Homecoming

HOMECOMING by Alfred Coppel The Tower of Babel fell—and man's inheritance was a radioactive world of rape, looting, wandering sickness, and just a spark of hope. It was dark when Varney woke me. Dark and cold. "Get up, Gavin," he said. "It's over. I lay on my cot for a moment, stupid with sleep, trying to make sense of the words. I'd known for days that it would end soon. All of us in the burrow had. We hadn't launched any missiles for almost a week. There hadn't been any to launch. But the words that gave it reality sounded inadequate. They didn't make me feel anything, inside. I sat up, shivering and fumbling for my uniform in the darkness. It had never been comfortable in the burrow, but since the main power had failed and what electricity could be generated shunted to the firing racks, the cold and dampness had made deep inroads. I put on my fur-lined jacket—the one I had won from an Air Force captain—and buttoned my tunic with halffrozen, clumsy fingers. There was no thought of washing or shaving. Varney hadn't waited. From somewhere, down the corridors of the burrow. I could hear a few voices raised in feeble song. "Happy days are here again—the skies above are clear again..." That made a lot of sense, I thought, picking my way through the dark passageways. A hell of a lot of sense. The guard at Top Main Control was an AEC man with a stained tunic and a burp-gun. He signaled me in with a jerk of the thumb. Varney and Colonel Greyling and a handful of junior officers were there, their faces expressionless under the grime and beards. I noticed that all the triggers on the big board were secured and the radar screen was dark. It really was over. "It's been over for ten days, Gavin," the colonel said. "The courier plane from New Washington just came in with the news." One of the junior officers asked, "Did we win, sir?" Greyling looked scornfully at him. His sunken eyes seemed to burn. I found myself remembering that his wife and two sons had been in Chicago. "Win?" he said. His voice was colder than the Alaskan glacier over our heads. "Let's just say the Russki quit first and let it go at that," murmured Varney. The junior officer swallowed hard and turned away. Presently Greyling continued. "I know that all of you want to go home," he said. It seemed to me that he paused imperceptibly before the word home. The Chicago Bomb had changed its meaning for him. But for most of us there was at last the faint hope that something might be left. It had been months since we had had any news about damage. Hardly any of us could think about anything else. *** "There is room for three on the courier plane. It will go south to Portland before heading east. I am taking it upon myself to discharge any personnel for whom transportation is available." He glanced around the room. "Purdy. You live in Astoria?" Purdy nodded, his bearded mouth twitching slightly. "Worth. You are from somewhere in Washington, aren't you?" Worth's young-old face was pale and drawn, but his voice was steady enough as he said, "Yes, sir. I lived in Vancouver. I won't need to go home, sir." The Vancouver Narrows Bomb had taken care of Worth's need. The colonel nodded briefly. "Martin. You live in Montana somewhere?" "Yes, sir." Martin straightened his tunic as he spoke, as though trying to recapture some semblance of military smartness. "And you, Gavin?" "Near San Francisco, colonel," I said. "I can only get you as far as Portland. The courier won't go out of his way... and then—" I knew he was thinking about the last report we had received in the burrow concerning California—about the rumored lithium-tritium bomb that had cut off all communications with the country south of the Siskiyous. It might have fallen anywhere. "I understand, sir," I said. "I'll risk it. Just get me to Portland and I'll manage to get the rest of the way... home." The courier plane dropped me at the Air Force B