Farnham's Freehold

Robert A. Heinlein

Chapter 1

            "It's not a hearing aid," Hubert Farnham explained. "It's a radio, tuned to the emergency frequency."

            Barbara Wells stopped with a bite halfway to her mouth. "Mr. Farnham! You think they are going to attack?"

            Her host shrugged. "The Kremlin doesn't let me in on its secrets."

            His son said, "Dad, quit scaring the ladies. Mrs. Wells-"

            "Call me 'Barbara.' I'm going to ask the court to let me drop the 'Mrs.'

            "You don't need permission."

            "Watch it, Barb," his sister Karen said. "Free advice is expensive."

            "Shaddap. Barbara, with all respect to my worthy father, he sees spooks. There is not going to be a war."

            "I hope you're right," Barbara Wells said soberly. "Why do you think so?"

            "Because the communists are realists. They never risk a war that would hurt them, even if they could win. So they won't risk one they can't win."

            "Then I wish," his mother said, "that they would stop having these dreadful crises. Cuba. All that fuss about Berlin-as if anybody cared! And now this. It makes a person nervous. Joseph!"

            "Yes, ma'am?"

            "You fetch me coffee. And brandy. Café royale."

            "Yes, ma'am." The houseboy, a young Negro, removed her plate, barely touched.

            Young Farnham said, "Dad, it's not these phony crises that has Mother upset; it's the panicky way you behave. You must stop it."

            "No."

            "You must! Mother didn't eat her dinner . . . and all because of that silly button in your ear. You can't-"

            "Drop it, Duke."

            "Sir?"

            "When you moved into your own apartment, we agreed to live as friends. As my friend your opinions are welcome. But that does not make you free to interfere between your mother-my wife-and myself."

            His wife said, "Now, Hubert."

            "Sorry, Grace."

            "You're too harsh on the boy. It does make me nervous."

            "Duke is not a boy. And I've done nothing to make you nervous. Sorry."

            "I'm sorry, too, Mother. But if Dad regards it as interference, well-" Duke forced a grin. "I'll have to find a wife of my own to annoy. Barbara, will you marry me?"

            "No, Duke."

            "I told you she was smart, Duke," his sister volunteered.

            "Karen, pipe down. Why not, Barbara? I'm young, I'm healthy. Why, someday I might even have clients. In the meantime you can support us."

            "No, Duke. I agree with your father."

            "Huh?"

            "I should say that my father agrees with your father. I don't know that my pops is carrying around a radio tonight but I'm certain that he is listening to one. Duke, every car in our family has a survival kit."

            "No fooling!"

            "My car out in your father's driveway, the one Karen and I drove down from school, has a kit in its trunk that Pops picked before I re-entered college. Pops takes it seriously, so I do."

            Duke Farnham opened his mouth, closed it. His father asked, "Barbara, what did your father select?"

            "Oh, lots of things. Ten gallons of water. Food. A jeep can of gasoline. Medicines. A sleeping bag. A gun-"

            "Can you use a gun?"

            "Pops made me learn. A shovel. An ax. Clothes. Oh, yes, a radio. But the important thing was 'Where?'-so he kept saying. If I were at school, he would expect me to head for the basement of the gym. But here- Pops would expect me to head up into the mountains."

            "You won't need to."

            "Sir?"

            "Dad means," explained Karen, "that you are welcome in our panic hole."

            Barbara showed a questioning look. Her host said, "Our bomb shelter. 'Farnham's Folly' my son calls it. I think you would be safer there than you would be running for the hills-despite the fact that we are only ten miles from a MAMMA Base. If an alarm comes, we'll duck into it. Right, Joseph?"

            "Yes, sir! That way I stay on your payroll."

            "The hell you do. You're fired the instant the sirens sound-and I start charging you rent."

            "Do I pay rent, too?" asked Barbara.

            "You wash dishes. Everybody does. Even Duke."

            "Count me out," Duke said grimly.

            "Eh? Not that many dishes, Son."

            "I'm not joking, Dad. Khrushchev said he would bury us- and you're making it come true. I'm not going to crawl into a hole in the ground!"

            "As you wish, sir."

            "Sonny boy!" His mother put down her cup. "If an attack comes, of course you're going into the shelter!" She blinked back tears. "Promise Mother."

            Young Farnham looked stubborn, then sighed. "All right. If an attack comes- if an alarm sounds, I mean; there isn't going to be an attack- I'll go into your panic hole. But, Dad, this is just to soothe Mother's nerves."

            "Nevertheless you are welcome."

            "Okay. Let's go into the living room and break out the cards-with a firm understanding that we drop the subject. Suits?"

            "Agreed." His father got up and offered his arm to his wife. "My dear?"

            In the living room, Grace Farnham declined to play bridge. "No, dear, I'm too upset. You play with the young people, and- Joseph! Joseph, bring me just a teensy bit more coffee. Royale, I mean. Don't look that way, Hubert; it helps, you know it does."

            "Would you like a Miltown, dear?"

            "I don't need drugs. I'll just have a drop more coffee."

            They cut for partners; Duke shook his head sadly. "Poor Barbara! Stuck with Dad- Did you warn her, Sis?"

            "Keep your warnings to yourself," his father advised.

            "She's entitled to know, Dad. Barbara, that juvenile delinquent across from you is as optimistic in contract as he is pessimistic in-well, in other matters. Watch out for psychic bids. If he has a Yarborough-"

            "Drop dead, Duke. Barbara, what system do you prefer? Italian?"

            Her eyes widened. "The only Italian I know is vermouth, Mr. Farnham. I play Goren. Nothing fancy, I just try to go by the book."

            "'By the book,'" Hubert Farnham agreed.

            "'By the book,'" his son echoed. "Which book? Dad likes to ring in the Farmers' Almanac, especially when you're vulnerable, doubled and redoubled. Then he'll point out how, if you had led diamonds-"

            "Counselor," his father interrupted, "will you deal those cards? Or shall I stuff them down your throat?"

            "I'll go quietly. Put a little blood in it? A cent a point?" Barbara said hastily, "That's steep for me."

            Duke answered, "You gals aren't in it. Just Dad and myself. That's how I pay my office rent."

            "Duke means," his father corrected, "that is how he gets deep into debt to his old man. I was beating him out of his allowance when he was still in junior high."

            Barbara shut up and played cards. The stakes made her tense, even though it was not her money. Her nervousness was increased by suspicion that her partner was a match player.

            Her nerves relaxed, though not her care, as it began to appear that Mr. Farnham found her bidding satisfactory. But she welcomed the rest that came from being dummy. She spent these vacations studying Hubert Farnham.

            She decided that she liked him, for the way he handled his family and for the way he played bridge-quietly, thoughtfully, exact in bidding, precise and sometimes brilliant in play. She admired the way he squeezed out the last trick, of a contract in which she had forced them too high, by having the boldness to sluff an ace.

            She knew that Karen expected her to pair off with Duke this weekend and admitted that it seemed reasonable. Duke was as handsome as Karen was pretty-and a catch . . . rising young lawyer, a year older than herself, with a fresh and disarming wolfishness.

            She wondered if he expected to make out with her? Did Karen expect it and was she watching, secretly amused?

            Well, it wasn't going to happen! She did not mind admitting that she was a one-time loser but she resented the assumption that any divorcee was available. Damn it, she hadn't been in bed with anybody since that dreadful night when she had packed and left. Why did people think- Duke was looking at her; she locked eyes with him, blushed, and looked away, looked at his father instead.

            Mr. Farnham was fiftyish, she decided. And looked it. Hair thinning and already gray, himself thin, almost gaunt, but with a slight potbelly, tired eyes, lines around them, and deep lines down his cheeks. Not handsome- With sudden warmth she realized that if Duke Farnham had half the strong masculine charm his father had, a panty girdle wouldn't be much protection. She dismissed it by being quickly angry with Grace Farnham. What excuse did a woman have for being an incipient alcoholic, fretful and fat and self-indulgent, when she had this man?

            The thought was chased away by realization that Mrs. Farnham was what Karen might become. Mother and daughter looked alike, save that Karen had not gone to pot. Barbara did not like this thought. She liked Karen better than any other sorority sister she had found when she went back to finish college. Karen was sweet and generous and gay- But perhaps Grace Farnham had been so, once. Did women have to become fretful and useless?

            Hubert Farnham looked up from the last trick. "Three spades, game and rubber. Well bid, partner."

            She flushed again. "Well played, you mean. I invited too much."

            "Not at all. At worst we would have been down one. If you don't bet, you can't win. Karen, has Joseph gone to bed?"

            "Studying. He's got a quiz."

            "I thought we might invite him to cut in. Barbara, Joseph is the best player in this house-always audacity at the right time. Plus the fact that he is studying to be an accountant and never forgets a card. Karen, can you find us something without disturbing Joseph?"

            "'Spect ah kin, Boss. Vodka and tonic for you?"

            "And munching food."

            "Come on, Barbara. Let's bottle."

            Hubert Farnham watched them go, while thinking it was a shame that so nice a child as Mrs. Wells should have had a sour marriage. A sound game of bridge and a good disposition- Gangly and horse faced, perhaps- But a nice smile and a mind of her own. If Duke had any gumption-

            But Duke didn't have any. He went to where his wife was nodding by the television receiver, and said, "Grace? Grace darling, ready for bed?"-then helped her into her bedroom.

            When he came back, he found his son alone. He sat down and said, "Duke, I'm sorry about that difference of opinion at dinner."

            "That? Oh, forget it."

            "I would rather have your respect than your tolerance. I know that you disapprove of my 'panic hole.' But we have never discussed why I built it."

            "What is there to discuss? You think the Soviet Union is going to attack. You think that hole in the ground will save your life. Both ideas are unhealthy. Sick. Especially unhealthy for Mother. You are driving her to drink. I don't like it. I liked it still less to have you remind me-me, a lawyer!-that I must not interfere between husband and wife." Duke started to get up. "I'll be going."

            "Please, Son! Doesn't the defense get a chance?"

            "Uh- All right, all right!" Duke sat down.

            "I respect your opinions. I don't share them but many people do. Perhaps most people, since most Americans have made no effort to save themselves. But on the points you made, you are mistaken. I don't expect the USSR to attack- and I doubt if our shelter is enough to save our lives."

            "Then why go around with that plug in your ear scaring Mother out of her wits?"

            "I've never had an automobile accident. But I carry auto insurance. That shelter is my insurance policy."

            "But you just said it wouldn't save your life!"

            "No, I said I doubted that it would be enough. It could save our lives if we lived a hundred miles away. But Mountain Springs is a prime target . . . and no citizen can build anything strong enough to stop a direct hit."

            "Then why bother?"

            "I told you. The best insurance I can afford. Our shelter won't stop a direct hit. But it will stand up to a near miss-and Russians aren't supermen and rockets are temperamental. I've minimized the risk. That's the best I can do."

            Duke hesitated. "Dad, I can't be diplomatic."

            "Then don't try."

            "So I'll be blunt. Do you have to ruin Mother's life, turn her into a lush, just on the chance that a hole in the ground will let you live a few years longer? Will it be worth while to be alive-afterwards-with the country devastated and all your friends dead?"

            "Probably not."

            "Then why?"

            "Duke, you aren't married."

            "Obviously."

            "Son, I must be blunt myself. It has been years since I've had any real interest in staying alive. You are grown and on your own, and your sister is a grown woman, even though she is still in school. As for myself-" He shrugged. "The most satisfying thing left is the fiddling pleasure of a game of bridge. As you are aware, there isn't much companionship left in my marriage."

            "I am aware, all right. But it's your fault. You're crowding Mother into a nervous breakdown."

