"Five," Arteria said.
"And they'll hear the compressor," Hudson said.
"I don't think so," Arteria said. "We drove a good halfway here before we heard it--but you can see the lights up here with no trouble at all."
"Oh, shit," Hudson said.
"MINUS FIFTEEN MINUTES AND COUNTING."
"All right, now where is this Phoenix?" Moorkith demanded.
"Phoenix, sir?" the operations sergeant asked. The name tag on his coverall said "MacDaniel." "It's in a museum up on Thunder Ridge."
"Thunder Ridge? Where's that?"
The sergeant pointed. "You see them lights up there across the lake? That's Thunder Ridge."
Moorkith turned to Billings. "What in the hell are you up to?"
"Sir? You asked to be taken to Edwards. We're at Edwards."
"God damn you, you knew I wanted to get to the Phoenix!"
Billings kept a straight face. "Sir, you told Colonel Murphy I was to take you to Edwards. I took you to Edwards. I assume you want to clear this activity on U.S. Air Force property with the base commander. Sir."
"And where is he?" Moorkith demanded.
The operations sergeant looked at Billings, then back at Moorkith. "Sir, he's in Rosamond. He doesn't live on base."
"Then who the hell is in charge here?"
"Sir, that would be the Officer of the Day, Major Cobb."
"And where is he?"
"In the Operations Office, sir."
"You bastards are going to give me a runaround all night, aren't you?" Moorkith demanded. "You're all in this together. You're finished, Billings, you and Murphy and Arteria, you're all finished!"
"Yes, sir. Did you want to see Major Cobb, sir?"
"No, I want you to take me up to Thunder Ridge."
"Yes, sir. Sergeant, see that this chopper is fueled up and--"
"Damn it, NOW!"
"But, sir, we're low on fuel. And, Sergeant, I thought I heard a funny noise in the main bearing. Probably nothing, but you better check it out."
Sergeant MacDaniel fought with a grin and almost won. "Yes, sir."
"Space cadets," Moorkith said. "Sergeant, get me a car. That car. Right there. Are the keys in it? Good. You two, you guys with the guns, come with me. Now. Lieutenant, when you get your helicopter working, you can use it to get up on that ridge and stop that launch or you can stuff it up your ass. Either way, Billings, either way, you are finished. Done. Do you understand me?"
"Well, not quite, sir. Now I suppose it's pretty astonishing that a bunch of Air Force people would have an interest in space--"
"And you can quit stalling, too," Moorkith said. "All right you men. Get in the car. I'll drive. Sergeant, open the fucking gate, and don't give me any problems about that."
Sergeant MacDaniel shrugged. "Yes, sir. Give me a moment to get the keys."
Inspector Glen Bailey drove the Green Police car through Mojave and east on Highway 58, keeping his eyes on Thunder Ridge more than on the road. Any moment now, he thought. Any moment.
As he drove he sang softly to himself.
"And the Earth is clean as a springtime dream,
No factory smokes appear,
For they've left the land to the gardener's hand,
And they all are orbiting here…"
Bob Needleton looked at his watch. "Stop," he said. Sandy pulled over to the edge of the road. Needleton got out and leaned on the car. He looked south, to Thunder Ridge, and waited. It was just before dawn, a few stars left in the west, none in the east, but it was still dark on the ground. Not quite dawn, Needleton thought. Not by Mohammed's definition, can't tell a black thread from a white one--
There was a flash on Thunder Ridge. Then another, even brighter.
Jheri Moorkith could see the big hangar through the fence. The base area of Thunder Ridge was deserted, but there were lights everywhere, and the roof of the big building two hundred yards away had been swung open. The Air Police car stopped, and Airman Joey Murasaki got out. "Gate's locked," he shouted. "No keys."
The hangar was just ahead, but there was no way through the locked gate. Jheri Moorkith was tempted to scream, but managed to be calm. "Shoot the lock off," he ordered.
Sergeant Malcolm Lincoln sniffed. "Sir, that works better in movies than the real world. Maybe I should get a hammer out of the trunk and open it with that?"
"I don't care how you do it, open that gate!"
Two blows of the hammer smashed the lock, but the gate still wouldn't open. "It's wired shut," Sergeant Lincoln said. "Joey, get me the bolt cutters out of the trunk."
There was a bright flash from the hangar. The corrugated aluminum walls shook, and there was thunder.
"Hurry!" Moorkith screamed.
The hangar walls fell outward. Phoenix began to rise, slowly, majestically. Moorkith turned to face the Air Policemen, who were staring at the slowly rising rocket. "Shoot it!" Moorkith ordered.
"Shoot it?" Sergeant Lincoln asked.
"Yes! Shoot! Shoot! Damn you, I order you, shoot it!"
"Sir--"
"Give me that damn gun!"
Malcolm Lincoln never took his eyes off the ship as he unslung the submachine gun. Then, exactly as he'd been taught, he slipped the clip loose and opened the bolt. He handed the empty weapon to Moorkith.
Jheri Moorkith fumbled with the cartridge clip. He saw nothing as Phoenix rose.
Sergeant Malcolm Lincoln watched with a faraway look as Phoenix flew upward, faster now. Thunder washed across him, and his ears hurt but Lincoln was grinning like a thief. As the rocket climbed she caught the growing light of dawn, but the jets were brighter than the dawn as Phoenix rode a fire into the sky.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Cruisecon
The big sailing ship had been designed for cargo, a high tech windjammer with four tall masts and sails that looked like airplane wings standing on end. They shifted constantly as Gullwhale raced at 18 knots through the Caribbean toward the Windward Islands. She could make 20 knots in decent winds.
Chuck had his videocamera bolted to the deck. The view tilted with the ship, heeled over by fifteen degrees. "February 31st, 23,309. This is Gullwhale Crossing, a videofanzine published by Chuck Umber. Rick Foss, what are we doing here?"
Foss was a lean, bearded man with a mad smile and an absurd hat. "We are here to hold Cruisecon, the first World Science Fiction Convention ever to be held at sea."
"And how did this come about?"
"Nice timing. I notice we're coming about. Well, Gullwhale was a Green research project, expensive even by NASA standards, but clean as clean can be. What she couldn't do," Rick Foss said, "was make money. Between the U.S. environmental regulations and the unsteadiness of the wind, nobody wanted to risk sending cargo that way."
"So we got her cheap," Chuck said.
Rick grinned. "I got her damn near free. This is her shakedown as a passenger resort cruise ship."
"Hotel bill and food all in the convention registration fee. Quite a coup Rick."
"I didn't tell them it was a science fiction convention, of course. I just guaranteed to fill the ship up with people who don't mind being a week late so long as it doesn't cost them any more. But we're not in U.S. waters now--"
From the rail Poul Dickson shouted, "Ach, ja, now ve can sing ze old songs!"
A heavy-set black man stuck his head out of a doorway. "Land ho!"
Chuck swung the camera around to catch him. "Ken, shouldn't you be up in a crow's nest?"
Ken patted his ample bulk. "It'd never hold me. We've got Grenada on radar. We're still two hours away, but you should think about wrapping it up."