Heinlein, Robert A – Friday

Red Thursday had started.

X

I suppose everybody has more or less the same picture in mind of Red Thursday and what followed. But to explain me (to me, if that be possible!) I must tell how I saw it, including the bumbling confusion and doubts.

We four did wind up in Janet’s big bed but for company and mutual comfort, not sex. We all had our ears bent for news, our eyes on the terminal’s screen. More or less the same news was repeated again and again-aborted attack from Québec, Chairman of the Chicago Imperium killed in his bed, the border with the Imperium closed, unverified sabotage reports, stay off the streets, remain calm-but no matter how often it was repeated we always all shut up and listened, waiting for some item that would cause the other news items to make sense.

Instead things got worse all night long. By four in the morning we knew that killings and sabotage were all over the globe; by daylight unverified reports were coming in of trouble at Ell-Four, at Tycho Base, at Stationary Station, and (broken-off message) on Ceres. There was no way to guess whether or not the trouble extended as far as Alpha Centauri or Tau Ceti . . . but an official voice on the terminal did guess by loudly refusing to guess and by telling the rest of us not to engage in harmful speculation.

About four, Janet, with some help from me, made sandwiches and served coffee.

I woke up at nine because Georges moved. I found that I was sleeping with my head on his chest and my upper arm clinging to him. Ian was across the bed, lying-sitting propped up against pillows with his eyes still on the screen-but his eyes were closed. Janet was missing-she had gone to my room, crawled into what was nominally my bed.

I found that, by moving very slowly, I could untangle myself and get out of bed without waking Georges. I did so, and slid into the bathroom, where I got rid of used coffee and felt better. I glanced into “my” room, saw my missing hostess. She was awake, waggled her fingers at me, then motioned for me to come in. She moved over and I crawled in with her. She kissed me. “How are the boys?”

“Both still asleep. Or were three minutes ago.”

“Good. They need sleep. Both of them are worriers; I am not. I decided that there was no point in attending Armageddon with my eyes bloodshot, so I came in here. You were asleep, I think.”

“Could have been. I don’t know when I fell asleep. It seemed to me that I heard the same bad news a thousand times. Then I woke up.

“You haven’t missed anything. I’ve kept the sound turned down but I’ve kept the streamers on screen-they’ve been spelling out the same old sad story. Marjorie, the boys are waiting for the bombs to drop. I don’t think there will be any bombs.”

“I hope you’re right. But why not?”

“Who drops H-bombs on whom? Who is the enemy? All the major power blocs are in trouble, as near as I can tell from the news. But, aside from what seems to have been a stupid mistake by some Québecois general, no military forces have been involved anywhere. Assassinations, fires, explosions, all sorts of sabotage, riots, terrorism of all kinds-but no pattern. It’s not East against West, or Marxists against fascists, or blacks against whites. Marjorie, if anyone sets off missiles, it will mean that the whole world has gone crazy.”

“Doesn’t it look that way now?”

“I don’t think so. The pattern of this is that it has no pattern. The target is everybody. It seems to be aimed at all governments equally.”

“Anarchists?” I suggested.

“Nihilists, maybe.”

Ian came in wearing circles under his eyes, a day’s beard, a worried look, and an old bathrobe too short for him. His knees were knobby. “Janet, I can’t reach Betty or Freddie.”

“Were they going back to Sydney?”

“It’s not that. I can’t get through to either Sydney or Auckland. All I get is that damned synthetic computer voice: ‘A-circuit-is-notavailable-at-this-moment. Please-try-later-thank-you-for-your-patience.’ You know.”