            "I wish it were that simple. In the first place- You were at law school when I built the shelter, during that Berlin crisis. Your mother perked up and stayed sober. She would take a martini and let it go at that-instead of four as she did tonight. Duke, Grace wants that shelter."

            "Well-maybe so. But you aren't soothing her by trotting around with that plug in your ear."

            "Perhaps not. But I have no choice."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Grace is my wife, Son. 'To love and to cherish' includes keeping her alive if I can. That shelter may keep her alive. But only if she is in it. How much warning today? Fifteen minutes, if we're lucky. But three minutes could be time enough to get her into the shelter. But if I don't hear the alert, I won't have three minutes. So I listen. During any crisis."

            "Suppose it happens when you are asleep?"

            His father smiled. "If the news is bad, I sleep with this button taped into my ear. When it's really bad-as it is tonight- Grace and I sleep in the shelter. The girls will be urged to sleep there. And you are invited."

            "Not likely!"

            "I didn't think so."

            "Dad, stipulating that an attack is possible-merely stipulating, as the Russians aren't crazy-why build a shelter smack on a target? Why don't you pick a place far from any target, build there-again stipulating that Mother needs one for her nerves, which may be true-and get Mother off the sauce?"

            Hubert Farnham sighed. "Son, she won't have it. This is her home."

            "Make her!"

            "Duke, have you ever tried to make a woman do anything she really didn't want to do? Besides that, a weakness for the sauce-hell, growing alcoholism-is not that simple. I must cope with it as best I can. However- Duke, I told you that I did not have much reason to stay alive. But I do have one reason."

            "Such as?"

            "If those lying, cheating bastards ever throw their murder weapons at the United States, I want to live long enough to go to hell in style-with eight Russian side boys!"

            Farnham twisted in his chair. "I mean it, Duke. America is the best thing in history, I think, and if those scoundrels kill our country, I want to kill a few of them. Eight side boys. Not less. I felt relieved when Grace refused to consider moving."

            "Why, Dad?"

            "Because I don't want that pig-faced peasant with the manners of a pig to run me out of my home! I'm a free man. I intend to stay free. I've made every preparation I can. But I wouldn't relish running away. I- Here come the girls."

            Karen came in carrying drinks, followed by Barbara. "Hi! Barb got a look at our kitchen and decided to make crêpes Suzettes. Why are you two looking grim? More bad news?"

            "No, but if you will snap the television on, we might get part of the ten o'clock roundup. Barbara, those glorified pancakes smell wonderful. Want a job as a cook?"

            "What about Joseph?"

            "We'll keep Joseph as housekeeper."

            "I accept."

            Duke said, "Hey! You refused my offer of honorable matrimony and turn around and agree to live in sin with my old man. How come?"

            "I didn't hear 'sin' mentioned."

            "Don't you know? Barbara. . . Dad is a notorious sex criminal."

            "Is this true, Mr. Farnham?"

            "Well. . ."

            "That's why I studied law, Barbara. It was breaking us to bring Jerry Giesler all the way from Los Angeles every time Dad got into a jam."

            "Those were the good old days!" Duke's father agreed. "But, Barbara, that was years ago. Contract is my weakness now."

            "In that case I would expect a higher salary-"

            "Hush, children!" Karen said forcefully. She turned up the sound:

            "-agreed in principal to three out of four of the President's major points and has agreed to meet again to discuss the fourth point, the presence of their nuclear submarines in our coastal waters. It may now be safely stated that the crisis, the most acute in post-World-War-Two years, does seem to be tapering oft to a mutual accommodation that both countries can live with. We pause to bring you exciting news from General Motors followed by an analysis in depth-"

            Karen turned it down. Duke said, "Just as I said, Dad. You can take that cork out of your ear."

            "Later. I'm busy with crêpes Suzettes. Barbara, I'll expect these for breakfast every morning."

            "Dad, quit trying to seduce her and cut the cards. I want to win back what I've lost."

            "That'll be a long night." Mr. Farnham~ finished eating, stood up to put his plate aside; the doorbell rang. "I'll answer it."

            He went to the door, returned shortly. Karen said, "Who was it, Daddy? I cut for you. You and I are partners. Look pleased."

            "I'm delighted. But remember that a count of eleven is not an opening bid. Somebody lost, I guess. Possibly a nut."

            "My date. You scared him off."

            "Possibly. A baldheaded old coot, very weather-beaten and ragged."

            "My date," Karen confirmed. "President of the Dekes. Go get him, Daddy."

            "Too late. He took one look at me and fled. Whose bid is it?"

            Barbara continued to try to play like a machine. But it seemed to her that Duke was overbidding; she found herself thereby bidding timidly and had to force herself to overcome it. They went set several times in a long, dreary rubber which they "won" but lost on points.

            It was a pleasure to lose the next rubber with Karen as her partner. They shifted and again she was Mr. Farnham's partner. He smiled at her. "This time we clobber them!"

            "I'll try."

            "Just play as you did. By the book. Duke will supply the mistakes."

            "Put your money where your mouth is, Dad. Want a side bet of a hundred dollars on this rubber?"

            "A hundred it is."

            Barbara thought about seventeen lonely dollars in her purse and got nervous. She was still more nervous when the first hand ended at five clubs, bid and made-by Duke-and realized that he had overbid and would have been down one had she covered his finesse.

            Duke said, "Care to double that bet, Governor?"

            "Okay. Deal."

            Her morale was bolstered by the second hand: her contract at four spades and made possible by voids; she was able to ruff before cleaning out trumps. Her partner's smile was reward enough. But it left her shaky.

            Duke said, "Both teams vulnerable, no part score. How's your blood pressure, Daddy-o? Double again?"

            "Planning on firing your secretary?"

            "Speak up, or accept a white feather."

            "Four hundred. You can sell your car."

            Mr. Farnham dealt. Barbara picked up her hand and frowned. The count was not bad-two queens, a couple of jacks, an ace, a king-but no biddable suit and the king was unguarded. It was a strength and distribution which she had long tagged as "just good enough to go set on." She hoped that it would be one of those sigh-of-relief hands in which everyone passes.

            Her partner picked up his hand and glanced at it. "Three no trump."

            Barbara repressed a gasp, Karen did gasp. "Daddy, are you feverish?"

            "Bid."

            "Pass!"

            Barbara said to herself, "'God oh god, what I do now?" Her partner's bid promised twenty-five points-and invited slam. She held thirteen points. Thirty-eight points in the two hands-grand slam.

            That's what the book said! Barbara girl, "three no trump" is twenty-five, twenty-six, or twenty-seven points-add thirteen and it reads "Grand Slam."

            But was Mr. Farnham playing by the book? Or was he bidding a shut-out to grab the rubber and nail down that preposterous bet?

            If she passed, then game and rubber-and four hundred dollars-was certain. But grand slam (if they made it) was, uh, around fifteen dollars at the stakes Duke and his father were playing. Risk four hundred dollars of her partner's money against a chance of fifteen? Ridiculous!

            Could she sneak up on it with the Blackwood Convention? No, no!-there hadn't been background bidding.

            Was this one of those bids Duke had warned her about?

            (But her partner had said, "Play by the book.")

            "Seven no trump," she said firmly.

            Duke whistled. "Thanks, Barbara. We're ganging up on you, Dad. Double."

            "Pass."

            "Pass," Karen echoed.

            Barbara again counted her hand. That singleton king looked awfully naked. But . . . either the home team had thirty-eight points-or it didn't. "Redouble."

            Duke grinned. "Thanks, sweetie pie. Your lead, Karen."

            Mr. Farnham put down his hand and abruptly left the table. His son said, "Hey! Come back and take your medicine!"

            Mr. Farnham snapped on the television, moved on and switched on the radio, changed its setting. "Red alert!" he snapped. "Somebody tell Joseph!" He ran out of the room.

            "Come back! You can't duck this with that kind of stunt!"

            "Shut up, Duke!" Karen snapped.

            The television screen flickered into life: "-closing down. Tune at once to your emergency station. Good luck, good-bye, and God bless you all!"

            As the screen went blank the radio cut in: "-not a drill. This is not a drill. Take shelter. Emergency personnel report to their stations. Do not go out on the street. If you have no shelter, stay in the best protected room of your home. This is not a drill. Unidentified ballistic objects have been radar sighted by our early-warning screens and it must be assumed that they are missiles. Take shelter. Emergency personnel report to their-"

            "He means it," Karen said in an awed voice. "Duke, show Barb where to go. I'll wake Joseph." She ran out of the room.

            Duke said, "I don't believe it."

            "Duke, how do we get into the shelter?"

            "I'll show you." He stood up unhurriedly, picked up the hands, put each in a separate pocket. "Mine and Sis's in my trousers, yours and Dad's in my coat. Come on. Want your suitcase?"

            "No!"

Chapter 2

            Duke led her through the kitchen to the basement stairs. Mr. Farnham was halfway down, his wife in his arms. She seemed asleep. Duke snapped out of his attitude. "Hold it, Dad! I'll take her."

            "Get on down and open the door!"

            The door was steel set into the wall of the basement. Seconds were lost because Duke did not know how to handle its latch. At last Mr. Farnham passed his wife over to his son, opened it himself. Beyond, stairs led farther down. They managed it by carrying Mrs. Farnham, hands and feet, a limp doll, and took her through a second door into a room beyond. Its floor was six feet lower than the basement and under, Barbara decided, their back garden. She hung back while Mrs. Farnham was carried inside.

            Mr. Farnham reappeared. "Barbara! Get in here! Where's Joseph? Where's Karen?"

            Those two came rushing down the basement stairs as he spoke. Karen was flushed and seemed excited and happy. Joseph was looking wild-eyed and was dressed in undershirt and trousers, his feet bare.

            He stopped short. "Mr. Farnham! Are they going to hit us?"

            "I'm afraid so. Get inside."

            The young Negro turned and yelled, "Doctor Livingston I presume!"-dashed back up the stairs.

            Mr. Farnham said, "Oh, God!" and pressed his fists against his temples. He added in his usual voice, "Get inside, girls. Karen, bolt the door but listen for me. I'll wait as long as I can." He glanced at his watch. "Five minutes."

            The girls went in. Barbara whispered, "What happened to Joseph? Flipped?"

            "Well, sort of. Dr.-Livingston-I-Presume is our cat. Loves Joseph, tolerates us." Karen started bolting the inner door, heavy steel, and secured with ten inch-thick bolts.

            She stopped. "I'm damned if I'll bolt this all the way while Daddy is outside!"

            "Don't bolt it at all."

            Karen shook her head. "I'll use a couple, so he can hear me draw them. That cat may be a mile away."

            Barbara looked around. It was an L-shaped room; they had entered the end of one arm. Two bunks were on the right-hand wall; Grace Farnham was in the lower and still asleep. The left wall was solid with packed shelves; the passage was hardly wider than the door. The ceiling was low and arched and of corrugated steel. She could see the ends of two more bunks at the bend. Duke was not in sight but he quickly appeared from around the bend, started setting up a card table in the space there. She watched in amazement as he got out the cards he had picked up-how long ago? It seemed an hour. Probably less than five minutes.

            Duke saw her, grinned, and placed folding chairs around the table.

            There came a clanging at the door. Karen unbolted it; Joseph tumbled in, followed by Mr. Farnham. A lordly red Persian cat jumped out of Joseph's arms, started an inspection. Karen and her father bolted the door. He glanced at his wife, then said, "Joseph! Help me crank."

            "Yes, sir!"

            Duke came over. "Got her buttoned up, Skipper?"

            "All but the sliding door. It has to be cranked."

            "Then come take your licking." Duke waved at the table. His father stared. "Duke, are you seriously proposing to finish a card game while we're being attacked?"

