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woman who . . . He wanted to say that he found her attractive;
that he admired the way she had abandoned her career and
freedom to help him; that he wanted to get to know her better. But
the words stuck awkwardly in his throat. Held down by gravity.
She led him down a concrete ramp festooned with gaily-
colored graffiti and handbills. One large poster, plastered overtop
the others, announced a closed-circuit TV address by Emil Poulenc,
"Discoverer of the Ice Folk." Whatever that meant. The sun was
high in the sky, brushing the shadows from the ramp. Four odd,
circular shadows wavered like black spotlights on the paving stones.
Why can't I ever pick a woman who'll choose me back?
Sherrine knocked three times on the boarded-up doors at the
bottom of the ramp. A face like a side of beef peered down at her
from behind a plywood partition, too high up. With a bit of a
stutter she said, "We're knights of Saint Fantony."
His face showed nothing. "Here for the High Crusade?"
"To win victory or sleep with the Angels. By order of Duke
Roland."
"Duke Roland" was Oliver Brown.
The giant's face withdrew into shadow. A minute or two later
the door opened.
The young man who opened the door was considerably
smaller. In the midday brightness he seemed shy and awkward. He
blinked up at Alex and held out his hand. "Welcome," he said. "I'm
Hugh." He indicated his companion, a giant to rival Thor. "We call
him Fafhrd."
"What are those things up there?" asked Sherrine, staring up
against the glaring sun at the four bundles dangling from the Arch.
The young man looked up, shading his eyes with his hand.
"Scientists from the University. They were accused of practicing
nuclear physics."
Sherrine stared at Hugh. "They hanged them for that?
Because they were convicted of being nuclear physicists?"
The young man shook his head. "They weren't convicted. We
think they were four of the people who ran the museum here. The
place was empty after that, and we moved in." Hugh had led them
inside. Alex saw a flash of silver at his left hand, then jumped as a
huge hominid shadow caught the corner of his eye.
Hugh had a knife in his left hand. He'd had it ready while his
right immobilized Alex, while the giant doorman guarded him from
overhead. "Duke Roland says you're to be trusted. I trust my
senses when I can. Alex, how do you take a shower in free fall?"
Alex said, "It takes forever to get wet and forever to get dry.
Wherever water is, it wants to stay. We don't have enough water
anyway. Mostly we- Hugh, how would a Downer know if I was
lying?"
"This Downer was a physics teacher at KC High. Milady, I might
grant you're an angel, but not an astronaut."
Sherrine smiled and colored. "No. I was one of the rescuers."
"I see." Hugh's arm swept in a circle. "Well, welcome all!"
Others came from out of the shadows beyond the entryway. Many
people, some in armor. "You have friends?"
"Yes. I'll go for them," Sherrine said, but she didn't move at
once. "Hugh, if the locals are hanging scientists, are you safe here?"
Hugh's face closed like a wall . . . and then he said, "We are
safe indeed. I am Duke Hugh Bloodcup because I was King Hugh of
the Middle Kingdom six years ago. The locals- the Downers-they
hanged four scientists here, once. But when others came to disturb
us, we buried those bodies and replaced them. The locals see four
bodies hanging from the Arch. They never think to examine them,
to see if they've been cycled. But there are rumors enough to
protect us, and if they won't- "
"Yes. I see. Your Grace, Alex MacLeod will need to sit even in
your presence- "
"Yes, of course. A chair for our saintly guest! And an escort
for Lady Sherrine!"
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Last Shuttle
"I tell you, Captain," Lieutenant Billings insisted, "something is
going on. There's been increased activity in the fannish
underground over the past few days. Weird activity."
Lee Arteria nodded to the AP lieutenant standing stiffly before
the desk; reached out and rifled through the thick stack of reports.
"Yes. Though how can you tell when fannish activity is weird?"
"They've been quiet for so long. The timing must be
significant, wouldn't you agree, ma'am?"
"True."
"Someone must be hiding the spacemen, or we would have
found them by now."
"But sci-fi fans? Really, Lieutenant. Could a bunch of nerds
and geeks have slipped the aliens past the search parties on the
Ice? With virtually no notice, mind you." She grinned. "Maybe the
Ice Folk have them."
Billings made a face. "Ice Folk. Supermarket tabloid nonsense.
A newly evolved race of humans who can live naked on the Ice? And
there's that Sherrine Hartley. She never reported back to work.
And her boyfriend with the maroon van called in to report he has
typhus. Typhus! And vanished. Captain Arteria, this other fannish
activity must be related to the spacemen, too."
"Cornish game hens, Lieutenant? How will that help hide the
fugitives?"
"I don't know, ma'am. They might be stocking a hidden
hideaway with food."
"Bull semen, Lieutenant? Earthworms?" Arteria leaned forward,
hands placed flat upon the desk. "Dung?"
Billings turned red. "Maybe they're hiding on a ranch or a
farm."
"Could be, actually. Anyway, you've convinced me.
Something's up. Get reports on all unusual activity by known or
suspected fans. Let's get 'em!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
Lee Arteria thumbed idly through the file folders. They're up to
something. But what? Fans were technophiles, so they were
watched; but they were mostly flakes, so the effort was sporadic
and incomplete. And they kept trying to recruit the cops, lecturing
them, giving them reading material, driving them crazy.
More fanac would surface presently. Bull semen, earthworms,
dung, game hens? Worse than the Stardust Motel Westercon
Banquet! Bouncing potatoes, bouncing potatoes- A known fan in
Portland bought rabbits. One buck and several females. How did
that fit the pattern? Impregnating rabbits with bull semen? A secret
gengineering project? But to what purpose? You'll come abouncing
potatoes with me!
Angels down. Fans to the rescue. That, said the waitress, is
roast beef and a salad, too! You'll come a-bouncing potatoes with
one! But what would they want with Cornish game hens?
***
The St. Louis Society for Creative Anachronism were not exactly
fans. But there was considerable overlap between SCA and fandom;
and Oliver Brown had been King Roland II, which made him a Royal
Duke, and the SCA people were deferential to their aristocracy. The
place was used by fans; but it was an SCA fief.
The museum was a large, low-ceilinged space broken up by
partitions and display cases into quasi-rooms ill-lit by kerosene
lanterns and candles. Men practiced with padded weapons in cleared
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