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z's. He was careful to accelerate smoothly and level out, his speed
just at the limit. After a while the cruiser passed him and went on
ahead, leaving him to his thoughts.
So, it's the same with the aliens who are building Denver-
and all the other strange glass-box downtowns. Aliens doing alien
things for alien reasons. Only human egocentrism would suppose
that they came to conquer or assist us.
So Our Heroes discover the aliens and the aliens don't do
anything. Who would believe it anyway? They don't even bother to
capture the protagonists and tell them . . . No, wait. The reader has
to know what's coming down, so someone's got to explain. Unless
he sent the story to Ted Bistrop at Fantasy & . . . Nothing was ever
explained in the stories he published.
***
The fax machine was built into the car's dashboard. It startled
Arteria with its "wheep, wheep."
PETERBILT 18-WHEELER TANKER MARKED MILKHEIM LOW FAT
MILK PROCEEDING SOUTH ON I-25 AT DENVER. DRIVER OLD FART
WITH BEARD. COLORADO STATE HIGHWAY POLICE OBSERVED
MINOR SAFETY VIOLATION. NO CITATION ISSUED.
BILLINGS.
Denver. What in hell do they want with a truck full of rocket fuel in
Denver? Whatever it is, I've got some driving to do if I'm going to
catch up.
Her suitcase was already in the trunk. Her telephone and fax
were connected to the cellular phone system, so she didn't have to
tell anyone where she was going. She took out maps.
Not Denver. Colorado Springs? USAF Space Command had
been there, when there was a Space Command. It was the reason
Arteria had joined the Air Force. Fifteen years ago, even ten, you
could kid yourself that the United States might go back to space,
get moving again, stop retreating from the Ice.
Not now. Now-
The Milwaukee alderman had upset her more than she wanted
to admit.
Now I can never go to space. I catch criminals.
It was a job she mostly liked. She was good at it, good at
solving puzzles, and she liked the power that being an OSI Special
Agent aye her. Twitching the nerves of the mundanes, she liked
that, too.
Not Denver! West of there. Edwards! It came as a sudden
flash, as things often did for her, and it took her several minutes to
construct what her subconscious had leaped past. Angels Down.
Fans to the Rescue. What to do with Angels. Send them back to
Heaven. How? Dr. Cole's broken Titan, but that wouldn't do it.
What would? What was left?
What was left was the only working rocket ship in the United
States. Phoenix, sitting on Thunder Ridge at Edwards Air Force
Base.
***
Morning in the desert.
Alex watched the sun come up across Bob's shoulder, teasing
streamers of fog from the sluggish Washita River that ran parallel
to the highway. The fog slithered across the barren, dusty ground
and wrapped itself around the sparse stands of Lone Pine and
scrub grass that dotted the otherwise empty land. The pale light of
dawn created a wash of white, green and brown; a weird, alien vista
of mist and grass and sand.
"What do you think of it?" Bob asked. "Quite a sight."
Alex shook his head. "I was just getting used to the green."
"Oh, this part of Oklahoma used to be green, I'm told. You
didn't see real hardpan desert until you hit west Texas. Now there's
no rain and in a few years there won't be a speck of green left
hereabouts."
Alex looked at the sleeping form beside him. "I should wake
Gordon up. He could write a poem about it."
There must have been something in his voice, because Bob
gave him an odd look. "You have something against poetry? "
Alex shook his head. "Never mind. It's not important." Bob
said nothing. Finally, to fill the silence, Alex continued. "Gordon is
irresponsible." He looked at the sleeping stilyagin, just to make sure
he was sleeping. "He likes to write poetry when he should be doing
something else."
"Poetry? About what?"
Alex scowled. "Love poetry, mostly. The last time he got
inspired, we nearly lost an entire tray of tomatoes. So they put him
on probation. That's why he was assigned to the dip trip with me."
He rubbed a hand over his face. Two-day stubble scratched his
palm. His skin felt oily, dirty. He hoped it was not much farther to
the next safe house. He should let his beard grow out, like Gordon
was doing. Clean-shaven Downer males were a rarity.
"Look, Bob, I haven't said this before because . . . well,
because. But the only people they assign to dip trips are the
expendables, like Gordon."
"And yourself?"
"Yeah-da. Me, too. Nothing more useless than yesterday's
hero. I'm no good for outside work anymore. I can't even work in
the command module because I get the shakes whenever- oh,
hell. I don't want your, pity. It's probably just as well that I'm stuck
down here."
"Don't be too sure of that. Being stuck."
"No, Bob, don't mistake my orbit. I want to get back upstairs
more than anything I've ever wanted. Almost anything. Not
adventure; not glory. I'm just homesick. Freedom's my hometown,
and I miss it. But I really don't expect it to happen. And if it doesn't
. . . Well, I can make a life for myself down here."
"Hanging around the docks," Bob said with a half-smile.
"What?"
"Never mind. Don't dismiss Phoenix out of hand, though."
"I haven't. But there's more to a successful launch than
stealing a ship and taking off. Damn, I know what's involved. Maybe
this Hudson character does have the ROMs. Maybe the IMU isn't
locked up so tight as all that. But eighty-eight thousand liters of
liquid hydrogen?"
"You want- "
"Forty-four thousand liters of LOX? Someone will notice!"
Bob shrugged. "You want me to tell you it's all worked
out. That we've got a plan? We don't. But, hell, we've got
something better than a plan."
Alex didn't ask him what that was.
***
The fax wheeped again.
REDDEN AWARE OF MILKHEIM REQUEST AND REPORTS. PLEASE
PHONE ME ON SECURE LINE SOONEST.
BILLINGS
Aw, crap! She watched for a telephone.
"Billings? Arteria."
"Yes, Captain. I don't know how Redden got onto it, but he
found out about your request to the highway patrols. He's got all
their reports coming to him, but there's more, he's set a trap in
Albuquerque."
"Trap. What kind of trap?"
"I don't know, ma'am. Something about a fannish church, but
he sure wasn't going to give me any details."
"The fans own a church? - Albuquerque, fine. And he's
intercepting reports about the trucks."
"Yes, ma'am."
Lee thought for a moment. "All right. Quietly cancel our
request for information on those trucks. Do it in a way that makes
it look like we're embarrassed about asking. Then see what you can
find out about that church. I'm nearly to Sante Fe, I'll get on to
Albuquerque. Ask around and get me a clue. Any clue. But don't let
them know I'm out here."
"Well- "
"I'm pretty sure I know where they're taking those Angels,"
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