            "I'm four hundred dollars serious. And another hundred says we aren't being attacked. In a half hour they'll call it off and tomorrow's papers will say the northern lights fouled up the radar. Play the hand? Or default?"

            "Mmm- My partner will play it; I'm busy."

            "You stand behind the way she plays it?"

            "Of course."

            Barbara found herself sitting down at the table with a feeling that she had wandered into a dream. She picked up her partner's hand, studied it. "Lead, Karen."

            Karen said, "Oh, hell!" and led the trey of clubs. Duke picked up the dummy, laid it out in suits. "What do you want on it?" he asked.

            "Doesn't matter. I'll play both hands face up."

            "Better not."

            "It's solid." She exposed the cards.

            Duke studied them. "I see," he admitted. "Leave the hands; Dad will want to see this." He did some figuring. "Call it twenty-four hundred points. Dad!"

            "Yes, Son?"

            "I'm writing a check for four hundred and ninety-two dollars-and let that be a lesson to me."

            "You don't need to-"

            All lights went out, the floor slammed against their feet. Barbara felt frightening pressure on her chest, tried to stand up and was knocked over. All around was a noise of giant subway trains, and the floor heaved like a ship in a cross sea.

            "Dad!"

            "Yes, Duke! Are you hurt?"

            "I don't know. But make that five hundred and ninety-two dollars!"

            The subterranean rumbling went on. Through this roar Barbara heard Mr. Farnham chuckle. "Forget it!" he called out. "The dollar just depreciated."

            Mrs. Farnham started to scream. "Hubert! Hubert, where are you? Hubert! Make it stop!"

            "Coming, dear!" A pencil of light cut the blackness, moved toward the bunks near the door. Barbara raised her head, made out that it was her host, on hands and knees with a flashlight in his teeth. He reached the bunk, succeeded in quieting Grace; her screams ceased. "Karen?"

            "Yes, Daddy."

            "Are you all right?"

            "Yes, Just bruised. My chair went over."

            "All right. Get the emergency lighting on in this bay. Don't stand up. Crawl. I'll light you from here. Then get the hypo kit and-ow! Joseph!"

            "Yes, sir."

            "You in one piece?"

            "I'm okay, Boss."

            "Persuade your furry-faced Falstaff to join you. He jumped on me."

            "He's just friendly, Mr. Farnham."

            "Yes, yes. But I don't want him doing that while I'm giving a hypo. Call him."

            "Sure thing. Here, Doc! Doe, Doe, Doe! Fish, Doe!"

            Some minutes later the rumbling had died out, the floor was steady, Mrs. Farnham had been knocked out by injected drug, two tiny lights were glowing in the first bay, and Mr. Farnham was inspecting.

            Damage was slight. Despite guardrails, cans had popped off shelves; a fifth of rum was broken. But liquor was almost the only thing stored in glass, and liquor had been left in cases, the rest of it had come through. The worst casualty was the shelter's battery-driven radio, torn loose from the wall and smashed.

            Mr. Farnham was on his knees, retrieving bits of it. His son looked down. "Don't bother, Dad. Sweep it up and throw it away."

            "Some parts can be salvaged."

            "What do you know about radios?"

            "Nothing," his father admitted. "But I have books."

            "A book won't fix that. You should have stocked a spare."

            "I have a spare."

            "Then for God's sake get it! I want to know what's happened."

            His father got up slowly and looked at Duke. "I would like to know, too. I can't hear anything over this radio I'm wearing. Not surprising, it's short range. But the spare is packed in foam and probably wasn't hurt."

            "Then get it hooked up."

            "Later."

            "Later, hell. Where is it?"

            Mr. Farnham breathed hard. "I've had all the yap I'm going to take."

            "Huh? Sorry. Just tell me where the spare is."

            "I shan't. We might lose it, too. I'm going to wait until I'm sure the attack is over."

            His son shrugged. "Okay, if you want to be difficult. But all of us want to hear the news. It's a shabby trick if you ask me."

            "Nobody asked you. I told you I've had all the yap I'm going to take. If you're itching to know what's happening outside, you can leave. I'll unbolt this door, crank back the armor door, and you can open the upper door yourself."

            "Eh? Don't be silly."

            "But close it after you. I don't want it open-both for blast and radioactivity."

            "That's another thing. Don't you have any way to measure radioactivity? We ought to take steps to-"

            "SHUT UP!"

            "What? Dad, don't pull the heavy-handed father on me."

            "Duke, I ask you to keep quiet and listen. Will you?"

            "Well . . . all right. But I don't appreciate being bawled out in the presence of others."

            "Then keep your voice down." They were in the first bay near the door. Mrs. Farnham was snoring by them; the others had retreated around the bend, unwilling to witness. "Are you ready to listen?"

            "Very well, sir," Duke said stiffly.

            "Good. Son, I was not joking. Either leave . . . or do exactly as I tell you. That includes keeping your mouth shut when I tell you to. Which will it be? Absolute obedience, prompt and cheerful? Or will you leave?"

            "Aren't you being rather high-handed?"

            "I intend to be. This shelter is a lifeboat and I am boat officer. For the safety of all I shall maintain discipline. Even if it means tossing somebody overboard."

            "That's a farfetched simile. Dad, it's a shame you were in the Navy. It gives you romantic ideas."

            "I think it's a shame, Duke, that you never had service. You're not realistic. Well, which is it? Will you take orders? Or leave?"

            "You know I'm not going to leave. And you're not serious in talking about it. It's death out there."

            "Then you'll take orders?"

            "Uh, I'll be cooperative. But this absolute dictatorship- Dad, tonight you made quite a point of the fact that you are a free man. Well, so am I. I'll cooperate. But I won't take unreasonable orders, and as for keeping my mouth shut, I'll try to be diplomatic. But when I think it's necessary, I'll voice my opinion. Free speech. Fair enough?"

            His father sighed. "Not nearly good enough, Duke. Stand aside, I want to unbolt the door."

            "Don't push a joke too far, Dad."

            "I'm not joking. I'm putting you out."

            "Dad . . . I hate to say this . . . but I don't think you are man enough. I'm bigger than you are and a lot younger."

            "I know. I've no intention of fighting you."

            "Then let's drop this silly talk."

            "Duke, please! I built this shelter. Not two hours ago you were sneering at it, telling me that it was a 'sick' thing to do. Now you want to use it, since it turned out you were wrong. Can't you admit that?"

            "Oh, certainly. You've made your point."

            "Yet you are telling me how to run it. Telling me that I should have provided a spare radio. When you hadn't provided anything. Can't you be a man, give in, and do as I tell you? When your life depends on my hospitality?"

            "Cripes! I told you I would cooperate."

            "But you haven't been doing so. You've been making silly remarks, getting in my way, giving me lip, wasting my time when I have urgent things to do. Duke, I don't want your cooperation, on your terms, according to your judgment. While we are in this shelter I want your absolute obedience."

            Duke shook his head. "Get it through your head that I'm no longer a child, Dad. My cooperation, yes. But I won't promise the other."

            Mr. Farnham shook his head sorrowfully. "Maybe it would be better if you took charge and I obeyed you. But I've given these circumstances thought and you haven't. Son, I anticipated that your mother might be hysterical; I had everything ready to handle it. Don't you think I anticipated this situation?"

            "How so? It's pure chance that I'm here at all."

            "'This situation' I said. It could be anybody. Duke, if we had been entertaining friends tonight-or if strangers had popped up, say that old fellow who rang the doorbell-I would have taken them in; I planned on extras. Don't you think, with all the planning I have done, that I would realize that somebody might get out of hand? And plan how to force them into line?"

            "How?"

            "In a lifeboat, how do you tell the boat officer?"

            "Is that a riddle?"

            "No. The boat officer is the one with the gun."

            "Oh. I suppose you do have guns down here. But you don't have one now, and"- Duke grinned -"Dad, I can't see you shooting me. Can you?"

            His father stared, then dropped his eyes. "No. A stranger, maybe. But you're my son." He sighed. "Well, I hope you cooperate."

            "I will. I promise you that much."

            "Thank you. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do." Mr. Farnham turned away. "Joseph!"

            "Yes, sir?"

            "It's condition seven."

            "Condition seven, sir?"

            "Yes, and getting worse. Be careful with the instruments and don't waste time."

            "Right away, sir!"

            "Thank you." He turned to his son. "Duke, if you really want to cooperate, you could pick up the pieces of this radio. It's the same model as the one in reserve. There may be pieces we can use to repair the other one if it becomes necessary. Will you do that?"

            "Sure, sure. I told you I would cooperate." Duke got on his knees, started to complete the task he had interrupted.

            "Thank you." His father turned away, moved toward the junction of the bays.

            "Mr. Duke! Get your hands up!"

            Duke looked over his shoulder, saw Joseph by the card table, aiming a Thompson submachine gun at him. He jumped to his feet. "What the hell!"

            "Stay there!" Joseph said. "I'll shoot."

            "Yes," agreed Duke's father, "he doesn't have the compunctions you thought I had. Joseph, if he moves, shoot him."

            "Daddy! What's going on?"

            Mr. Farnham turned to face his daughter. "Get back!"

            "But, Daddy-"

            "Shut up. Both of you get into that lower bunk. Karen on the inside. Move!"

            Karen moved. Barbara looked wide-eyed at the automatic her host now held in his hand and got quickly into the lower bunk of the other bay. "Arms around each other," he said briskly.             "Don't either of you let the other one move." He went back to the first bay.

            "Duke."

            "Yes?"

            "Lower your hands slowly and unfasten your trousers. Let them fall but don't step out of them. Then turn slowly and face the door. Unfasten the bolts."

            "Dad-"

            "Shut up. Joseph, if he does anything but exactly what I told him to, shoot. Try for his legs, but hit him."

            Face white, expression dazed, Duke did as he was told: let his trousers fall until he was hobbled, turned and started unbolting the door. His father let him continue until half the bolts were drawn. "Duke. Stop. The next few seconds determine whether you go-or stay. You know the terms."

            Duke barely hesitated. "I accept."

            "I must elaborate. You will not only obey me, you will obey Joseph."

            "Joseph?"

            "My second-in-command. I have to have one, Duke; I can't stay awake all the time. I would gladly have had you as deputy-but you would have nothing to do with it. So I trained Joseph. He knows where everything is, how it works, how to repair it. So he's my deputy. Well? Will you obey him just as cheerfully? No back talk?"

            Duke said slowly, "I promise."

            "Good. But a promise made under duress isn't binding. There is another commitment always given under duress and nevertheless binding, a point which as a lawyer you will appreciate. I want your parole as a prisoner. Will you give me your parole to abide by the conditions until we leave the shelter? A straight quid-pro-quo: your parole in exchange for not being forced outside?"

            "You have my parole."

            "Thank you. Throw the bolts and fasten your trousers. Joseph, stow the Tommy gun."

            "Okay, Boss."

            Duke secured the door, secured his pants. As he turned around, his father offered him the automatic, butt first. "What's this for?" Duke asked.

            "Suit yourself. If your parole isn't good, I would rather find it out now."

            Duke took the gun, removed the clip, worked the slide and caught the cartridge from the chamber, put it back into the clip and reloaded the gun-handed it back. "My parole is good. Here."

            "Keep it. You were always a headstrong boy, Duke, but you were never a liar."

            "Okay. . . Boss." His son put the pistol in a pocket. "Hot in here."

            "And going to get hotter."

            "Eh? How much radiation do you think we're getting?"

            "I don't mean radiation. Fire storm." He walked into the space where the bays joined, looked at a thermometer, then at his wrist. "Eighty-four and only twenty-three minutes since we were hit. It'll get worse."

            "How much worse?"

