Footfall

“We have the skeleton of a good story. Now we put flesh on it. What would you import? Whatever it is, we have to bring it in and show it. We’re supposed to be growing food. Ships would take food out. We’ll bring them in full and send them out empty.” Next to GREENHOUSE he wrote FOOD and an inward-pointing arrow. Next to COLLABORATORS he wrote JAIL, JAILERS. Within the second circle, SNOUTS. GET SNOUTS. “We’ve got snout prisoners, but they’re crazy. They go where they’re pushed. They don’t talk even to each other. But we can show them to people.” Jenny grinned. It’s the first time I’ve seen Jack get really turned on about something. Other than me. “Circles,” Jack said. “Layers. The security system is in rings, just like the cover stories. They look like they’re set up to keep you out, and they will if you’re not too determined, but the real purpose is to keep you in if you do manage to penetrate — heck, we’ll have a prison, not too large, maybe, but big enough to take care of anyone who learns too much.”

“It all sounds wonderful, but aren’t you forgetting something?” Rohrs asked. “Sheriff Lafferty isn’t going to help you do any of this.”

“We do it ourselves.”

“Yeah.” Rohrs scratched his head. “But, Mr. Clybourne—”

“Jack.”

“Jack, I don’t have anybody to spare.”

Jack chuckled. “Now, how did I guess that? It’s okay. First thing, we get some Army troops in here.”

“Intelligence types,” Rohrs said. “Sure.”

“MPs, too. Construction engineers to build prisons. And combat troops, just in case,” Jack said. “The next time we talk to Sheriff Lafferty, I want him to know he’s talking uphill.”

“Did I just hear something tear?” General Gillespie asked. “It sounded like the Constitution.”

Jenny caught the look on Max’s face. Interesting. He looked disgusted. A liberal general? We’re fighting snouts here!

“No.” Jack Clybourne was positive. “What you hear is the sound of Bellingham being put outside the boundaries of the United States.” He opened his brief case and removed a document. “I hold here a presidential order suspending the rules of habeas corpus in the Bellingham area. It’s quite constitutional. I play by the rules, General.”

“Yeah, but when word of that gets out …”

“It won’t. The first thing we do when the troops get here is seal off Bellingham. No one leaves.”

“What about people from the highway?”

“There isn’t much traffic now,” Rohrs said.

“You can’t see the harbor area from the highway,” Jack said. “The big hill with the university on it is in the way. So we leave service stations alongside the highway, and all’s well for people who go to them, but anybody who goes further into town, to the other side of the hill — they don’t leave, that’s all.”

“But what about—”

There was a knock at the door. Rohrs shouted, but no one heard. He went to the door. A flood of sound washed into the room. The workman at the door shouted. “Max, turn on the radio. There’s something important—”

“Okay. Thanks!” Rohrs closed the door and the hammers and rivet guns became tolerable again.

“What station?” Clybourne asked.

“There’s only one.” Rohrs went to the radio that perched above a file cabinet.

A voice boomed out. It sounded familiar, like a professional orator.

“They will take the surrender of all humans — and they will incorporate them into their herd. Those of their race who surrender become the property of the herd. Eventually they or their descendants may find status therein …”

“Son of a bitch!” General Gillespie said. “That’s Wes Dawson!”

They all stood when the President came in. He gestured impatiently for them to be seated. Reynolds stood with the rest of them. With its haphazard furniture and refreshments the room looked like the Green Room at an underfunded science-fiction convention, but it felt weirdly like the White House. Most of the Dreamer Fithp were present. Harpanet was not.

“Commander, I understand that you have a tape?”

The naval officer looked young for his rank. “Yes, Mr. President. It’s just as we received it. We’ve put it through filters to clean out the noise, but nothing else.”

“Play it, then.”

“Yes, sir.” The navy commander gestured.

There was a short hissing sound, and then a voice from outer space.

“My fellow Americans, I’m Wesley Dawson, formerly a congressman from California. I’m now a member of the Chtaptisl Fithp — which is to say the Traveler Herd. I am alive and well and I send my regards to my family. We have been well treated by their standards.”

By their standards. The words stood out; Dawson must have intended them to.

“The human fithp aboard Message Bearer have been brought together. There are three Russians. Commander Rogachev, Lieutenant Colonel Dmitri Grushin, and Commander Rogachev’s sergeant. There are six Americans in addition to me. Mrs. Geraldine Wilson and her daughter Melissa. Gary Capehart, aged nine. John and Carrie Woodward of Lawton, Kansas; and Alice McLennon, who was formerly resident in Topeka. We’re all alive, in reasonable health, due largely to Alice’s forethought in bringing us dietary supplements.