Lucifer's Hammer

“Too early,” Corrigan said.

“Then it’s Disney. Silly way to make a living.”

“Don’t see any camera trucks,” Corrigan said. He didn’t sound very interested. He watched for a few moments longer. “Heard from that rich boy friend of yours? This is his big day.”

For just a moment Eileen felt terribly lonely. “Not for awhile.” Then she began pulling out folders of color pictures and arranged them to show attractive combinations of accessories: the bathroom your clients dream of.

Alameda was fairly speedy. Tim Hamner tried to remember the co

“Goddammit!” he shouted. Months to prepare, months waiting for his comet, and now it was approaching at fifty miles a second and he was driving past the Walt Disney Studios. Part of his mind told him that was fu

Take Alameda to the Golden State, Tim thought. If that’s moving, I’ll get on it and back onto the Ventura. If it isn’t, I’ll just go on surface streets all the way and the hell with tickets… and what was that ahead?

Not just cars jammed across an intersection, motionless under a string of green lights. This was more, cars jockeying for room, cars pulling into driveways and through them to the alley beyond. More cars, stopped, and people on foot moving among the swarm. There was just time to get over into the right-hand lane. Tim turned hard into a parking lot, hoping to follow the moving cars into an alley.

Dead end! He was in a large parking lot, and the way was completely blocked by a delivery truck. Tim braked viciously and slammed the shift lever into PARK. Carefully he turned the key off. Then he pounded the dash and swore, using words he hadn’t remembered for years. There was no place to go; more cars had come in behind him. The lot was jammed.

I’m in trouble, Tim thought. He abandoned the car to walk toward Alameda. TV store, he thought. If they don’t have the comet on, I’ll buy a set on the spot.

Alameda was jammed with cars. Bumper-to-bumper, and none of them moving at all. And they were screaming up ahead, at the intersection where the focus of action seemed to be. Robbery? A sniper? Tim wanted no part of that. But no, those were screams of rage, not fear. And the intersection swarmed with blue-uniformed policemen. There was something else, too. White robes? Someone in a white robe was coming toward him now. Hamner tried to avoid him, but the man planted himself in Tim’s path.

It wasn’t much of a costume, that robe; probably a bedsheet, and there was certainly conventional clothing under it. The fuzzy-bearded young man was smiling, but insistent. “Sir! Pray! Pray for the safe passage of Lucifer’s Hammer! There is so little time!”

“I know that,” Tim said. He tried to dodge past, but the man moved with him.

“Pray! The Wrath of God is upon us. Yea, the hour is approaching and is now here, but God will spare the city for ten just men. Repent and be saved, and save our city.”

“How many of you are there?” Tim demanded.

“There are a hundred Wardens,” the man said.

“That’s more than ten. Now let me go.”

“But you don’t understand — we will save the city, we Wardens. We have been praying for months. We have promised God the repentance of thousands.” The intense brown eyes stared into Hamner’s. Then recognition came. “You’re him! You’re Timothy Hamner! I saw you on TV. Pray, brother. Join us in prayer, and the world will know!”

“It sure will. NBC is just down the road.” Tim frowned. There were two Burbank policemen coming up behind the Comet Warden, and they weren’t smiling at all.

“Is this man a

“Yes,” Tim said.

The policeman smiled. “Gotcha!” He took the robed man by the arm. “You have the right to remain silent. If you give up—”

“I know all that crap,” the Warden said. “Look at him! He’s the man who invented the comet!”

“Nobody invents a comet, you idiot,” Tim said. “Officer, do you know where there’s a TV store? I want to see the comet pictures from space.”

“Down that way. Could we have your name and address—”

Tim took out a card and thrust it at the policeman. Then he scurried toward the intersection beyond.

Eileen had an excellent view through the storefront window. She sat with Joe Corrigan and sipped coffee; it was obvious that their architect wasn’t going to get through that traffic jam. They brought over big chrome chairs and the glass coffee table, making a picnic out of watching a lot of angry people.

The cause of it all was diagonally across from them. Twenty or thirty men and women in white robes — not all of them bedsheets — had chained themselves across Alameda from lamppost to telephone pole. They sang hymns. The quality of singing had been pretty good for awhile, but the police soon led away their white-bearded leader, and now they were discordant.

On either side of the human chain an infinite variety of cars were packed like sardines. Old Ford station wagons, for grocery shopping; chauffeured Mercedeses — stars or studio executives; campers, pickup trucks, new Japanese imports, Chevies and Plymouth Dusters, all packed together, and all immobile. A few drivers were still trying to get out, but most had given up. A horde of robed preachers moved through the matrix of cars. They stopped to speak with each driver, and they preached. Some of the drivers were screaming at them. A few listened. One or two even got out and knelt in prayer.

“Some show, eh?” Corrigan said. “Why the hell didn’t they pick some place else?”

“With NBC practically next door? If the comet goes past without smashing anything, they’ll take credit for saving the world. Haven’t we seen a few of those nuts on TV for years?”

Corrigan nodded. “Looks like they hit the big time with this one. Here come the TV cameras.”

The preachers redoubled their efforts when they saw the cameramen. The hymn stopped for a moment, then began again: “Nearer My God to Thee.” The preachers had to talk fast, and sometimes they broke off in midspeech to avoid the police. Blue uniforms chased white robes through the honking cars and screaming drivers.

“A day to remember,” Corrigan said.

“They may just have to pave the whole thing over.”

“Yep.” For a fact that traffic jam was going to be there a long time. Too many cars had been abandoned. He could see more civilians darting among the cars, flowered sports shirts and gray fla

Two policemen came into the store. Eileen and Corrigan greeted them. Both had regular beats in the neighborhood, and the younger, Eric Larsen, often joined Eileen for coffee at the local Orange Julius. He reminded Eileen of her younger brother.

“Got any bolt cutters?” Investigator Harris was all business. “Big heavy jobs.”

“Think so,” Corrigan said. He lifted a phone and pushed a button. He waited. Nothing happened. “Goddam warehouse crew’s out watching the show. I’ll get them.” He went back through the office.

“No keys?” Eileen asked.

“No.” Larsen smiled at her. “They chucked them before they came here.” Then he shook his head sadly. “If we don’t get those crazies out of here pretty soon, there’ll be a riot. No way to protect them.”

The other cop snorted. “You can tell Joe to take his time for all I care,” he said. “They’re stupid. Sometimes I think the stupid will inherit the Earth.”