            "How would I know, Duke? I don't know how far away the hit was, how many megatons, how widespread the fire. I don't even know whether the house is burning overhead, or was blasted away. Normal temperature in here is about fifty degrees. That doesn't look good. But there is nothing to do about it. Yes, there's one thing. Strip down to shorts. I shall."

            He went into the other bay. The girls were still in the lower bunk, arms around each other, keeping quiet. Joseph was on the floor with his back to the wall, the cat in his lap. Karen looked round-eyed as her father approached but she said nothing.

            "You kids can get up."

            "Thanks," said Karen. "Pretty warm for snuggling." Barbara backed out and Karen sat up.

            "So it is. Did you hear what just happened?"

            "Some sort of argument," Karen said cautiously.

            "Yes. And it's the last one. I'm boss and Joseph is my deputy. Understood?"

            "Yes, Daddy."

            "Mrs. Wells?"

            "Me? Why, of course! It's your shelter. I'm grateful to be in it-I'm grateful to be alive! And please call me Barbara, Mr. Farnham."

            "Sorry. 11mm- Call me 'Hugh,' I prefer it to "Hubert.' Duke, everybody-first names from now on. Don't call me 'Dad,' call me 'Hugh.' Joe, knock off the 'mister' and the 'miss.' Catch?"

            "Okay, Boss, if you say so."

            "Make that 'Okay, Hugh.' Now you girls peel down, panties and bra or such, then get Grace peeled to her skin and turn the light out there. It's hot, it's going to get hotter. Joe, strip to your shorts." Mr. Farnham took his jacket off, started unbuttoning his shirt.

            Joseph said, "Uh, I'm comfortable."

            "I wasn't asking, I was telling you."

            "Uh. . . Boss, I'm not wearing shorts!"

            "He's not," Karen confirmed. "I rushed him."

            "So?" Hugh looked at his ex-houseboy and chuckled. "Joe, you're a sissy. I should have made Karen straw boss."

            "Suits me."

            "Get a pair out of stores and you can change in the toilet space. While you're about it, show Duke where it is. Karen, the same for Barbara. Then we'll gather for a powwow."

            The powwow started five minutes later. Hugh Farnham was at the table, dealing out bridge hands, assessing them. When they were seated he said, "Anybody for bridge?"

            "Daddy, you're joking."

            "My name is 'Hugh.' I was not joking, a rubber of bridge might quiet your nerves. Put away that cigarette, Duke."

            "Uh . . . sorry."

            "You can smoke tomorrow, I think. Tonight I've got pure oxygen cracked pretty wide and we are taking in no air. You saw the bottles in the toilet space?" The space between the bays was filled by pressure bottles, a water tank, a camp toilet, stores, and a small area where a person might manage a stand-up bath. Air intakes and exhausts, capped off, were there, plus a hand-or-power blower, and scavengers for carbon dioxide and water vapor. This space was reached by an archway between the tiers of bunks.

            "Oxygen in those? I thought it was air."

            "Couldn't afford the space penalty. So we can't risk fire, even a cigarette. I opened one inlet for a check. Very hot- heat 'hot' as well as making a Geiger counter chatter. Folks, I don't know how long we'll be on bottled breathing. I figured thirty-six hours for four people, so it's nominally twenty-four hours for six, but that's not the pinch. I'm sweating-and so are you. We can take it to about a hundred and twenty. Above that, we'll have to use oxygen just to cool the place. It might end in a fine balance between heat and suffocation. Or worse."

            "Daddy-'Hugh,' I mean. Are you breaking it gently that we are going to be baked alive?"

            "You won't be, Karen. I won't let you be."

            "Well . . . I prefer a bullet."

            "Nor will you be shot. I have enough sleeping pills to let twenty people die painlessly. But we aren't here to die. We've had vast luck; with a little more we'll make it. So don't be morbid."

            "How about radioactivity?" asked Duke.

            "Can you read an integrating counter?"

            "No."

            "Take my word for it that we are in no danger yet. Now about sleeping- This side, where Grace is, is the girls' dorm; this other side is ours. Only four bunks but that's okay; one person has to monitor air and heat, and the other one without a bed can keep him awake. However, I'm taking the watch tonight and won't need company; I've taken Dexedrine."

            "I'll stand watch."

            "I'll stay up with you."

            "I'm not sleepy."

            "Slow down!" Hugh said. "Joe, you can't stand watch now because you have to relieve me when I'm tuckered out. You and I will alternate until the situation is safe."

            Joe shrugged and kept quiet. Duke said, "Then it's my privilege."

            "Can't either of you add? Two bunks for women, two for men. What's left over? We'll fold this table and the gal left over can sprawl on the floor here. Joe, break out the blankets and put a couple here and a couple in the tank space for me."

            "Right away, Hugh!"

            Both girls insisted on standing watch. Hugh shut them off. "Cut for it."

            "But-"

            "Pipe down, Barbara. Ace low, and low girl sleeps in a bunk, the other here on the floor. Duke, do you want a sleeping pill?"

            "That's one habit I don't have."

            "Don't be an iron man."

            "Well. . . a rain check?"

            "Surely. Joe? Seconal?"

            "Well, I'm so relieved that I don't have to take that quiz tomorrow. . ."

            "Glad somebody is happy. All right."

            "I was going to add that I'm pretty keyed up. You're sure you won't need me?"

            "I'm sure. Karen, get one for Joe. You know where?"

            "Yes, and I'm going to get one for me, since I won the cut. I'm no iron man! And a Miltown on top of it."

            "Do that. Sorry, Barbara, you can't have one; I might have to wake you and have you keep me awake. You can have Miltown. You'll probably sleep from it."

            "I don't need it."

            "As you wish. Bed, everybody. It's midnight and two of you are going on watch in eight hours."

            In a few minutes all were in bed, with Barbara where the table had been; all lights out save one in the tank space. Hugh squatted on blankets there, playing solitaire-badly.

            Again the floor heaved, again came that terrifying rumble. Karen screamed.

            Hugh was up at once. This one was not as violent; he was able to stay on his feet. He hurried into the girls' dorm. "Baby! Where are you?" He fumbled, found the light switch.

            "Up here, Daddy. Oh, I'm scared! I was just dropping off and it almost threw me out. Help me down."

            He did so; she clung to him, sobbing. "There, there," he said, patting her. "You've been a brave girl, don't let it throw you."

            "I'm not brave. I've been scared silly all along. I just didn't want it to show."

            "Well . . . I'm scared too. So let's not show it, huh? Better have another pill. And a stiff drink."

            "All right. Both. I'm not going to sleep in that bunk. It's too hot up there, as well as scary when it shakes."

            "All right, I'll pull the mattress down. Where's your panties and bra, baby girl? Better put 'em on."

            "Up there. I don't care, I just want people. Oh, I suppose I should. Shock Joseph if I didn't."

            "Just a moment. Here are your pants. But where did you hide your brassiere?"

            "Maybe it got pushed down behind."

            Hugh dragged the mattress down. "I don't find it."

            "The hell with it. Joe can look the other way. I want that drink."

            "All right. Joe's a gentleman."

            Duke and Barbara were sitting on the blanket she had been napping on; they were looking very solemn. Hugh said, "Where's Joe? He wasn't hurt, was he?"

            Duke gave a short laugh. "Want to see 'Sleeping Innocence'? That bottom bunk."

            Hugh found his second-in-command sprawled on his back, snoring, as deeply unconscious as Grace Farnham. Dr.-Livingstone-I-Presume was curled up on his chest. Hugh came back. "Well, that blast was farther away. I'm glad Joe could sleep."

            "It was too damned close to suit me! When are they going to run out of those things?"

            "Soon, I hope. Folks, Karen and I have just formed the 'I'm-scared-too' club and are about to celebrate with a drink. Any candidates?"

            "I'm a charter member!"

            "So am I," agreed Barbara. "God, yes!"

            Hugh fetched paper cups, and bottles-Scotch, Seconal, and Miltown. "Water, anyone?"

            Duke said, "I don't want anything interfering with the liquor."

            "Water, please," Barbara answered. "It's so hot."

            "How hot is it, Daddy?"

            "Duke, I put the thermometer in the tank room. Go see, will you?"

            "Sure. And may I use that rain check?"

            "Certainly." Hugh gave Karen another Seconal capsule, another Miltown pill, and told Barbara that she must take a Miltown-then took one himself, having decided that Dexedrine had made him edgy. Duke returned.

            "One hundred and four degrees," he announced. "I opened the valve another quarter turn. All right?"

            "Have to open it still wider soon. Here are your pills, Duke-a double dose of Seconal and a Miltown."

            "Thanks." Duke swallowed them, chased them with whisky. "I'm going to sleep on the floor, too. Coolest place in the house."

            "Smart of you. All right, let's settle down. Give the pills a chance."

            Hugh sat with Karen after she bedded down, then gently extracted his hand from hers and returned to the tank room. The temperature was up two degrees. He opened the valve on the working tank still wider, listened to it sigh to emptiness, shook his head, got a wrench and shifted the gauge to a full tank. Before he opened it, he attached a hose, led it out into the main room. Then he went back to pretending to play solitaire.

            A few minutes later Barbara appeared in the doorway. "I'm not sleepy," she said. "Could you use some company?"

            "You've been crying."

            "Does it show? I'm sorry."

            "Come sit down. Want to play cards?"

            "If you want to. All I want is company."

            "We'll talk. Would you like another drink?"

            "Oh, would I! Can you spare it?"

            "I stocked plenty. Barbara, can you think of a better night to have a drink? But both of us will have to see to it that the other one doesn't go to sleep."

            "All right. I'll keep you awake."

            They shared a cup, Scotch with water from the tank. It poured out as sweat faster than they drank it. Hugh increased the gas flow again and found that the ceiling was unpleasantly hot. "Barbara, the house must have burned over us. There is thirty inches of concrete above us and then two feet of dirt."

            "How hot do you suppose it is outside?"

            "Couldn't guess. We must have been close to the fireball." He felt the ceiling again. "I beefed this thing up-roof, walls, and floor are all one steel-reinforced box. It was none too much. We may have trouble getting the doors open. All this heat- And probably warped by concussion."

            She said quietly, "Are we trapped?"

            "No, no. Under these bottles is a hatch to a tunnel. Thirty inch culvert pipe with concrete around it. Leads to the gully back of the garden. We can break out-crowbars and a hydraulic jack-even if the end is crushed in and covered with crater glass. I'm not worried about that; I'm worried about how long we can stay inside . . . and whether it will be safe when we leave."

            "How bad is the radioactivity?"

            He hesitated. "Barbara, would it mean anything to you? Know anything about radiation?"

            "Enough. I'm majoring-I was majoring-in botany; I've used isotopes in genetics experiments. I can stand bad news, Hugh, but not knowing-well, that's why I was crying."

            "Mmm- The situation is worse than I told Duke." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Integrating counter back of the bottles. Go look."

            She went to it, stayed several minutes. When she came back, she sat down without speaking. "Well?" he asked.

            "Could I have another drink?"

            "Certainly." He mixed it.

            She sipped it, then said quietly, "If the slope doesn't change, we'll hit the red line by morning." She frowned. "But that marks a conservative limit. III remember the figures, we probably won't start vomiting for at least another day."

            "Yes. And the curve should level off soon. That's why heat worries me more than radiation." He looked at the thermometer, cracked the valve still wider. "I've been running the water-vapor getter on battery; I don't think we should crank the blower in this heat. I'm not going to worry about Cee-Oh-Two until we start to pant."

            "Seems reasonable."

            "Let's forget the hazards. Anything you'd like to talk about? Yourself?"

