The sky was a slate gray; the cloud deck, low and oppressive. Sherrine stared up into the gloom. "No. What?"
"He said that the alleged objectivity of materialist science was an invention of heterosexual, white males, so we shouldn't use that as a basis for judgment."
She looked sharply into his face. For a change, he was not laughing. "What did you tell him?"
"Nothing."
All the fire had done out of him, even the anger. Ominous. She said, "And?"
"I said nothing. It was like I'd been caught explaining something to a door, or a telephone recording. I felt like such a fool."
"That's why I love working with computers. They're logical. Rational. They do exactly what you program them to do. And that forces you to be logical, too." She shook her head. "But the anthropomorphic nonsense I have to put up with from users…"
"I thought you were happy in your little niche."
She gave him a fierce look. "I was, damn you. I was happy! Thank you, Robert K. Needleton, for prying me out into this cold, mean, miserable world."
"Do you want to go back?"
She shook her head. "You can never go back. As long as you keep your eyes shut tight, you can pretend whatever you like. But once you open them, all your pretenses are gone. Even if you shut them again, you know. I was getting along, day by day. Nothing was too right; but nothing was too wrong, either. Now, you and your Angels and--" She waved an arm at the Tre-house. "-all this. It's reminded me how gray and awful things have become. People ask me what my 'sign' is. It used to be a joke; but they're serious. We have a Supreme Court justice now who consults the stars instead of the Constitution. And the Luddites. Anytime someone suggests doing anything, it's 'this might happen' and 'that might happen' and 'think of the risks involved.' But you can't do nothing, either. Oh, sometimes I just want to shuck it all. Go somewhere else."
"Where?"
She looked back up into the sky and hummed softly. "And that was one small step, and afire in the sky… "
"Sorry, all those trains have been cancelled."
"Except one."
"Maybe." He placed one mittened hand on her shoulder. "Sherrine. People like us, we should stay here and fight."
"And lose."
"Losing is better than running."
She jerked her shoulder away from him. "I wasn't talking about running." Yes,youwere. "I'm not like you. I can't laugh about it. I can't make jokes. It depresses me. You'll be making wisecracks about crystal-heads and proxmires until the day they hang you for technophilia--"
"They don't hang you for that. They send you to reeducation camps."
"Whatever. But, for me… I can't go back; so I've got to go on."
He nudged her with his elbow. "Here comes Chuck. You never did tell me what you guys decided this morning. What do we tell the others?"
"Oh. It's still a secret. Just us and the Ghost. What they don't know can't get them in trouble." She straightened and stepped away from the van. "Hi, Chuck."
Chuck Umber was agitated. His beard jutted out. "The Con is busted," he said. "The cops are on their way."
Sherrine stiffened. The police were coming? They would catch her here, among fans. She would lose her job. She would… "How do you know?" she asked.
"Secret source."
A closet fan in the police department. She remembered a civilian analyst who'd been active before. Probably a secret Hocus subscriber--
"Look, you've got to leave now," Umber said. "There's still time before they get here."
She turned to climb in the van. Bob grabbed her arm."Wait! Gabe and Rafe!" She looked into his eyes. "We've got to find them," he said.
"They're with Thor and Steve," she told him. "They'll get them out."
"Gabe and Rafe," Chuck said. "Dell 'Angelo. A pair of angels?"
"Chuck--"
"Don't worry," Chuck said. "I didn't hear a thing. We'll get them out. Now go! The fewer people in your van, the less suspicious you'll look at the roadblocks."
"Roadblocks?"
"Yeah. This isn't any ordinary bust. The 'danes are out in force. They're looking for something. This isn't just the cops, the Air Force is in it."
Again she traded looks with Bob.
"But I still don't know how the Air Force knew where to look," Umber said. "Hey, get going! Now. And get the badge off, Bob!"
The Rotsler cartoon badge. Bob dropped it in a pocket. "Don't have it on you," Chuck said.
Sherrine said, "How will we find our friends?"
"I said don't worry," Chuck told her. "I've got it all scoped out. Always map escape routes first thing. Head for River Road just south of the big curve near the Bell Museum. Your friends will meet you there."
"Can you get them out in time?"
Chuck grinned. "Did I ever fail to get Hocus out on time? Then I won't fail to get this issue out, either."
She climbed into the passenger seat and Chuck slammed the door on her. Bob started the van and they pulled out of the parking apron. "Sherrine, where's your badge?"
"My--? Back at the apartment."
"Good thing," Bob said. He pulled on the radio panel. It opened, and he dropped his badge into the cluttered cavity.
SHERRINE HARTLEY, her badge said, and the little William Rotsler figure looked fondly up at the letters, thinking, "Infatuation Object." It wasn't hidden in her apartment. She'd thought it too dangerous. She'd thrown it away.
The chlorine buckets in back rolled and thumped.
Sherrine twisted in her seat and looked out the back window at Chuck. He was already running back toward the Tre-house. She straightened and stare through the windshield. Her hands were clenched in her lap.
"What is it?" Bob asked.
"Nothing," she said. She was thinking of all the times her issue of Hocus had come late.
The Tre-house was in confusion. Fans grasping duffel bags and knapsacks scampered up one corridor and down another. Tremont J. Fielding stood in the tiled foyer giving directions, dividing the flow of fannish refugees so that they did not bottleneck at any one exit. He wore a long, flowing cape--his trademark--and indicated one corridor or another with his malacca walking stick. Wolfson was at the far end of the west hallway, near the carport entrance, hustling them along. Some of the fans were still in their hall costumes: elves, warriors, ancient gods, aliens and spacemen.
3MJ allowed himself a moment to appreciate Pat Davis's mermaid. The tail was split so she could walk. She seemed to swim along the corridor. Much skin was showing, and much more implied. Her fine blond hair bobbed and waved almost as if she were underwater.
Priorities. Who had to run, who could stay? The nature people were safe. The Greens didn't hate them, except for their association with technophiles. The kids were all right, too young to worry the cops. Students would get lectures, maybe some remedial reading on Ecodisasters, but students could get away with a lot.
People with mundane jobs were in trouble. Get them out first, since even if they weren't arrested, they could lose their jobs. And the pros. Most of them had judgments hanging over their heads. They could be sentenced to "community service" for not paying their debts.
Wolfson raised a circled thumb and forefinger. Good. All the pros were hidden in the vaults below. So far no one had ever found those. Of course, there's a firsttime for anything.