But Gordon was not just horny. He was in love; and that she could not deal with; because…
Because Jake is still living there, somewhere in the back of my skull.
Oh, great. Now she had four men to deal with. Three live and present; one a ghost. An old rhyme capered through her thoughts. Its gude to be merry and wise. / It's gude to be honest and true; / It's gude to be off with the old love, / Before you are on with the new.
Was he asleep? Or studying her in the dark?
She said nothing; concentrated on her driving. He loves me? She craned her neck and looked in the large side-view mirror. A smaller Sherrine, distorted by the convex shape, stared back. He loves me? The truck had a lot of inertia; a lot of momentum.
Gordon said, "You are offended."
"No!" She paused; spoke again. "No, I'm not. I'm flattered. It has been a long time since anyone loved me."
Gordon seemed appalled. "Shto govorish? How can that be? There is Bob--"
"He only thinks he's in--"
"And Alex."
The cab was silent except for the older Angel's deep, regular breathing.
"Alex."
"Yeah-da. You do not see it? He is Earthborn American: more direct than most, but still a Floater. Still, even he may have been too oblique for you. Alex loves you; though he writes no poems. Is why I have hesitated so long to speak. He is my captain, and--and I wish to be fair." He shook his head again. "Life is complicated for my generation. If I was all Russian or all American, there would be no dilemma."
"Fair! And he treats you so badly. I mean, I like Alex, too; but he's so stern and unforgiving. Especially over the crash."
Gordon nodded slowly. "That is true."
"And it wasn't really your fault."
"My fault? Oh, no. It is himself he cannot forgive. He was hero once. Now he feels neglected. After the first missile we could have aborted to orbit. Alex chose not to. Because he wished again to be the hero, da? Now he feels shame. He feels he has failed Freedom; has failed Mary Hopkins; has failed me."
"How would you like some advice, Doctor Freud?" The voice was low and thick with sleep. Sherrine twisted her head to look past Gordon. Alex's eyes shone in the dim, reflected light. The cab fell silent. The tires hummed on the roadway.
"Mind your own business, Gordon." Alex twisted, punched the pillow into a shapeless lump, and lay back into it with his back to the rest of the cab.
After a while Gordon leaned over and spoke in a whisper. "I was wrong. This truck cab is as close quarters as anywhere in orbit."
Sherrine sucked on her lip. The Interstate was a pale ribbon under the rising moon. A single car distant in the northbound lanes was the only movement other than the wind-tossed trees. It would not do to laugh.
Arteria stared at the Alderman. The platoon of Air Police stood by waiting, their weapons held at a casual order arms. The Alderman's court cast wary eyes at their visitors and kept their hands away from their own motley collection of hunting rifles and bows. Bows! Outside, the shoop-shoop of helicopter blades interrupted the silence. "Well?" Arteria put an edge of menace into the question.
The Alderman looked up from the photographs he had been given. He licked his lips and looked around at his ward heelers. The ward heelers would not meet his eyes.
"Yeah. Sure." Alderman Strauss stuck his chin out. "They was here. What about it?"
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Alderman. It confirms what we learned from the truck drivers and your own stevedores." Though those farmers in Millville were certainly tight-lipped. HAH! "Big Front Yard Sale." And that van the Kilbournetowners confiscated… Lieutenant Billings says it's maroon under the new paint job. Thank God I saw that deputy's report on the funeral in Millville. The engine's VIN had matched a van owned by Robert K. Needleton of Minneapolis, a materialist science professor at U. Minn. Called in sick, with typhus. Whereabouts unknown.
"Now, where did they go when they left here?" God, we should clean out this nest of barbarians, too. Why haven't they been evacuated south? If the government knew how far they've fallen under the cloak of anarchy… The Green Weenies would love to arrest an entire city for air pollution. Unless they don't care, or don't dare let the rest of the country know what's happened here.
Arteria studied the bitter and edgy men and women clustered around the Alderman's throne; smelled the ripe smell of fear. Sure. Move them south. And when conditions to the south worsen, too, move them farther south. I'm glad it's not my job to do anything about it. Maybe they've got the right idea. Stay and fight. Like Scithers and his engineer cadre at Fargo Gap.
The Alderman tugged at his spade-like beard, clearly wondering if he should try to hold out for some advantage, but Arteria's face decided him. "They went west," he said. "They escaped from the de-lousing station, stole some horses and rode west. We didn't bother to chase 'em because of the typhus."
West didn't make sense… though typhus did. If Needleton had been here… "Are you sure?"
"Sure, I'm sure. You can ask over at Yngvi De-Lousing, if you want."
Arteria nodded slowly, eyes hooded. "You're right. Maybe I should ask over there." Arteria turned to leave, and the MP platoon followed, not quite relaxing, not quite turning their backs.
"Hey!" The Alderman's voice stopped them and Arteria lifted a questioning eyebrow.
"You're from the government, aina?" The Alderman was out of his seat and the arrogance and contempt had dropped from his face. "When's the government gonna come and help us out of this? I've got people dying up here!"
Arteria said nothing for a long moment. He still believes in government bailouts. What can I tell him? That the government is too busy chasing polluters and nuclear scientists and secular humanists? And people who cut wood without permission. That the government can't afford it any more and wouldn't know how, anyway?
A curt nod. "I'll let them know the way things stand. Things are tough all across the northern tier."
The Alderman licked his lips. "Yeah. Sure." He looked around at his cronies. "Things must be a lot worse other places, right? Otherwise they'da gotten to us by now."
Arteria wouldn't meet his eyes. A crafty machine politician. He wasn't fooled. It was the Titanic all over again. Not enough lifeboats to go around.
Outside at the command chopper Arteria contacted Redden on the radio. "Your reports seem to have been correct, sir. That's right. We found the van. We can confirm Needleton as well as the Hartley woman. Plus four other males, three Caucasian and one black." Twoof them were tall and skinny and havingtrouble walking. Things were getting interesting. "There's a lead here I want to follow up on. No, sir, I don't need anything more. I'll go solo on this."
Arteria rang off and handed the set back to the tech sergeant. The sergeant looked worried. "Do you think that's wise, Captain? You could send one of the troops, instead."
"No, Sergeant, this is something I've got to do personally."
"But you'll be out of touch. Shouldn't you…?"
"Soldier, ask not what my plans might be." Arteria looked left, then right, then added in a lower voice, "It's a crazy idea; and if it doesn't pan out…"
The sergeant blinked, then slowly brightened. "I get you. No one will know."