            "Little to tell, Hugh. Female, white, twenty-five years old. Back in school, or was, after a bad marriage. A brother in the Air Force-so possibly he's all right. My parents were in Acapulco, so perhaps they are, too. No pets, thank God-and I was so pleased that Joe saved his cat. No regrets, Hugh, and not afraid. . . not really. Just . . . sad." She sniffed. "It was a pretty nice world, even if I did crumb up my marriage."

            "Don't cry."

            "I'm not crying! Those drops are sweat."

            "Yes. Surely."

            "They are. It's terribly hot." Suddenly she reached both hands behind her ribs. "Do you mind? If I take this off? Like Karen? It's smothering me."

            "Go ahead. Child, if you can get comfortable-or less uncomfortable-do so. I've seen Karen all her life, Grace even longer. Skin doesn't shock me." He stood up, went behind the oxygen bottles, and looked at the record of radiation. Having done so, he checked the thermometer and increased the flow of oxygen.

            As he sat down he remarked, "I might as well have stored air instead of oxygen, then we could smoke. But I did not expect to use it for cooling." He ignored the fact that she had accepted his invitation to be comfortable. He added, "I was worried about heating the place. I tried to design a stove to use contaminated air safely. Possible. But difficult."

            "I think you did amazingly well. This is the only shelter I've ever heard of with stored air. You're a scientist. Aren't you?"

            "Me? Heavens, no. High school only. What little I know I picked up here and there. Some in the Navy, metal work and correspondence courses. Then I worked for a public futility and learned something about construction and pipelines. Then I became a contractor." He smiled. "No, Barbara, I'm a 'general specialist.' 'The Elephant Child's 'satiable curiosity.' Like Dr. -Livingston-I-Presume.

            "How did a cat get a name like that?"

            "Karen. Because he's a great explorer. That cat can get into anything. Do you like cats?"

            "I don't know much about them. But Dr. Livingstone is a beauty."

            "So he is but I like all cats. You don't own a cat, he is a free citizen. Take dogs; dogs are friendly and fun and loyal. But slaves. Not their fault, they've been bred for it. But slavery makes me queasy, even in animals."

            He frowned. "Barbara, I'm not as sad over what has happened as you are. It might be good for us. I don't mean us six; I mean our country."

            She looked startled. "How?"

            "Well- It's hard to take the long view when you are crouching in a shelter and wondering how long you can hold out. But- Barbara, I've worried for years about our country. It seems to me that we have been breeding slaves-and I believe in freedom. This war may have turned the tide. This may be the first war in history which kills the stupid rather than the bright and able-where it makes any distinction."

            "How do you figure that, Hugh?"

            "Well, wars have always been hardest on the best young men. This time the boys in service are as safe or safer than civilians. And of civilians those who used their heads and made preparations stand a far better chance. Not every case, but on the average, and that will improve the breed. When it's over, things will be tough, and that will improve the breed still more. For years the surest way of surviving has been to be utterly worthless and breed a lot of worthless kids. All that will change."

            She nodded thoughtfully. "That's standard genetics. But it seems cruel."

            "It is cruel. But no government yet has been able to repeal natural laws, though they keep trying."

            She shivered in spite of the heat. "I suppose you're right. No, I know you're right. But I could face it more cheerfully if I thought there was going to be any country left. Killing the poorest third is good genetics . . . but there is nothing good about killing them all."

            "Mmm, yes. I hate to think about it. But I did think about it. Barbara, I didn't stockpile oxygen just against radiation and fire storm. I had in mind worse things."

            "Worse? How?"

            "All the taik about the horrors of World War Three has been about atomic weapons-fallout, hundred-megaton bombs, neutron bombs. The disarmament talks and the pacifist parades have all been about the Bomb, the Bomb, the Bomb-as if A-weapons were the only thing that could kill. This may not be just an A-weapons war; more likely it is an ABC war-atomic, biological, and chemical." He hooked a thumb at the tanks. "That's why I stocked that bottled breathing. Against nerve gas. Aerosols. Viruses. God knows what. The communists won't smash this country if they can kill us without destroying our wealth. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that bombs had been used only on military targets like the antimissile base here, but that New York and Detroit and such received nerve gas. Or a twenty-four plague with eighty percent mortality. The horrid possibilities are endless. The air outside could be loaded with death that a counter won't detect and a filter can't stop." He smiled grimly. "Sorry. You had better go back to bed."

            "I'm miserable anyway and don't want to be alone. May I stay?"

            "Certainly. I'm happier with you present no matter how gloomy I sound."

            "What you've been saying isn't nearly as gloomy as the thoughts I have alone. I wish we knew what was going on outside!" She added, "I wish we had a periscope."

            "We do have."

            "Huh? Where?"

            "Did have. Sorry. That pipe over there. I tried to raise it but it won't budge. However- Barbie, I tromped on Duke for demanding that I break out our spare radio before the attack was over. But maybe it's over. What do you think?"

            "Me? How would I know?"

            "You know as much as I do. That first missile was intended to take out the MAMMA base; they wouldn't bother with us otherwise. If they are spotting from orbiting spaceships, then that second one was another try at the same target. The timing fits, time of flight from Kamchatka is about half an hour and the second hit about forty-five minutes after the first. That one was probably a bull's-eye-and they know it, because more than an hour has passed and no third missile. That means they are through with us. Logical?"

            "Sounds logical to me."

            "It's crumby logic, my dear. Not enough data. Perhaps both missiles failed to knock out MAMMA, and MAMMA is now knocking out anything they throw. Perhaps the Russkis have run out of missiles. Perhaps the third round will be delivered by bomber. We don't know. But I'm itching to find out. Twist my arm."

            "I would certainly like to hear some news."

            "We'll try. If it's good news, we'll wake the others." Hugh Farnham dug into a corner, came out with a box, unpacked a radio. "Doesn't have a scratch. Let's try it without an antenna.

            "Nothing but static," he announced shortly. "Not surprised. Although it's mate could pull in local stations without an aerial. Now we'll hook to the fixed antenna. Wait here."

            He returned shortly. "No soap. Stands to reason that there isn't anything left of the fixed antenna. So we'll try the emergency one."

            Hugh took a wrench and removed a cap from an inch pipe that stuck down through the ceiling. He tested the opening with a radiation counter. "A little more count." He got two steel rods, each five feet long; with one he probed the pipe. "Doesn't go up as far as it should. The top of this pipe was buried just belowground. Trouble." He screwed the second rod into the first.

            "Now comes the touchy part. Stand back, there may be debris-hot both ways-spilling down."

            "It'll get on you."

            "On my hands, maybe. I'll scrub afterwards. You can go over me with a Geiger counter." He tapped with a sledge on the bottom of the joined rods. Up they went about eighteen inches. "Something solid. I'll have to bang it."

            Many blows later the rod was seated into the pipe. "It felt," he said, as he stopped to scrub his hands, "as if we passed into open air the last foot or so. But it should have stuck out five feet above ground. Rubble, I suppose. What's left of our home. Want to use the counter on me?"

            "Hugh, you say that as casually as 'What's left of yesterday's milk."

            He shrugged. "Barbie girl, I was broke when I joined the Navy, I've been flat busted since; I will not waste tears over a roof and some plumbing. Getting any count?"

            "You're clean."

            "Check the floor under the pipe."

            There were hot spots on the floor; Hugh wiped them with damp Kleenex, disposed of it in a metal waste can. She checked his hands afterwards, and the spots on the floor.

            "Well, that used up a gallon of water; this radio had better work." He clipped the antenna lead to the rod, switched it on.

            Ten minutes later they admitted that they were getting nothing. Noise-static all over the dial-but no signal. He sighed. "I'm not surprised. I don't know what ionization does to radio waves, but that must be a sorcerer's brew of hot isotopes over our heads. I had hoped we could get Salt Lake City."

            "Not Denver?"

            "No. Denver had an ICBM base. I'll leave the gain up; maybe we'll hear something."

            "Don't you want to save the battery?"

            "Not really. Let's sit down and recite limericks." He looked at the integrating counter, whistled softly, then checked the thermometer. "I'll give our sleeping beauties a little more relief from the heat. How well are you standing it, Barbie?"

            "Truthfully, I had forgotten it. The sweat pours off and that's that."

            "Me, too."

            "Well, don't use more oxygen on my account. How many bottles are left?"

            "Not many."

            "How many?"

            "Less than half. Don't fret. I'll bet you five hundred thousand dollars-fifty cents in the new currency-that you can't recite a limerick I don't know."

            "Clean, or dirty?"

            "Are there clean ones?"

            "Okay. 'A playful young fellow named Scott-'" The limerick session was a flop. Hugh accused her of having a clean mind. She answered, "Not really, Hugh. But my mind isn't working."

            "I'm not at my sharpest. Another drink?"

            "Yes. With water, please, I sweat so; I'm dry. Hugh?"

            "Yes, Barbie?"

            "We're going to die. Aren't we?"

            "Yes."

            "I thought so. Before morning?"

            "Oh, no! I feel sure we can live till noon. If we want to."

            "I see. Hugh, would you mind if I moved over by you? Would you put your arm around me? Or is it too hot?"

            "Any time I'm too hot to put my arm around a girl I'll know I'm dead and in hell."

            "Thanks."

            "Room enough?"

            "Plenty."

            "You're a little girl."

            "I weigh a hundred and thirty-two pounds and I'm five feet eight and that's not little."

            "You're a little girl. Put the cup aside. Tilt your face up."

            "Mmmm- Again. Please, again."

            "A greedy little girl."

            "Yes. Very greedy. Thank you, Hugh."

            "Such pretty ones."

            "They're my best feature. My face isn't much. But Karen's are prettier."

            "A matter of opinion. Your opinion."

            "Well- I won't argue. Scrunch over a little, dear. Dear Hugh-"

            "All right?"

            "Room enough. Wonderfully all right. And kiss me, too. Please?"

            "Barbara, Barbara!"

            "Hugh darling! I love you. Oh!"

            "I love you, Barbara."

            "Yes. Yes! Oh, please! Now!"

            "Right now!"

            "You all right, Barbie?"

            "I've never been more all right. I've never been happier in my life."

            "I wish that were true."

            "It is true. Hugh darling, I'm utterly happy now and not at all afraid. I feel wonderful. Not even too warm."

            "I'm dripping sweat on you."

            "I don't mind. There are two drops on your chin and one on the end of your nose. And I'm so sweaty my hair is soaked. Doesn't matter. Hugh dearest, this is what I wanted. You. I don't mind dying-now."

            "I do!"

            "I'm sorry."

            "No, no! Barbie hon, I didn't mind dying, before. Now suddenly life is worth living."

            "Oh. I think it's the same feeling."

            "Probably. But we aren't going to die, ii I can swing it. Want to move now?"

            "If you want to. If you'll put your arm around me after we do."

            "Try to stop me. But first I'm going to make us a long, tall drink. I'm thirsty again. And breathless."

            "Me, too. Your heart is pounding."

            "It has every excuse. Barbie girl, do you realize that I am more than twice your age? Old enough to be your father."

            "Yes, Daddy."

            "Why, you little squirt! Talk that way and I'll drink this all myself."

            "Yes, Hugh. Hugh my beloved. But we are the same age

            because we are going to die at the same time."

            "Don't talk about dying. I'm going to find some way to outwit it."

            "If anybody can, you will. Hugh, I'm not feeling morbid. I've looked it in the face and I'm no longer afraid-not afraid to die, not afraid to live. But- Hugh, I'd like one favor."

            "Name it."

            "When you give the pills to the others-the overdose-I don't want them."

            "Uh. . . it might be needful."

            "I didn't mean that I wouldn't; I will when you tell me to. But not when the others do. Not until you do."

