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," Arteria said. "And why all the odd purchases. You were right, Billings, it's fans. Now if we do this my way, the Air Force will get all the credit. That means you and me."
"Yes, ma'am." He sounded enthusiastic.
"When you've got the other stuff done, get my chopper and our crew and take it to George Air Force Base in the Mojave. OSI official investigation."
"George Air Force Base. Bring your helicopter and crew, and come myself. That place is like the back side of the moon, Captain."
"I know."
"All right, ma'am."
"Good man. I'll meet you there."
A fannish church in Albuquerque. There were a lot of fans in New Mexico. Fair number of writers, too. But a church? With luck Billings would find out something.
Lee Arteria drove steadily. She was just passing through Sante Fe when the fax began. "Wheep! Wheep!"
UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD OF THE WAY. FORMERLY CHURCH OF SCIENTOLOGY. NORTHEAST AREA ALBUQUERQUE BASE OF SANDIA MOUNTAINS NEAR TRAMWAY STATION. REDDEN AND MOORKITH ON THE WAY. MILKHEIM TRUCK AT OUTSKIRTS ALBUQUERQUE. TRUCK STOP. DRIVER ASLEEP. REDDEN DOESN'T KNOW YET.
Lee smiled faintly to herself. So. Redden can think ahead, too. Good move, setting a trap at that church. The Angels may well stop there on the way west.
If the Angels were caught by Redden and the New Mexico Police, the Air Force wouldn't get any credit at all. What I need, she thought, what I need is to get them to Edwards. Once on an Air Force Base, they're mine. All mine.
Which means I ought to do something about this trap…
Sherrine was almost tired enough to pull Bob out of the bunk alcove. She kept driving because they were already in Albuquerque. The church couldn't be far. A pew would make a hard bed, but a long one. Sherrine was looking forward to that. So, she guessed, were the Angels.
The roar of the huge motor changed timbre. Trouble? Something else? Numb in the ears and the mind, she still recognized the sound just before six motorcycles roared up into her rear-view mirror.
She held the truck steady. This ship-on-wheels must be terrifying to a cyclist.
They drove past. All but one. Harry Czescu (why had Harry joined a covey of strange bikers?). He was waving her over, arm windmilling in seeming terror.
There was no place to pull over. At a Y-intersection she angled right, no longer headed for the Universal Brotherhood of the Way. Still looking… but Harry was motioning her forward, to follow him.
Sherrine called, "Who's awake?"
"Yeah-da."
"Alex, get Bob up. Shake him if he's settled." Like salad dressing…
Harry led and she followed. Onto the I-40 freeway and onward, west. Flagstaff was three hundred and forty miles away. She'd need fuel much sooner than that.
"Sherrine? What?"
"Harry's got us back on the I-40."
Bob rubbed his eyes. "He wouldn't do that lightly. What happened exactly?"
She told him. He said, "The way to read Harry is, he's seen something seriously wrong, and he's right. He'll try to fix it, but badly. So stop when you see a decent chance."
She drove. She wondered about Fang and Larry. Both trucks had to reach the Mojave. What was going through Harry's mind? A man you couldn't trust to buy the beer…
A turnout. She eased into it… signal, keep it smooth, don't panic yet. Brought the behemoth to a stop.
Now panic. Sherrine eased out of the cabin and down. Where the hell was Harry? Long gone, it looked like. Nope, that was him coming back. The Angels were sliding out, too, slithering down to the dirt, distrusting gravity.
Harry pulled into the cloud of dust, bringing more. "It's a trap! We've got to keep moving!"
"What about Fang? And Jenny?"
"I left Jenny on watch in case I missed you. I'll have to go back for her. I found Fang sleeping it off while he waited for dark. Jesus. I think I lucked out. After I saw the church, I found a bunch of bikers and pulled into the middle of them. They got me close to Fang. I gave him the word, and then I caught up with the bikes." Harry patted the metal flank of his motorcycle. "Goood boy. I don't know if I was followed or not. But someone knows we're here, and someone else must have--Jesus, we've got to get--"