“No.”
“Dammit—”
“I’ve explained before,” Baker said. He took Delanty off to one side. Tim could barely hear their voices. He strained to catch it, eavesdropping or no. “We can’t risk all of the last astronauts,” Baker said. “We can’t leave one Russian here alone, and Russians wouldn’t be any use anyway. This is a diplomatic mission. They might not be welcome.”
“Fine. Leave them here and take me.”
“And who watches out for them, Rick? They’re our friends, and we promised. ‘Visit our home,’ we said. ‘You’ll have a native guide,’ we said. You saw the way some of these farmers reacted. Russians are not popular just now.”
“Neither are blacks.”
“But you are. You’re a space hero here! Rick, we promised them, and we came down in their capsule.”
“Fine. You stay. I’ll go. Dammit, Johnny, that power plant is important.”
“I know that. Now, just remember where we’re going, and tell me what anyone will think if he sees a black man’s face from a distance. You can’t play ambassador. Shut up and soldier, Colonel Delanty.”
Rick was silent for a moment. Finally: “Yes, sir. I’d file a protest, but I don’t know the Inspector General’s address.”
Baker clapped Delanty on the shoulder, then came back to Tim. If he’d caught him eavesdropping, he didn’t mention it. “They want you inside,” he said.
Hamner blinked. “Right.” He went up to the ranch house, still holding Eileen’s hand. The swelling of her pregnancy was just beginning to show, but it threw her balance off, so that she stumbled and had to brace herself against his arm.
Jellison, Hardy and Dan Forrester were in the living room. Forrester thrust papers encased in a Ziploc Bag into Tim’s hands. “These are some more ideas I had. General Baker has copies too, but…”
“Right,” Tim said.
“If you get a chance, scout out the west shore,” Al Hardy said. “We’d like to know what’s going on over there. And there’s a list of stuff you might be able to use.”
Tim looked at the papers in his hands. Through the plastic he could see only the top sheet. It was a list: iron oxide (found in paint stores, called red pigment, red spell; also found in the rust pile in automobile wrecking yards; or can be scraped from any rusty iron and ground finely); powdered aluminum (found in paint stores as a pigment); plaster of paris…
The list was long, and most of the items seemed useless. Tim knew better. He knew that on the other sheets in the stack were the means for turning those common items into deadly weapons. He looked at Forrester. “I’d hate to have you mad at me.”
Forrester looked embarrassed. “I remember everything I read, and I read a lot.”
“Have you ever done any skin diving?” Al Hardy asked.
Strange question. “Yes.”
“Thought so,” Hardy said. “Turns out you and Randall weren’t the only ones to think of that idea. The fishing camp down by Porterville salvaged some scuba gear. They’re selling it to us along with the boats.” Hardy looked darkly at Forrester. “This expedition is expensive. You wouldn’t believe how expensive. We had to trade for the boats, and they’ll use gasoline we don’t have enough of. And all those sacks of stuff you’re taking with you. Good fertilizer…”
“I’m sorry,” Forrester said.
“Sure,” Hardy said. “Hamner, there are towns out in the valley. Under water. We’re hoping either you or Baker will have a chance to do some salvage work. Both of you have scuba experience, but the only wet suit we could buy turns out to be small. I don’t know if Baker can get into it, which means you may have to do the diving. There’s another list in that packet of papers Forrester gave you. Stuff we need. But give his first priority.”
“And we want information,” Senator Jellison said. He sounded tired, and Tim thought he looked gray, but perhaps it was only the pale yellow kerosene light. “We’ve had short radio contact with people on the other side of the San Joaquin Sea,” Jellison said. “There were oil fields out there, lots of them, and there seem to be survivors. They were friendly enough on the radio, but you never can tell. Anyway, find out what you can. Maybe the power-plant people know. We can use allies. Baker has authority to make deals. You don’t, but you know conditions here better than Johnny does. He’ll need your advice.”
Tim looked thoughtful. “Everybody has assumed the people at the power plant will be friendly,” he said. “What if they’re not? I thought my observatory… anyway, what if they’re not?”
“Baker has instructions on that,” Jellison said. “Warn them about the cannibals and leave them alone.”
“And see what you can salvage out in the valley,” Hardy said. “We can’t let all this manpower and gasoline go to waste.”
A rancher put his head in the door. “Scouts are back,” he said. “It’s okay. We have the boats.”
Hardy nodded. “All right. Hamner, get your goodbyes said. Now I’ll go find out exactly what all this cost us,” he said, with distaste. He went.
Under the black beard Dan Forrester’s lips were a hard, thin line. Forrester didn’t always show his anger. It showed now only in the way he fumbled for words before saying, “Giving up the power plant would not turn out to be an optimum solution.”
“We’ll save it. You guard the home front.” Tim went back out into the cold night. Four hours until dawn.
Maureen blinked back tears as the truck drove away. She watched the taillight dwindle and vanish on the highway south, and stood in the cold wind long after she couldn’t see it any longer.
It all made sense. If they had to send off an expedition, Johnny Baker was the logical man to lead it. People knew who he was. They’d recognize him, or at least know of him, and nobody else in the Stronghold qualified that way. George Christopher and the others on horses could move down the east side of the valley, staying up in the hills, looking for ranchers, organized valleys, anyone to recruit for the attack on the cannibals, but no one across the Sea would have heard of the Christophers, and everyone knew Johnny Baker. Johnny was a hero.
She didn’t want to go inside. In there Al Hardy and Harvey Randall would be working with Dr. Forrester, planning tomorrow’s work, locating supplies and chemicals that Forrester could use. Her father might be there, too. She didn’t want to see Harv just then, and she didn’t want to see her father.
“I’m a goddam prize in a goddam contest,” she said aloud, “in a goddam fairy tale. Why doesn’t anyone ever speak for the princess?” She could hardly blame her father for the symmetry of it all, though she was tempted. But it was all so pat, it made so much sense.
The Stronghold had to have allies. People who might join to fight the cannibals were in the hills, where men could go only on foot or horseback. They would be locals, most of them. It made good sense to send twenty locals into the hills on horseback, led by a local, a farmer, a fine horseman: George Christopher.
And the power plant had to be saved, thanks to Forrester’s gentle extortion. But, cut off from events by the sea around them, how were the defenders to know their friends from their enemies? Best to send a man with some military authority, a man any adult American would recognize in a fog on a moonless night: General Johnny Baker.
Which left Harvey Randall free to work with Dr. Forrester, whom he had known in a previous life, on the weapons to defend the Stronghold.
So the knights were riding off in three directions, and he who came back with the prize — his life — would inherit the princess and half the kingdom. They could all come back. It could happen. But when did the princess ever get her choice?
“Hello.”
She didn’t turn to look. “He’s so damn visible.”
“Yeah,” Harv said. He wondered, but in silence, how the Angels who hated the atomic plant so much would feel about the space program. Someone like Jerry Owen would recognize Baker as fast as any power-plant operator would. “That’s why he’s there,” he said. When she didn’t answer, didn’t even turn, he went back inside.