CRADLE OF SATURN BY JAMES P. HOGAN

“Assuming we find a road, that is,” Colby muttered in Keene’s ear as they split up.

Keene went with Mitch toward the west side. They passed the wreckage of several trucks and cars all entangled with another truck that looked as if it had landed on them, scraping them all into a heap. Beyond that were two more trucks almost burned out, several abandoned cars, and a truck that looked reasonably unscathed until walking around the front revealed the cab smashed in by a rock. The next two were in good shape; one had its keys in but wouldn’t start. A short distance farther on Mitch tried the cab of another, then reemerged, shaking his head. As they turned away, they saw watching them two men who had been draining fuel from the tank of a tractor unit minus trailer. They looked apprehensively at Mitch and Keene’s military garb and the automatic rifle that Mitch was carrying.

“It’s okay, ain’t it?” one of them said. “Hell, it’s not as if there’s any law left to be breaking.”

Mitch had noticed the several cans that they had with them. “What do you guys have planned?” he asked, ignoring the question.

“Getting the hell out of here.” The heftier one gestured over his shoulder with a thumb. “Our rig’s shot, but we found another that’ll move. No sense staying here to be roasted. Looks to me like you two guys was pretty much figuring on the same thing yourselves, anyhow.”

“What have you got?” Mitch asked them. “Another tractor-only, like this, or does it have a trailer too?”

“It’s a full rig,” the hefty one replied. “We figured on picking up more people along the way. Chances are gonna be better for bunches of folks that stick together.”

Keene and Mitch exchanged quick glances. Both nodded at the same time. “Then you’ve got that already,” Mitch said, looking back. “There’s eleven of us, including five Army. The others are over that way, not far.”

“Which way you intendin’ on headin’?” the smaller of the truckers asked.

“South—toward Corpus Christi.”

The larger trucker shook his head emphatically. “That’s crazy. Everyone’s going the other way. You’re on your own, soldier. They’re collecting everybody around El Paso. That’s where they’re gonna hold out until it’s over.”

“We just came on a train from El Paso,” Mitch told them. “You’re not going to get through by road. It’s blocked all the way.”

“So what in hell do you think you’re gonna do in Corpus Christi that’s any better?” the big trucker demanded. “It’s all under water. You expecting an ark?”

“Do you guys know the road down that way?” Mitch asked.

“Sure we do. Been driving it for four years.”

“Okay. Then this is the deal. We pick up some people south from Alice and then head on into Mexico. Not too far past the border there’s a space base that’s got a shuttle down a silo, ready to go.” Keene marveled at the unqualified uncertainty that allowed Mitch to say this, but he wasn’t about to muddy any waters. “We launch and meet up with the Kronian ship that you’ve been hearing all about, and we go back with them. There it is.”

The trucker looked at Mitch warily. “Man, you are crazy! Even if it was still up there, you think it’s going to hang around for you? What makes you think they’d even have heard of you?”

Mitch fumed impotently for a second, then threw out a hand to indicate Keene. “Do you recognize this guy?” he snapped. The two truckers looked, shrugged, obviously didn’t. “On TV all the time just a couple of weeks back,” Mitch said. “The guy in that nuclear stunt that made the Air Force look stupid, who’d been trying to tell the world to wake up to what the Kronians had been telling it.”

The smaller trucker peered more closely at Keene, squinting his eyes against the wind. “You know, it could be him too,” he pronounced. “Tried to take their side in that stuff that went on in Washington.”

“Landen Keene. I am,” Keene confirmed.

“That’s him, Buff. That’s the name, all right,” the smaller trucker said, nodding. Buff, the larger of the two, looked back at Mitch, uncertain now.

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