            "Mmm, Barbie, I don't plan on taking them."

            "Then please don't make me take them."

            "Well- I'll think about it. Now shut up. Kiss me."

            "Yes, dear."

            "Such long legs you have, Barbie. Strong, too."

            "And such big feet."

            "Quit fishing for compliments. I like your feet. You would look unfinished without them."

            "Be inconvenient, too. Hugh, do you know what I would like to do?"

            "Again?"

            "No, no. Well, yes. But right now."

            "Sleep? Go ahead, dear. I won't fall asleep."

            "No, not sleep. I'm not ever going to sleep again. Never. I can't spare one minute we've got left. I was thinking that I would like to play contract again-as your partner."

            "Well- We might be able to rouse Joe. Not the others; three grains of Seconal is pretty convincing. We could play three-handed."

            "No, no. I don't want any company but you. But I so enjoyed playing, as your partner."

            "You're a good partner, honey. The best. When you say 'by the book,' you mean it."

            "Not 'the best.' I'm not in your class. But I wish that we had-oh, years and years !-so that I could get to be. And I wish the attack had held off ten minutes, so that you could have played that grand slam."

            "Didn't need to. When you answered my bid I knew it was a lay-down." He squeezed her shoulders. "Three grand slams in one night."

            "Three?"

            "Didn't you consider that H-bomb a grand slam?"

            "Oh. And then there was the second bomb, later."

            "I was not counting the second bomb, it was too far away. If you don't know what I counted, I refuse to draw a diagram."

            "Oh! In that case, there could easily be a fourth grand slam. I can't make another forcing bid; my bra is gone and-"

            "Was that a forcing bid?"

            "Of course it was. But you can make the next forcing bid. I'll spot it."

            "Slow down! Three grand slams is maximum. A small slam, maybe-if I take another Dexedrine. But four grand slams? Impossible. You know how old I am."

            "We'll see. I think we'll get a fourth."

            At that moment the biggest slam of all hit them.

Chapter 3

            The light went out, Grace Farnham screamed, Dr.-Livingstone--I-Presume wailed, Barbara was knocked silly and came to heaped over a steel bottle and disoriented by blackness and no floors or walls.

            She groped around, found a leg, found Hugh attached to it. He was limp. She felt for his heartbeat, could not find it.

She shouted: "Hello! Hello! Anybody!" Duke answered, "Barbara?"

            "Yes, yes!"

            "Are you all right?"

            "I'm all right. Hugh is hurt. I think he's dead."

            "Take it easy. When I find my trousers, I'll light a match- if I can get off my shoulders. I'm standing on them."

            "Hubert! Hubert!"

            "Yes, Mother! Wait." Grace continued to scream; Duke alternated reassurances and cursing the darkness. Barbara felt around, slipped on loose oxygen bottles, hurt her shin, and found a flat surface. She could not tell what it was; it was canted steeply.

            Duke called out, "Got 'em!" A match flared up, torch bright in oxygen-rich air.

            Joe's voice said, "Better put that out. Fire hazard." A flashlight beam cut the gloom.

            Barbara called out, "Joe! Help me with Hugh!"

            "Got to see about lights."

            "He may be dying."

            "Can't do a thing without light." Barbara shut up, tried again to find heartbeat-found it and clutched Hugh's head, sobbing.

            Lights came on in the men's bay; enough trickled in so that Barbara could make out her surroundings. The floor sloped about thirty degrees; she, Hugh, steel bottles, water tank, and other gear were jumbled in the lower corner. The tank had sprung a leak and was flooding the toilet space. She saw that, had the tilt been the other way, she and Hugh would have been buried under steel and water.

            Minutes later Duke and Joe joined her, letting themselves down through the door. Joe carried a camp lamp. Duke said to Joe, "How are we going to move him?"

            "We don't. It might be his spine."

            "Still have to move him."

            "We don't move him," Joe said firmly. "Barbara, have you moved him?"

            "I took his head in my lap."

            "Well, don't move him anymore." Joe looked his patient over, touching him gently. "I can't see any gross injuries," he decided. "Barbara, if you can stay put, we'll wait until he comes to. Then I can check his eyes for concussion, see if he can wiggle his toes, things like that."

            "I'll hold still. Anybody else hurt?"

            "Not to speak of," Duke assured her. "Joe thinks he's cracked some ribs and I wrenched a shoulder. Mother just got rolled into the corner of her bunk. Sis is soothing her. Sis is okay-a lump on her head where a can conked her. Are you all right?"

            "Just bruises. Hugh and I were playing double solitaire and trying to keep cool when it hit." She wondered how long the lie would stand up. Duke had no more on than she did and didn't seem troubled by it; Joe was dressed in underwear shorts. She added, "The cat? Is he all right?"

            "Dr.-Livingstone-I-Presume," Joe answered seriously, "escaped injury. But he is vexed that his sandbox was dumped over. He's cleaning himself and criticizing."

            "I'm glad he wasn't hurt."

            "Notice anything about this blast?"

            "What, Joe? It was the hardest of the three. Much the hardest."

            "Yes. But no rumbling. Just one great, big, grand slam, then. . . nothing."

            "What does that indicate?"

            "I don't know. Barbara, can you stay here and not move? I want to get more lights on, check the damage, and see what to do about it."

            "I won't move." Hugh seemed to be breathing easily. In the silence she could hear his heart beat. She decided that she didn't have anything to be unhappy about.

            Karen joined her, carrying a flashlight and moving carefully on the slant. "How's Daddy?"

            "No change."

            "Knocked cold, I guess. So was I. You okay?" She played the flashlight over Barbara.

            "Not hurt."

            "Well! I'm glad you're in uniform, too. I can't find my pants. Joe ignores it so carefully, it's painful. Is that boy square!"

            "I don't know where my clothes are."

            "Joe has the only pants among us. What happened to you? Were you asleep?"

            "No. I was here. We were talking."

            "Hmm- Further deponent sayeth not. I'll keep your grisly secret. Mother won't know; I gave her another hypo."

            "Aren't you jumping at conclusions?"

            "My favorite exercise. I hope my nasty suspicions are correct. I wish I had had something better to do than sleep last night. Since it's probably our last night." She leaned over and kissed Barbara. "I like you."

            "Thanks, Karen. Me, too. You."

            "Let's hold a funeral and preach about what nice guys we are. You made my daddy happy when you had the guts to bid that slam. If you made him happier still, I'm in favor of it." She straightened up. "'Bye. I'll go sort groceries. If Daddy wakes up, yell." She left.

            "Barbara?"

            "Yes, Hugh? Yes!"

            "Keep your voice down. I heard what my daughter said."

            "You did?"

            "Yes. She's a gentleman. Barbara? I love you. I may not have another chance to say so."

            "I love you."

            "Darling."

            "Shall I call the others?"

            "Shortly. Are you comfortable?"

            "Oh, very!"

            "Then let me rest a bit. I feel woozy."

            "As long as you like. Uh, can you wiggle your toes? Do you hurt anyplace?"

            "I hurt lots of places, but not too much. Let me see- Yes, I can move everything. All right, call Joe."

            "No hurry."

            "Better call him. Work to do."

            Shortly Mr. Farnham was back in charge. Joe required him to move himself-a mass of bruises but no break, sprain, nor concussion. It seemed to Barbara that Hugh had landed on the bottles and that she had landed on him. She did not discuss her theory.

            Hugh's first act was to bind Joe's ribs with elastic bandage. Joe gasped as it tightened but seemed more comfortable with it. The lump on Karen's head was inspected; Hugh decided that there was nothing he could do for it.

            "Will somebody fetch the thermometer?" he asked. "Duke?"

            "It's busted."

            "It's a bimetal job. Shockproof."

            "I looked for it," Duke explained, "while you were doctoring. Seems cooler to me. While it may be shockproof, it couldn't stand being mashed between two tanks."

            "Oh. Well, it's no big loss."

            "Dad? Wouldn't this be a good time to try the spare radio? Just a suggestion."

            "I suppose so, but- I hate to tell you, Duke, but you'll probably find it smashed, too. We tried it earlier. No results." He glanced at his wrist. "An hour and half ago. At two A.M. Has anyone else the time?"

            Duke's watch agreed.

            "We seem to be in fair shape," Hugh decided, "except for water. There are some plastic jugs of water but we need to salvage the tank water; we may have to drink it. With Halazone tablets. Joe, we need utensils of any sort, and everybody bail. Keep it as clean as you can." He added, "When Joe can spare you, Karen, scrounge some breakfast. We've got to eat, even if this is Armageddon."

            "And Armageddon sick of it," Karen offered.

            Her father winced. "Baby girl, you will write on the blackboard one thousand times: 'I will not make bad puns before breakfast.'"

            "I thought it was pretty good, Hugh."

            "Don't encourage her, Barbara. All right, get with it."

            Karen returned shortly, carrying Dr. Livingstone. "I wasn't much help," she announced, "because somebody has to hang onto this damn cat. He wants to help."

            "Kablerrrrt!"

            "You did so! I'm going to entice him with sardines and get breakfast. What do you want, Daddy Hugh Boss? Crêpes Suzettes?"

            "Yes."

            "What you'll get is Spam and crackers."

            "All right. How's the bailing going?"

            "Daddy, I won't drink that water even with Halazone." She made a face. "You know where it wound up."

            "We may have to drink it."

            "Well. . . if you cut it with whisky-"

            "Mmm- Every case of liquor is leaking. The two I've opened each has one fifth, unbroken."

            "Daddy, you've ruined breakfast."

            "The question is, do I ration it evenly? Or save it all for Grace?"

            "Oh." Karen's features screwed up in painful decision. "She can have my share. But the others shouldn't be deprived just because Gracie has a yen."

            "Karen, at this stage it's not a yen. In a way, for her it's medicine."

            "Yeah, sure. And diamond bracelets and sable coats are medicine for me."

            "Baby, there's no point in blaming her. It may be my fault. Duke thinks so. When you are my age, you will learn to take people as they are."

            "Hush mah mouf. Maybe I'm harsh-but I get tired of bringing friends home and having Mom pass out about dinnertime. Or try to kiss my boy friends in the kitchen."

            "She does that?"

            "Haven't you seen? No, you probably haven't. Sorry."

            "I'm sorry, too. But only on your account. It's a peccadillo, at most. As I was saying, when you get to be my age-"

            "Daddy, I don't expect to get to be your age-and we both know it. If we've got even two fifths of liquor, it's probably enough. Why don't you just serve it to whoever needs it?"

            The lines in his face got deeper. "Karen, I haven't given up. It's distinctly cooler. We may get out of this yet."

            "Well- I guess that's the proper attitude. Speaking of medicine, didn't you squirrel away some Antabuse when we built this monster?"

            "Karen, Antabuse doesn't stop the craving; it simply makes the patient deathly ill if he drinks. If your estimate of our chances is correct, can you see any reason why I should force Grace to spend her last hours miserably? I'm not her judge, I'm her husband."

            Karen sighed. "Daddy, you have an annoying habit of being right. All right, she can have mine."

            "I was merely asking your opinion. You've helped. I've decided."

            "Decided how?"

            "None of your business, half pint. Get breakfast."

            "I'm going to put kerosene in yours. Give me a kiss, Daddy."

            He did. "Now pipe down and get to work."

            Five of them gathered for breakfast, sitting on the floor as chairs would not stand up. Mrs. Farnham was still lethargic from heavy sedation. The others shared canned meat, crackers, cold Nescafé, canned peaches, and warm comradeship. They were dressed, the men in shorts, Karen in shorts and halter, and Barbara in a muumuu belonging to Karen. Her underwear had been salvaged but was soaked and the air was too moist to dry it.

