“For God’s sake don’t talk like that.” She left off the packing and came over to stand beside him.

He patted her belly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back if I have to swim.” He laughed. “Or pull our famous Flying Dutchman act and drive over the water again. I intend to see our son or possibly daughter. Or twins? You already look somewhat like an inverted question mark.” Dammit, he was babbling, the fear was showing through.

“Tim…”

“Don’t make it harder, Eileen.”

“No. Well, you’re all packed.”

Tim punched the button on his watch. “We have an hour before we leave,” he said. He stood and grabbed her. “Gotcha.”

“Tim…”

“Ye-ess?”

Whatever she had been about to say, she said instead, “Did you get our reservations at the Savoy?”

“They were all booked up. I found someplace closer.”

“Goody.”

There were a dozen of them, led by Johnny Baker. Three of Deke Wilson’s ranchers. Jack Ross, a Christopher brother-in-law. Tim wasn’t surprised to see Mark Czescu and Hugo Beck among the volunteers. He recognized most of the others as valley ranchers, but one man, middle-aged and far too small for his clothes, was a stranger. Tim went over to him and introduced himself.

“Jason Gillcuddy,” the man said. “I saw your TV programs. Glad to meet you.”

“Gillcuddy. I’ve heard that name. Where?”

Jason smiled. “From my books, maybe? More likely you heard it here. Harry and I are both married to Donna, used to be Donna Adams. Her mother raised pluperfect hell about that.”

“Oh.” Tim followed Gillcuddy’s look to Harry and a slim girl, blonde, not more than nineteen, standing near Eileen. He pitched his backpack into the truck. The rifle was slung over his shoulder. “How long?” he asked.

“They’re waiting for something,” Jason said. “I don’t know what. No point in standing here. See you.” Jason went over to Harry and the girl. She embraced Gillcuddy while Harry stood watching.

Wonder what Hardy thinks of that? Tim thought. He likes everything neat. And what does it make Jason and Harry? Brothers-in-law? Husbands-in-law? The arrangement made sense, with Harry out on his rounds for weeks at a time. Someone had to work the Chicken Ranch while Harry was out. Tim found Eileen with Maureen Jellison. “My comet sure plays games with cultural patterns,” he said. He inclined his head toward Harry and Jason and Donna.

Eileen took his hand and held tightly.

“Hi, Maureen,” Tim said. “Where’s General Baker?”

“He’ll be out in a moment.”

Eileen and Maureen and Donna, they all had the same look. Tim had an impulse to laugh, but he didn’t. They looked exactly like the women in the old John Wayne movies, when the cavalry troop was about to ride out through the gates. Had they seen the movies, or had John Ford captured a truth?

A light truck drove up, and two ranch-hands jumped down. Chief Hartman got out of the cab. “Easy with that,” Hartman said. He looked around, then came over to Tim and Maureen. “Where’s the General?” he asked.

“Inside.”

“Okay. Best more than one knows anyway. Mr. Hamner, come look. We brought your radio gear.” He pointed to the boxes that the ranchers were loading in with the expedition baggage. “The set runs off a car battery. That other box contains a beam antenna. You get that to the highest place you can find, and point it at us. From the power plant that’s twenty degrees magnetic. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll be able to hear you. We’ll listen from five minutes to until five minutes after each hour. Channel thirteen. And assume the New Brotherhood’s listening in. You got all that?”

“Yes.” Tim repeated the instructions.

Johnny Baker came out of the house. He carried a rifle and wore a pistol on his belt. Maureen went to him and held him possessively.

There certainly were a lot of grim faces showing tonight. Tim decided that looking nonchalant was a waste of effort. Mark Czescu looked indecently cheerful; but that fit. Tim had heard him asking Harry the Mailman, in all innocence, “What are we calling this, the War of Harry’s Truck?” Mark didn’t know why they were fighting, and didn’t care.

Hugo Beck was grimmer than the rest. If the Angels got their hands on the apostate, he’d have reason… but maybe he had reason now. Nobody was going near him. Poor bastard.

“What the hell are we waiting on?” Jack Ross demanded. He was built like a Christopher, a massive, choleric man. There were three fingers missing from his left hand and a scar that ran clear to his elbow, the result of an argument with a harvesting machine. His fine blond mustache was nearly invisible, a mere token.

“The scouts,” Baker said. “It shouldn’t be long.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Rick Delanty seemed in a foul mood. He went to Baker, ignoring the others standing by. “Johnny, I want to go with you.”

“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…”