Lucifer's Hammer

“Damn him!”

“And they’ll probably get stronger after we air the Great Hot Fudge Sundae strike. Tim, it’s almost as if a lot of people wanted the end of the world.”

“But that’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe. But we’re getting it.” Ridiculous to you, Harvey thought. Not so ridiculous to a man trapped in a job he hates, or a woman forced to sleep with a slob of a boss to keep her job… “Look, you’re the sponsor. I can’t stop you, but I insist on making the rules. Also, we start early in the mornings—”

“Yeah.” Tim drained his glass. “I’ll get used to it. They say you can get used to hanging if you hang long enough.”

The TravelAII was crammed full of gear and people. Cameras, tape equipment, a portable field desk for paper work. Mark Czescu had trouble finding a place to sit. Now there were three in back, since Hamner claimed the front seat. Mark was reminded of trips out to the desert with the dedicated bike racers: motorcycles and mechanic’s equipment braced with care, riders shoved in as afterthought. As he waited for the others to come out of the studio building, Mark turned on the radio.

An authoritative voice spoke with the compelling quality of the professional orator. “And this Gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come. When ye therefore see the abomination of desolation spoken of by Daniel the prophet stand in the holy place: then let them which be in Judea flee into the mountains.” The voice quality changed, from reader to preacher. “My people, have you not seen what is now done in the churches? Is this not that abomination? ’Whoso readeth, let him understand.’ And the Hammer approaches! It comes to punish the wicked.

“’For then shall be great tribulation, such as was not since the begi

“Really lays it on,” a voice said behind Mark. Charlie Bascomb got into the TravelAII.

“The Gospel has been brought to you by the Reverend Henry Armitage,” the radio a

“Sure hear him a lot nowadays,” Mark said. “He must have a lot of new contributors.”

They drove out into Burbank and parked near the Warner Brothers Studios. It was a good street: lots of shops, from hole-in-the-wall camera stores to expensive restaurants. People flowed along the wide avenue. Starlets and production people from the studios mingled with straight business types from insurance offices. Middle-class housewives parked station wagons and took to the streets. A famous TV personality who lived in nearby Toluca Lake strolled past. Mark recognized the ski-shaped nose.

While the crew set up camera and sound equipment, Harvey took Tim Hamner into a restaurant for coffee. When everything was ready, Mark went inside. As he neared the booth he heard Randall speaking. Harvey’s voice had an edge that Mark recognized.

“…whole purpose is to find out what they think. What I think, I hide in neutral questions and a neutral voice. What you think, you hide in silence. Clear?”

“Absolutely,” Hamner drawled. He looked more awake than he had on the drive out. “So what do I do?”

“You can look useful. You can help Mark with the release forms. And you can stay out of the way.”

“I’ve got a good tape machine,” Hamner said. “I could—”

“We couldn’t use anything you’ve got,” Randall said. “You’re not in the union.” He looked up and saw Mark, got the nod and left.

Mark walked out with Hamner. “He gave me that same routine,” Mark said. “Really ate me out.”

“I believe you. I think if I blew an interview for him he’d abandon me on the spot. And cabs home from here cost a lot.”

“You know,” Mark said, “somehow I got the idea you were the sponsor.”

“Yup. That Harv Randall is one tough mother,” Hamner said. “Have you been in this business very long?”

Mark shook his head. “Just temporary, just working for Harv. Maybe one day I’ll do it permanently, but you know how the TV business is. It’d cut into my freedom.”

There was smog in Burbank. “I see Hertz has reclaimed the mountains,” Hamner said.

Mark looked up in surprise. “How’s that?”

Hamner pointed northward where the San Fernando Valley horizon faded into a brown smear. “Sometimes we keep mountains up there. I even have an observatory on one of them. But I guess Hertz Rent-A-Mountain has taken them back today.” They reached the TravelAII. The cameras were set up, ready to zoom in for close-ups or pan out for a wide view. Harvey Randall had already stopped a muscular man in hard hat and work clothes; he looked out of place among the shoppers and business types.

“…Rich Gollantz. We’re putting up the Avery Building over there.”

Harvey Randall’s voice and ma

Gollantz laughed. “I don’t spend as much time thinking about comets as you might expect.” Harvey smiled. “But I did see the ‘Tonight Show’ where they said it could hit the Earth.”

“And what did you think about that?” Harvey asked.

“Buncha… crap.” Gollantz eyed the camera. “Same kind of thing peopIe are always saying. Ozone’s gone, we’ll all die. And remember ’sixty-eight, when all the fortune-tellers said California was going to slide off into the sea, and the crazies took to the hills?”

“Yes, but the astronomers say that if the head of the comet hit. it would cause—”

“Ice age,” Gollantz interrupted. “I know about it. I saw that thing in Astronomy magazine.” He gri

Harvey dug for more. The interview wasn’t likely to produce usable film, but that wasn’t its purpose. Harvey was fishing, with the camera as bait. The network didn’t approve of this method of research. Too expensive, too crude, and unreliable, they said. They got that opinion straight from the motivational-research outfits that wanted NBS to hire them.

A few more questions. Science and technology. Gollantz was enjoying being on camera. Had he heard about the Apollo shot to study the comet, and what did he think of that?

“Love it. Be a good show. Lots of good pictures, and it’ll cost me less than I paid for Rose Bowl tickets, I guarantee you that. Hey, I hope they let Joh

“Do you know Colonel Baker?”

“No. Wish I did. Love to meet him. But I saw the pictures of him fixing Skylab. Now that was construction work. And when he got back down, he sure gave those NASA bastards hell, didn’t he? Hey, I got to be moving. We got work to do.” He waved and moved off. Mark chased him with a release form.

“Sir? Moment of your time?”

The young man walked with his head down, lost in thought. He was not bad-looking, but his face was curiously wooden. He showed a flash of anger when Randall interrupted his thoughts. “Yes?”

“We’re talking with people about Hamner-Brown Comet. May I have your name?”

“Fred Lauren.”

“Have you any thoughts on the comet?”

“No.” Almost reluctantly he added, “I watched your program.” Muscles knotted at Fred Lauren’s jaws, in a ma