Lucifer's Hammer

A man would usually pause when Eileen asked him to di

“Yes. It’s very good.”

“And you were going to let me go without warning? Without telling me I’d be eating with my fingers?”

Eileen laughed. “Test your flexibility.”

“Uh-huh. Why don’t you come over here for cocktails first? I’ll introduce you to His Majesty and the other crystal” Tim told her how to get there.

Fred Lauren came home with a stack of magazines. He dropped them beside the easy chair, sank into the sagging springs and began reading the National Enquirer.

The article confirmed his worst fears. The comet was certain to hit, and nobody had any idea where. But it was going to hit in summer, and therefore (the sketch made clear) it would hit in the Northern Hemisphere. Nobody knew how massive the comet head would be, but the Enquirer said it might mean the end of the world.

And he had heard that radio preacher, that fool who was on all the stations. The end of the world was coming. His jaw tightened, and he picked up the copy of Astronomy. According to Astronomy it was a hundred thousand to one against any part of the head striking the Earth, but Fred barely noticed that. What drew him were the artist’s conceptions, infinitely vivid, of an asteroid strike sending up jets of molten magma; of an “average” asteroid poised above Los Angeles for comparison; of a comet head striking ocean, the sea bed laid bare.

The pages had grown too dark to see, but Fred didn’t think of turning on the light. Many men never believe they are going to die, but Fred believed, now. He sat in the dark until it occurred to him that Colleen must have come home, and then he went to the telescope.

The girl wasn’t in view, but the lights were on. An empty room. Fred’s eye suddenly painted it with flame. The stucco wall around the window flashed blinding light, which died slowly to reveal curtains flaming, bedclothes, couch, tablecloth and table, everything afire. Windows shattered, splinters flying. Bathroom door — opened.

The girl came out struggling into a robe. She was naked. To Fred she glowed like a saint, with a beauty almost impossible to see directly. An eternity passed before she closed the robe… and in that eternity Fred saw her bathed in the light of Hammerfall. Colleen glowed like a star, eyelids clenched futilely shut, face speckled with glass splinters, robe charring, long blonde hair crisping, blackening, flaming… and she was gone before they had met. Fred turned away from the telescope.

We can’t meet, the voice of reason told him. I know what I’d do. I can’t face prison again.

Prison? When the comet was coming to end the world? Trials took time. He’d never reach prison. He’d be dead first. Fred Lauren smiled very strangely; the muscles at the corners of his jaw were knotted tight. He’d be dead first!

May

By the 1790’s, philosophers and scientists were aware of many allegations that stones had fallen from the sky, but the most eminent scientists were skeptical. The first great advance came in 1794, when a German lawyer, E.F.F. Chladni, published a study of some alleged meteorites, one of which had been found after a fireball had been sighted. Chladni accepted the evidence that these meteorites had fallen from the sky and correctly inferred that they were extraterrestrial objects that were heated from falling through the earth’s atmosphere. Chladni even postulated that they might be fragments of a broken planet — an idea that set the stage for early theories about asteroids, the first of which was discovered seven years later. Chladni’s ideas were widely rejected, not because they were ill conceived, for he had been able to collect good evidence, but because his contemporaries simply were loath to accept the idea that extraterrestrial stones could f all from the sky.

The young man walked with a decided limp. He almost tripped on the thick rug in the big office, and Carrie, Senator Jellison’s receptionist, took his arm for a moment. He shrugged her angrily away. “Mr. Colin Saunders,” Carrie a

“What can I do for you?” Senator Jellison asked.

“I need a new leg.”

Jellison tried not to look surprised, but he wasn’t successful. And I thought I’d heard ’em all, he thought. “Have a seat.” Jellison glanced at his watch. “It’s after six…”

“I know I’m taking up your valuable time.” Saunders’s voice was belligerent.

“Wasn’t thinking about my time,” Arthur Jellison said. “Being it’s after six, we can have a drink. Want something?”

“Well… yes, please, sir.”

“Fine.” Jellison got up from the ornate wooden desk and went to the ancient cabinet on the wall. The building wasn’t that old, but the cabinets looked as if they might have been used by Daniel Webster, who was reputed not to wait until six. Senator Jellison opened the cabinets to reveal a huge stock of liquor. Nearly every bottle had the same label.

“Old Fedcal?” the visitor asked.

“Sure. Don’t let the labels fool you. That’s Jack Daniels bourbon in the black bottle. The rest of ’em are top brands, too. Why pay brand prices when I can get it from home a lot cheaper? What’ll you have?”

“Scotch.”

“Right here. I’m a bourbon man myself.” Jellison poured two drinks. “Now tell me what this is all about.”

“It’s the VA.” Saunders poured out his story. This would be his fourth artificial leg. The first one the Veterans Administration gave him had fit fine, but it had been stolen, and the next three didn’t fit at all, they hurt, and now the VA wasn’t going to do anything about it.

“Sounds like a problem for your representative,” Jellison said gently.

“I tried to see the Honorable Jim Braden.” The young man’s voice was bitter again. “I couldn’t even get an appointment.”

“Yeah,” Jellison said. “Excuse me a second.” He took a small bound book from a desk drawer. “HAVE AL LOOK INTO PRIMARY OPPOSITION FOR THAT SON OF A BITCH,” he wrote. “THE PARTY DON’T NEED CREEPS LIKE THAT, AND THIS AIN’T THE FIRST TIME.” Then he drew a memo pad toward him. “Better give me the names of the doctors you’ve been dealing with,” he said.

“You mean you’ll really help?”

“I’ll have somebody look into it.” Jellison wrote the details on the memo pad. “Where’d you get hit?”

“Khe Sanh.”

“Medals? It helps to know.”

The visitor shrugged. “Silver Star.”

“And Purple Heart, of course,” Jellison said. “Want another drink?”

The visitor smiled and shook his head. He looked around the big room. The walls were decorated with photographs: Senator Jellison at an Indian reservation; Jellison at the controls of an Air Force bomber; Jellison’s children, and staff, and friends. “I don’t want to take any more of your time. You must be busy.” He got up carefully.

Jellison saw the visitor to the door. Carrie had to unlock it. “That’s the last,” she said.

“Fine. I’ll stick around awhile. Send Alvin in, and you can go home — oh, one thing. See if you can get me Dr. Sharps at JPL first, will you? And call Maureen to tell her I’ll be a little late.”

“Sure.” Carrie gri

“So what else is new?” Al went into the big office. Jellison was sprawled out in his judge’s chair, his jacket and narrow striped tie laid across the desk, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down. A big glass of bourbon sat next to the bottle. “Yes, sir?” Al said.