            Hugh announced, "Time for a conference. Suggestions are welcome." He looked at his son.

            "One item, Dad-Hugh," Duke answered. "The backhouse took a beating. I patched it and rigged a platform out of boards that had secured the air bottles. Just one thing-" He turned to his sister. "You setter types be careful. It's shaky."

            "You be careful. You were the one hard to housebreak. Ask Daddy."

            "Stow it, Karen. Good job, Duke. But with six of us I think we should rig a second one. Can we manage that, Joe?"

            "Yes, we could. But. . ."

            "But what?"

            "Do you know how much oxy is left?"

            "I do. We must shift to blower and filter soon. And there is not a working radiation counter left. So we won't know what we'll be letting in. However, we've got to breathe."

            "But did you look at the blower?"

            "It looked all right."

            "It's not. I don't think I can repair it."

            Mr. Farnham sighed. "I've had a spare on order for six months. Well, I'll look at it, too. And you, Duke; maybe one of us can fix it."

            "Okay."

            "Let's assume we can't repair it. Then we use the oxygen as sparingly as possible. After that we can get along, for a while, on the air inside. But there will come a time when we have to open the door."

            Nobody said anything. "Smile, somebody!" Hugh went on. "We aren't licked. We'll rig dust filters out of sheets in the door-better than nothing. We still have one radio-the one you mistook for a hearing aid, Barbara. I wrapped it and put it away; it wasn't hurt. I'll go outside and put up an antenna and we can listen to it down here; it could save us. We'll rig a flagpole, from the sides of a bunk perhaps, and fly a flag. A hunting shirt. No, the American flag; I've got one. If we don't make it, we'll go down with our colors flying!"

            Karen started clapping. "Don't scoff, Karen."

            "I'm not scoffing, Daddy! I'm crying. 'The rockets' red glare-the bombs bursting in air-gave proof through the night- that our flag was still-'" Her voice broke and she buried her face in her hands.

            Barbara put an arm around her. Hugh Farnham went on as if nothing had happened. "But we won't go down. Soon they will search this area for survivors. They'll see our flag and take us out-helicopter, probably.

            "So our business is to be alive when they come." He stopped to think. "No unnecessary work, no exercise. Sleeping pills for everybody and try to sleep twelve hours a day and lie down all the time; it will make the air last as long as possible. The only work is to repair that blower and we'll knock that off if we can't fix it. Let's see- Water must be rationed. Duke, you are water marshal. See how much pure water there is; work out a schedule to stretch it. There is a one-ounce glass with the medicines; use it to dispense water. That's all, I guess: repair the blower, minimum exercise, maximum sleep, rationed water. Oh, yes! Sweat is wasteful. It's still hot and, Barbara, you've sweat right through that sack. Take it off."

            "May I leave the room?"

            "Certainly." She left, walking carefully on the steep floor, went into the tank room, and returned wearing her soaked underwear. "That's better," he approved. "Now-"

            "Hubert! Hubert! Where are you? I'm thirsty." "Duke, give her one ounce. Charge it to her." "Yes, sir."

            "Don't forget that the cat has to have water."

            "The dirty water, maybe?"

            "Hmm. We won't die through playing fair with our guest. Let's keep our pride."

            "He's been drinking the dirty water."

            "Well- You boss it. Suggestions, anyone? Joe, do the plans suit you?"

            "Well- No, sir."

            "So?"

            "No exercise, least oxygen used, makes sense. But when it comes time to open the door, where are we?"

            "We take our chances."

            "I mean, can we? Short on air, panting, thirsty, maybe sick- I'd like to be certain that anyone, Karen say, with a broken arm, can get that door open."

            "I see."

            "I'd like to try all three doors. I'd like to leave the armor door open. A girl can't handle that crank. I volunteer to try the upper door."

            "Sorry, it's my privilege. I go along with the rest. That's why I asked for suggestions. I'm tired, Joe; my mind is fuzzy."

            "And if the doors are blocked? Probably rubble against the upper door-"

            "We have the jack."

            "Well, if we can't use the doors, we should make sure of the escape tunnel. Duke's shoulder isn't so good. My ribs are sore but I can work-today. Tomorrow Duke and I will be stiff and twice as sore. There are those steel bottles cluttering the hatch and plunder stored in the hole. Takes work. Boss, I say we've got to be sure of our escape-while we're still in pretty good shape."

            "I hate to order heavy work. But you've convinced me." Hugh stood up, suppressing a groan. "Let's get busy."

            "I've got one more suggestion."

            "So?"

            "You ought to sack in. You haven't been to bed at all and you got banged up pretty hard."

            "I'm okay. Duke has a bad shoulder, you've got cracked ribs. And there's heavy work to be done."

            "I plan to use block and tackle to skid those bottles aside. Barbara can help. She's husky, for a girl."

            "Certainly I can," agreed Barbara. "I'm bigger than Joe is. Excuse me, Joe."

            "No argument. Boss. Hugh. I don't like to emphasize it but I thought of this. You admit you're tired. Not surprising, you've been on the go twenty-four hours. Do you mind my saying that I would feel more confident you could get us through if you would rest?"

            "He's right, Hugh."

            "Barbara, you haven't had any sleep."

            "I don't have to make decisions. But I'll lie down and Joe can call me when he needs me. Okay, Joe?"

            "Fine, Barbara."

            Hugh grinned. "Ganging up on me. All right, I'll take a nap."

            A few minutes later he was in the bottom bunk in the men's dormitory, his feet braced against the footboard. He closed his eyes and was asleep before he could get his worries organized.

            Duke and Joe found that five of the bolts of the inner door were stuck. "We'll let them be," Joe decided. "We can always drift them back with a sledgehammer. Let's crank back the armor door."

            The armor door, beyond the bolted door, was intended to withstand as much blast as the walls. It was cranked into place, or out, by a rack and gear driven by a long crank.

            Joe could not budge it. Duke, heavier by forty pounds, put his weight on it-no results. Then they leaned on it together.

            "Frozen."

            "Yeah."

            "Joe, you mentioned a sledgehammer."

            The young Negro frowned. "Duke, I would rather your father tried that. We could break the crank. O~ a tooth on the rack."

            "The trouble is, we're trying to crank a ton or so of door uphill, when it was meant to move on the level."

            "Yes. But this door always has been pesky."

            "What do we do?"

            "We get at the escape tunnel."

            A block and tackle was fastened to a hook in the ceiling; the giant bottles were hauled out of the jumble and stacked, with Barbara and Karen heaving on the line and the men guiding them and then bracing them so that the stack could not roll. When the middle of the floor was clear they were able to get at the manhole cover to the tunnel. It was the massive, heavy-traffic sort and the hook in the ceiling was for lifting it.

            It came up, creaking. It swung suddenly because of the 300 out-of-plumb of everything, taking a nick out of Duke's shin and an oath out of Duke.

            The hole was packed with provisions. The girls dug them out, Karen, being smaller, going down inside as they got deeper and Barbara stacking the stuff.

            Karen stuck her head up. "Hey! Water Boss! There's canned water here."

            "Well, goody for me!"

            Joe said, "I had forgotten that. This hatch hasn't been opened since the shelter was stocked."

            "Joe, shall I knock out the braces?"

            "I'll get 'em. You clear out the supplies. Duke, this isn't armored the way the door is. Those braces hold a piece of boiler plate against the opening, with the supplies behind it and the manhole cover holding it all down. Inside the tunnel, at ten foot intervals, are walls of sandbags, and the mouth has dirt over it. Your father said the idea was to cofferdam a blast. Let it in, slow it down, a piece at a time."

            "We'll find those sandbags jammed against that boiler plate."

            "If so, we'll dig 'em out."

            "Why didn't he use real armor?"

            "He thought this was safer. You saw what happened to the doors. I would hate to have to pry loose a steel barrier in that tunnel."

            "I see. Joe, I'm sorry I ever called this place a 'hole in the ground.'"

            "Well, it isn't. It's a machine-a survival machine."

            "I'm through," Karen announced. "Some gentleman help me up. Or you, Duke."

            "I'll put the lid on with you under it." Duke helped his sister to climb out.

            Joe climbed down, flinching at the strain on his ribs. Dr. Livingstone had been superintending. Now he followed his friend into the hole, using Joe's shoulders as a landing.

            "Duke, if you'll hand me that sledge- Stay out of the way, Doc. Get your tail down."

            "Want me to take him?" asked Karen.

            "No, he likes to be in on things. Somebody hold the light." The braces were removed and piled on the floor above.

            "Duke, I need the tackle now. I don't want to hoist the plate. Just take its weight so I can swing it back. It's heavy."

            "Here it comes."

            "That's good. Doc! Darn you, Doc! Get out from under my feet! Just a steady strain, Duke. Somebody hand me the flashlight. I'll swing her back and have a look."

            "And get a face full of isotopes."

            "Have to chance it. A touch more- That's got her, she's swinging free."

            Then Joe didn't say anything. At last Duke said, "What do you see?"

            "I'm not sure. Let me swing it back, and hand me one brace."

            "Right over your head. Joe, what do you see?"

            The Negro was swinging the plate back when suddenly he grunted. "Doe! Doe, come back here! That little scamp! Between my legs and into the tunnel. Doc!"

            "He can't get far."

            "Well- Karen, will you go wake your father?"

            "Damn it, Joe! What do you see?" "Duke, I don't know. That's why I need Hugh." "I'm coming down."

            "There isn't room. I'm coming up, so Hugh can go down."

            Hugh arrived as Joe scrambled out. "Joe, what do you have?"

            "Hugh, I would rather you looked yourself."

            "Well- I should have built a ladder for this. Give me a hand." Hugh went down, removed the brace, swung back the plate.

            He stared even longer than Joe had, then called up. "Duke! Let's heave this plate out."

            "What is it, Dad?"

            "Get the plate out, then you can come down." It was hoisted out; father and son exchanged places. Duke stared down the tunnel. "That's enough, Duke. Here's a hand."

            Duke rejoined them; his father said, "What do you think?"

            "I don't believe it."

            "Daddy," Karen said tensely, "somebody is going to talk, or I'm going to wrap this sledgehammer around somebody's skull."

            "Yes, baby. Uh, there's room for you girls to go down together."

            Barbara was handed down by Duke and Hugh, she helped Karen down over her. Both girls scrunched down and looked.

            Karen said softly, "I'll be goldarned!" She started crawling into the tunnel.

            Hugh called out, "Baby! Come back!" Karen did not answer. He added, "Barbara, tell me what you see."

            "I see," Barbara said slowly, "a beautiful wooded hillside, green trees, bushes, and a lovely sunny day."

            "That's what we saw."

            "But it's impossible."

            "Yes."

            "Karen is outside. The tunnel isn't more than eight feet long. She's holding Dr. Livingstone. She says, 'Come on out!" "Tell her to get away from the mouth. It's probably radioactive."

            "Karen! Get away from the tunnel! Hugh, what time is it?"

            "Just past seven."

            "Well, it's more like noon outside. I think."

            "I've quit thinking." "Hugh, I want to go out."

            "Uh- Oh, hell! Don't tarry at the mouth. And be careful."

            "I will." She started to crawl.

Chapter 4

            Hugh turned to his deputy. "Joe, I'm going out. Get me a forty-five and a belt. I shouldn't have let those girls go out unarmed." He eased himself down the hole. "You two guard the place."

            His son said, "Against what? There's nothing to guard in here."

            His father hesitated. "I don't know. Just a spooky feeling. All right, come along. But arm yourself. Joe!"

            "Coming!"

            "Joe, arm Duke and yourself. Then wait until we get outside. If we don't come back right away, use your judgment. This situation I hadn't anticipated. It just can't be."

            "But it is."

