“No,” I answered. “No, I’m not going to.”
“Not going to what? Go to the party or pack up and leave?”
“Sorry. Neither. I decided last night that I’m staying through the morning tomorrow. But I’m not going to the party, either. I’m going to think, real hard, and see if something finally comes to me. I just wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t do that.”
“It’s up to you,” Jo said. “As Governor of Currier and Ives, let me just say, we appreciate it.”
Jo left by six that evening, and I was in front of the fire roaring away in the hearth, sitting snugly in the chair, an eggnog within reach.
It was snowing pretty hard outside by the time Jo left, though not blowing around too much—just coming down thick. Jo’s Christmas tree was the only source of electric light at the moment, apart from the “on” indicator of the entertainment center, which was softly playing Christmas music—“O Holy Night” at the moment.
I started singing along: “…Faaallll on your kneeees. All HEAR the angel voi—”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. The phone interrupted me.
I answered the call but the screen lit up blank with the “no video” icon. I suppose I should have said “Governor’s residence” or something like that, but instead I just said, “Hello.”
There was a pause, then: “Is the Governor there?”
“No, she went to a party tonight. I know how to reach her. Do you want to leave a message? Is this an emergency?” That struck me as kind of funny, what with a nuclear bomb set to go off in the next few hours in God only knew which part of the Republic.
“This is that Morgan fella, right? The man from the Patrol?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll do, then. This is Buck Black. It’s about Livvy. She did see Manny. Finally ’fessed up and told me and her husband not ten minutes ago.”
I got down to business. Last time I’d met Buck Black, I hadn’t even asked any questions. This time was different. I drilled him for all he knew, got him to put Livvy on the line, and then, though I could tell she was trying to keep from crying, got the story out of her.
Manfred Rolff had indeed been to Currier and Ives, and as best as I could figure out, had been captured in Peru not more than five hours after leaving here. Livvy said he’d known where she lived now, knew her husband wasn’t home, had just let himself in. She’d gone to put the baby down for a nap and there he was at her kitchen table when she’d come back in the room.
Fact was, though, according to her, nothing at all happened. They talked, mostly about how they’d both changed. He didn’t even try anything with her. Then he asked her not to tell anyone he’d been there, and she’d been afraid to say anything anyway because of what others might think even though nothing went on. But then while she, her husband and baby were at Buck’s for Christmas Eve, Buck had brought up the bomb, and she knew she had to tell.
I ended the call thinking how nice it would have been to have had this information yesterday when I’d first arrived.
Manny had almost certainly been nowhere else except on the road connecting the tourist spaceport with Livvy’s place. Somewhere along the way he would have left the bomb.
That was several kilometers of snow-covered terrain. I looked out the window. And getting more snow-covered by the minute. The wind had picked up and was briskly piling up drifts.
I did a little calculating. Almost all of Currier and Ives was now out of danger. If the bomb went off at maximum… Well, the town was safe. Even I was probably safe.
I used the phone again and left a message for the governor, then I called Buck to tell him he’d better get his family into town. Buck said he’d figured that out already and they were already packing. There wasn’t anything else to do. I fixed myself a cider and brandy and sat back down in front of the fire. After a while, I slipped into a fitful sleep.
It wasn’t just that sleeping in the chair was uncomfortable, or even that my feet were just a little too close to the fire. Something in my brain had made a connection, and it was trying to fight its way to the surface. This happens to me a lot, though not always when sleeping. Sometimes the connection will emerge if I hike on the mare outside Luna City. When I was a kid I’d hike in the Arizona hills. Sometimes it comes out while I’m eating. But regardless of when the connection finally shows up in my conscious mind, somehow or other I always know it’s there beforehand.
There was a gyration of images going around in my head. The scenes of Currier and Ives, some real, others no doubt from remembered Christmas cards. Flashes from Christmas movies; the creche down at the spaceport; an erotic image of two people having sex in a shack (Livvy and Manny, though the man didn’t look like Manny, and I had no idea what Livvy looked like). The shiny Easter egg hanging from a lanyard.
A mushroom cloud.
I sat bolt upright, fully awake. It was what Wilma had said. Broke a few eggs. Manny and Livvy had broken a few eggs in the chicken coop.
I remembered the creche, the detail, all the animals carefully emplaced for perfect balanced effect around the manger. There were hens in the back, sitting in their boxes.
This was Currier and Ives. I just knew there were eggs underneath those hens. Manny had loved irony. He’d broken a few eggs in the chicken coop.
Someone would have said that to him. It would have been a local joke. Now he was really going to break some eggs.
I had to get to the spaceport. I looked outside. The wind was howling now, driving the snowfall horizontally. And it was after eleven o’clock already.
I couldn’t wait for Jo to get back with the sleigh, even if the horses could make it through the storm. I put on my coat and borrowed boots.
More than six kilometers to the spaceport, and I had to do it on foot through a snowstorm. What the hell? I made it down to the road without trouble and trudged along. I had a devil of a time keeping on the road. I couldn’t see more than a few meters ahead of me, and to make any headway I had to focus on the snow bank piled up along the side from past plowings.
High gusts raked snow across my face. That would blind me and I’d find the snow bank on my left instead of my right, having wandered across the road. One time it was so bad I thought I might have turned around, but then I found my footprints and knew I hadn’t.
I seemed to walk for hours and I was having trouble catching my breath. It was cold.
“God, how much farther?” I yelled into the night.
Heading out into the storm had been stupid. I’d had no idea what a blizzard could be like, how dangerous it could be.
I knew I was in big trouble when I staggered into a branch and realized I’d wandered dff the road and into the woods. I tried to find my footprints to backtrack, slipped, found myself sliding into a shallow ravine.
“Where am I? Jake, you’re a fool. You’re going to freeze to death on Christmas Eve. Alone.”
Unless the bomb went off soon. Then I might be incinerated.
A man confronts himself at such times. I wondered why I’d never married. I’d known enough women. Some of them might have been open to the permanent thing. Sarah’s face came to mind. What had my problem been? Fears about winding up like my folks? Why? Like I was a slave to my past, with no hope but of repeating their failure?
I kept walking. It occurred to me that the ravine was probably the little frozen creek I’d seen along parts of the road on the way to Jo’s house. I tried to find a place to climb up the bank and look for the road.