. He didn’t mention the body on the bed. You lived with that, or you quit; but you worked it out on your own.
“It’s going to be a long night,” Eric said.
“Yeah, and we’ve got morning watch tomorrow.” Harris looked up at the glowing sky. “Be damned glad when that thing’s past.”
They camped at Soda Springs. It was a good campground, surprisingly uncrowded; Gordie Vance had expected a dozen other scout troops to be there. Instead, there was only Gordie and the six scouts he’d brought with him. Hammer Fever, Gordie thought. Nobody wants to be this far from roads and civilization.
They dropped their packs with relief. The boys went dashing off to the spring. There were two springs: One bubbled with clear mountain water, pure and cold; the other was rusty in color, and tasted awful, although the boys pretended they liked it. The water was naturally carbonated, and they made Wyler’s root beer in their canteens. Gordie didn’t bother telling them not to drink too much. Nobody ever did.
They cooked supper over the Svea gasoline backpacker stoves. Gordie let Andy Randall choose the dinner; Andy would have to get used to leading the group. It wouldn’t be long before…
“But my teacher said it might,” one of the younger boys was saying.
“Nuts,” Andy Randall told him. “Dad’s been out to JPL dozens of times, and their computer says it won’t. Besides, Mr. Hamner told me—”
“You know him?” the younger scout asked.
“Sure.”
“But he invented the Hammer.” Involuntarily they looked upward, to the huge glowing smear in the evening sky. “It sure looks close,” the younger scout said.
The long mountain twilight ended, and the stars came out. The Hammer glowed fiercely in the night sky before it sank behind the Sierra. Gordie got the boys into their sleeping bags. They wanted to stay up and watch; there were bright aurora displays across the sky, with the stars showing through jagged lines of green and red.
Gordie climbed into his own sack. As usual he dropped straight off to sleep, programmed to wake in a couple of hours so that he could walk around and see that the boys were all right. I’m a conscientious bastard, he thought, just before he dozed off. It was funny, but Gordie wasn’t laughing.
He woke at midnight — and that was all the sleep he got that night.
The sky was frantic. It streamed overhead like luminescent milk in black water. Stars winked in Hamner-Brown’s tail, then sank into the background as blazes of color flashed across from horizon to horizon. Somewhere in the far distance there were brighter flashes, and after a long time, thunder. Gordie made his rounds in a trance.
Andy Randall was awake. He hadn’t bothered to set up a tube tent, although it often rains in the Sierra in June. Andy lay in the open, his head propped on his pack, his long arms under his neck. “Quite a show,” he whispered.
“That it is,” Gordie said. He was careful to keep his voice cheerful and under control. When they asked later, Andy would have to say that Gordon Vance had shown no signs of depression. “Get some sleep,” Gordie said. “We don’t have far to go tomorrow, but the trail’s tricky in places.”
“I know.”
“Right,” Gordie said. He walked a little way uphill, to be alone, and sank down in the long grass.
Tomorrow it won’t matter, he thought. I don’t need any sleep.
He had the cliff all picked out. A fatal fall… it would have to be fatal. A mistake would leave him injured but alive the kids frantic, while a rescue team moved in to get him to a hospital. He’d be in a hospital bed when the bank examiners found the shortages. Crippled, maybe. Not even able to run.
Not that he would run. He’d had that chance, and it was no good, no good at all. Where would he go? The money was gone, and there was nothing for an American exile without money. Besides, children ought to grow up in their own country. Gordie glanced over to where his own son, age twelve, lay huddled in his sleeping bag. It was going to be rough on Bert, but there wasn’t any help for it.
Funny about that cliff. Gordie could remember it perfectly. The trail wasn’t all that narrow there, but the edge was crumbly, and if you stood too close… he’d seen that two years ago, when they passed by it. He’d had different thoughts then.
I sure wish Bert wasn’t along.
A red velvet curtain rippled across the sky. Magnificent show for my last night, Gordie thought. He tried to watch the sky, but he kept seeing the cliff.
One moment. One carefully careless moment and he’d be at the bottom with a broken neck, and worse. There was a path down, easy enough for the kids. Andy would see that they went down properly. Then Andy Randall would be in charge, and that would be okay. Gordie had been training Andy for two years. Not for this — well, yes, for this, just in case of a genuine accident. Funny how things work out.
The crescent moon rose over the hills, washing out some of the stars and blending its own eerie colors into the light show. Gordie imagined he could see shock waves in the comet tail — but that was probably imagination. The astronauts up there would be seeing it, though, with instruments if not with their eyes. Wonder what it’s like to be up there? Gordie had been a flyer, for a short time, until he’d been low scorer in his class and washed out of flight school to become a navigator for the Air Force. Should have stayed in, he thought. But I had to be a banker…
Too damn bad to ruin the boys’ trip. No choice. None at all, and an accident solves all problems. Half a million in insurance, enough to cover all the bank shortages and leave Marie and Bert in pretty good shape. Call it three hundred thousand left, at seven percent. It’s not magnificent wealth, but it’s sure as hell better than having your father in prison and nothing to live on…
Toward dawn the frantic sky became even more frantic. There was a bright spot in there. If it was the head, it was hard to see, looking down through the luminous tunnel of the tail. Cold light and shifting shadows, faint color splashes of aurora even in daytime. Then the land was afire with dawn, but the light was still funny. Elfin. Gordie shivered.
He went back to his sleeping bag and slid in. No point in catching a nap. It won’t be long…
The Svea was laid out with the fuel bottle, pan of water next to it. Gordie reached out with one arm and primed the tiny stove. His sleeping-bag breakfasts were a standard joke with everyone who’d been camping with him. He didn’t really feel like eating, but it would be dangerous to change the routine. He brought a pan of water to a boil and made hot chocolate. It was surprisingly good, and then he was ready for oatmeal, and a big cup of Sherpa tea, strong tea with brown sugar and a lump of butter…
One by one the boys woke. Gordie chortled to hear Andy Randall tell Bert, “You mean you slept through it? All night?”
No campfire. Not enough wood. Every year there were fewer and fewer places you could build a real fire. Not very many of the kids knew how to cook over a wood fire. Be bad if they really had to be out on their own, but that didn’t happen anymore. Nowadays, if you get lost, you clear an area fifty feet in diameter and light a match in the middle of it. Pretty soon a fire patrol will be out to give you a citation. There aren’t any deep woods anymore, not like when I was a kid…
I should have got some sleep, Gordie thought. My mind’s wandering. It doesn’t matter, though. It’s not very far now. I think I’ll have one more cup of chocolate.
He put the water on. “Let’s get it together,” he called. “Time to be finishing up. Stuff your bags and lace your boots. 1 want us on the trail in five minutes.”