            "So it is, Duke." Hugh buckled on the pistol, dropped to his knees. Framed in the tunnel's mouth was still the vision of lush greenness where there should have been blasted countryside and crater glass. He started to crawl.

            He stood up and moved away from the mouth, then looked around.

            "Daddy! Isn't this lovely!"

            Karen was below him on a slope that ran down to a stream. Across it the land rose and was covered with trees. On this side was a semi-clearing. The sky was blue, sunlight warm and bright, and there was no sign of war's devastation, nor any sign of man-not a building, a road, a path, no contrails in the sky. It was wilderness, and there was nothing that he recognized.

            "Daddy, I'm going down to the creek."

            "Come here! Where's Barbara?"

            "Up here, Hugh." He turned and saw her up the slope, above the shelter. "I'm trying to figure out what happened. What do you think?"

            The shelter sat cocked on the slope, a huge square monolith. Dirt clung to it save where the tunnel had cracked off and a jagged place where the stairwell had been. The armor door was exposed just above him.

            "I don't think," he admitted.

            Duke emerged, dragging a rifle. He stood up, looked around, and said nothing.

            Barbara and Karen joined them. Dr.-Livingstone-I-Presume came bounding up to tag Hugh on the ankle and dash away. Obviously the Persian gave the place full approval; it was just right for cats.

            Duke said, "I give up. Tell me."

            Hugh did not answer. Karen said, "Daddy, why can't I go down to the creek? I'm going to take a bath. I stink."

            "It won't hurt you to stink. I'm confused. I don't want to be confused still more by worrying about your drowning-"

            "It's shallow."

            "-or eaten by a bear, or falling in quicksand. You girls go inside, arm yourselves, and then come out if you want to. But stick close and keep your eyes peeled. Tell Joe to come out."

            "Yes, sir." The girls went.

            "What do you think, Duke?"

            "Well . . . I reserve my opinion."

            "If you have one, it's more than I have. Duke, I'm stonkered. I planned for all sorts of things. This wasn't on the list. If you have opinions, for God's sake spill them."

            "Well- This looks like mountain country in Central America. Of course that's impossible."

            "No point in worrying about whether it's possible. Suppose it was Central America. What would you watch for?"

            "Let me see. Might be cougars. Snakes certainly. Tarantulas and scorpions. Malaria mosquitoes. You mentioned bears."

            "I meant bears as a symbol. We're going to have to watch everything, every minute, until we know what we're up against."

            Joe came out, carrying a rifle. He kept quiet and looked around. Duke said, "We won't starve. Off to the left down by the stream."

            Hugh looked. A dappled fawn, hardly waist high, was staring at them, apparently unafraid. Duke said, "Shall I drop it?" He raised his rifle.

            "No. Unless you are dead set on fresh meat."

            "All right. Pretty thing, isn't it?"

            "Very. But it's no North American deer I ever saw. Duke? Where are we? And how did we get here?"

            Duke gave a lopsided grin. "Dad, you appointed yourself Fuehrer. I'm not supposed to think."

            "Oh, rats!"

            "Anyhow, I don't know. Maybe the Russkis developed a hallucination bomb."

            "But would we all see the same thing?"

            "No opinion. But if I had shot that deer, Ill bet we could have eaten it."

            "I think so, too. Joe? Ideas, opinions, suggestions?"

            Joe scratched his head. "Mighty pretty country. But I'm a city boy."

            "One thing you can do, Hugh."

            "What, Duke?"

            "Your little radio. Try it."

            "Good idea." Hugh crawled inside, caught Karen about to climb down, sent her back for it. While he waited, he wondered what he had that was suitable for a ladder? Chinning themselves in a six-foot manhole was tedious.

            The radio picked up static but nothing else. Hugh switched it off. "We'll try it tonight. I've gotten Mexico with it at night, even Canada." He frowned. "Something ought to be on the air. Unless they smeared us completely."

            "Dad, you aren't thinking straight."

            "How, Duke?"

            "This area did not get smeared."

            "That's why I can't understand a radio silence."

            "Yet Mountain Springs really caught it. Ergo, we aren't in Mountain Springs."

            "Who said we were?" Karen answered. "There's nothing like this in Mountain Springs. Nor the whole state."

            Hugh frowned. "I guess that's obvious." He looked at the shelter-gross, huge, massive. "But where are we?"

            "Don't you read comic books, Daddy? We're on another planet."

            "Don't joke, baby girl. I'm worried."

            "I wasn't joking. There is nothing like this within a thousand miles of home-yet here we are. Might as well be another planet. The one we had was getting used up."

            "Hugh," Joe said, "it sounds silly. But I agree with Karen."

            "Why, Joe?"

            "Well, we're someplace. What happens when an H-bomb explodes dead on you?"

            "You're vaporized."

            "I don't feel vaporized. And I can't see that big hunk of concrete sailing a thousand miles or so, and crashing down with nothing to show for it but cracked ribs and a hurt shoulder. But Karen's idea-" He shrugged. "Call it the fourth dimension. That last big one nudged us through the fourth dimension."

            "Just what I said, Daddy. We're on a strange planet! Let's explore!"

            "Slow down, honey. As for another planet- Well, there isn't any rule saying we have to know where we are when we don't. The problem is to cope."

            Barbara said, "Karen, I don't see how this can be anything but Earth."

            "Why? Spoilsport."

            "Well-" Barbara chucked a pebble at a tree. "That's a eucalyptus, and an acacia beyond it. Not at all like Mountain Springs but a normal grouping of tropical and subtropical flora. Unless your 'new planet' evolved plants just like Earth, this has to be Earth."

            "Spoilsport," Karen repeated. "Why shouldn't plants evolve the same way on another planet?"

            "Well, that would be as remarkable as finding the same-"

            "Hubert! Hubert! Where are you? I can't find you!" Grace Farnham's voice echoed out the tunnel.

            Hugh ducked into the tunnel. "Coming!"

            They ate lunch under a tree a little distance from the shelter. Hugh decided that the tunnel had been buried so deeply that the chance of its mouth being more radioactive than the interior was negligible. As for the roof, he was not certain. So he placed a dosimeter (the only sort of radiation instrument that had come through the pummeling) on top of the shelter to compare it later with one inside. He was relieved to see that the dosimeters agreed that they had suffered less than lethal dosage-although large-and that they checked each other.

            The only other precaution he took was for them to keep guns by them-all but his wife. Grace Farnham "couldn't stand guns," and resented having to eat with guns in sight.

            But she ate with good appetite. Duke had built a fire and they were blessed with hot coffee, hot canned beef, hot peas, hot canned sweet potatoes, and canned fruit salad-and cigarettes with no worry about air or fire.

            "That was lovely," Grace admitted. "Hubert dear? Do you know what it would take to make it just perfect? You don't approve of drinking in the middle of the day but these are special circumstances and my nerves are still a teensy bit on edge-so, Joseph, if you will just run back inside and fetch a bottle of that Spanish brandy-"

            "Grace."

            "What, dear? -then all of us could celebrate our miraculous escape. You were saying?"

            "I'm not sure there is any."

            "What? Why, we stored two cases of it!"

            "Most of the liquor was broken. That brings up something else. Duke, you are out of a job as water boss. I'd like you to take over as bartender. There are at least two unbroken fifths. Whatever you find, split it six ways and make it share and share alike, whether it's several bottles each, or just a part of a bottle."

            Mrs. Farnham looked blank, Duke looked uneasy. Karen said hastily, "Daddy, you know what I said."

            "Oh, yes. Duke, your sister is on the wagon. So hold her share as a medicinal reserve. Unless she changes her mind."

            "I don't want the job," said Duke.

            "We have to divide up the chores, Duke. Oh yes, do the same with cigarettes. When they are gone, they're gone, whereas I have hopes that we can distill liquor later." He turned to his wife. "Why not have a Miltown, dear?"

            "Drugs! Hubert Farnham, are you telling me that I can't have a drink?"

            "Not at all. At least two fifths came through. Your share would be about a half pint. If you want a drink, go ahead."

            "Well! Joseph, run inside and fetch me a bottle of brandy."

            "No!" her husband countermanded. "If you want it, Grace, fetch it yourself."

            "Oh, shucks, Hugh, I don't mind."

            "I do. Grace, Joe's ribs are cracked. It hurts him to climb. You can manage the climb with those boxes as steps-and you're the only one who wasn't hurt."

            "That's not true!"

            "Not a scratch. Everybody else was bruised or worse. Now about jobs- I want you to take over as cook. Karen will be your assistant. Okay, Karen?"

            "Certainly, Daddy."

            "It will keep you both busy. We'll build a grill and Dutch oven, but it will be cook over a campfire and wash dishes in the creek for a while."

            "So? And will you please tell me, Mr. Farnham, what Joseph is going to do in the meantime? To earn his wages?"

            "Will you please tell me how we'll pay wages? Dear, dear- can't you see that things have changed?"

            "Don't be preposterous! Joseph will get every cent coming to him and he knows it-just as soon as this mess is straightened out. After all, we've saved his life. And we've always been good to him, he won't mind waiting. Will you, Joseph?"

            "Grace! Quiet down and listen. Joe is no longer our servant. He is our partner in adversity. We'll never pay him wages again. Quit acting like a child and face the facts. We're broke. We're never going to have any money again. Our house is gone. My business is gone. The Mountain Exchange Bank is gone. We're wiped out . . . save for what we stored in the shelter. But we are lucky. We're alive and by some miracle have a chance of scratching a living out of the ground. Lucky. Do you understand?"

            "I understand you are using it as an excuse to bully me!"

            "You've merely been assigned a job to fit your talents."

            "Kitchen drudge! I was your kitchen slave for twenty-five years! That's long enough. I won't do it! Do you understand me?"

            "You are wrong on both points. You've had a maid most of our married life . . . and Karen washed dishes from the time she could see over the sink. Granted, we had lean years. Now we're going to have more lean years-and you're going to help. Grace, you are a fine cook when you want to be. You will cook. . . or you won't eat."

            "Oh!" She burst into tears and fled into the shelter.

            Her behind was disappearing when Duke got up to follow. His father stopped him. "Duke!"

            "Yes."

            "One word and you can join your mother. I'm going exploring, I want you to go with me."

            Duke hesitated. "All right."

            "We'll start shortly. I think your job should be 'hunter.' You're a better shot than I am and Joe has never hunted. What do you think?"

            "Uh- All right."

            "Good. Well, go soothe her down and, Duke, see if you can make her see the facts."

            "Maybe. But I agree with Mother. You were bullying her."

            "As may be. Go ahead."

            Duke turned abruptly and left. Karen said quietly, "I think so too, Daddy. You were bullying."

            "I intended to. I judged it called for bullying. Karen, if I hadn't tromped on it, she would do no work. . . and would order Joe around, treat him as a hired cook."

            "Shucks, Hugh, I don't mind cooking. It was a pleasure to rustle lunch."

            "She's a better cook than you are, Joe, and she's going to cook. Don't let me catch you fetching and carrying for her."

            The younger man grinned. "You won't catch me."

            "Better not. Or I'll skin you and nail it to the barn. Barbara, what do you know about farming?"

            "Very little."

            "You're a botanist."

            "No, I simply might have been one, someday."

            "Which makes you eight times as much of a farmer as the rest of us. I can barely tell a rose from a dandelion; Duke knows even less and Karen thinks you dig potatoes out of gravy. You heard Joe say he was a city boy. But we have seeds and a small supply of fertilizers. Also garden tools and books about farming. Look over what we've got and find a spot for a garden. Joe and I will do the spading and such. But you will have to boss."

            "All right. Any flower seeds?"

            "How did you know?"

            "I just hoped."