"Where the hell are you going?" one of the soldiers demanded. "Who is this dude?"
"He's homeless," Jenny said. "I gave him a hot meal."
"A bum, you mean," the corporal said.
"Homeless! Are you a monster?" Jenny demanded. She turned to Arteria. "Sir, how can you let your men talk that way? I think there are laws. Don't the racism laws cover this? They can't say such things--"
Pyle was off chasing mermaids. Arteria was buttonholed by Horowitz. Jenny was screaming at the Greens. Zaftig was encumbered with Seth and the Lunarians. Everyone was shouting at the top of their voices-and everyone but Tremont had their backs to the foyer. The north wing door opened, and two wheelchairs rolled swiftly and silently down the ramp. Thor and Fang pushed them into the west wing.
Toward the carport.
3MJ saluted with his walking stick. Fang waved back and vanished out the door with the others. Then Tremont swung his stick up and rested it jauntingly across his shoulder. He turned a military about-face and watched the ruckus by the door. He smiled at the back of Arteria's head. We had just enough time to be just clever enough.
Sherrine rolled down the passenger window of the van and looked behind, up River Road. From where the van was parked she could see the Bell Museum of Natural History. The University buildings lined the left side of the road, while the Mississippi--this far upstream, a human-scale river--curved past on the right in a gentle crescent. Directly upstream, she could see St. Anthony Falls. University students, bundled against the chill, stood in knots along the roadside laughing and talking and swigging beer. Ice patches glistened in the afternoon sun.
"Roll the window up," said Bob. "You're wasting heat."
"I don't see them yet." She faced forward and rolled the window back up. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stuck her hands under her armpits. Bob had turned the motor off; there was no heat. "It's not that cold, anyway," she said.
"Cold enough."
"Where I was, it was so cold our breath turned colors." She cocked her head and watched the side mirror. No one. The students were waiting for something, but what? Not the Angels, surely.
"Sherrine, someone had to stay with the van. We thought it would just be a short run on and off the Ice. So--"
"You don't have to make excuses."
"I'm not making excuses, dammit!"
"What if they can't find us?"
He paused and groped for the conversational tennis ball. "They'll find us. Chuck arranged everything."
She turned and looked at him. "And who is Chuck Umber that we should put our faith in him?"
Bob draped one arm across the steering wheel and half turned in the seat. "What's bothering you, Sherrine?"
"Nothing. I just don't know if this fanac is going to come off."
"You don't like running off and leaving the Angels behind."
"I noticed you jumped into the van mighty quick." But it wasn't that way at all, she remembered. Not at all. Chuck had come running out with the news and her first thoughts had been for herself; and for her job; and that she mustn't be found here, among fans. It was Bob who had asked about the Angels, when she was already halfway into the passenger's seat. And now… What if she'd lost them? What if she'd lost them?
Bob shrugged. "I trust Chuck. It's that convoluted, intricate mind of his. He knew there wouldn't be time to find Alex and Gordon and load them and their wheelchairs in the van and leave before the police arrived. It was a near thing as it was. The roadblock on University Avenue would have had them." He shook his head and looked stubborn. "No, we could not and should not have taken them with us. Chuck has something else in mind. Something to disguise the Angels' feeble condition in a way the police won't question."
"It's not that. It's…"
"What?"
She closed up. "Never mind." But it doesn't matter what I could have done or should have done. It's what I didn't even think ofdoing. Damn it all, when Bob had called that night, she should have stayed in bed.
Like those students coming down River Road.
She blinked and hunched forward, staring into the side-view mirror. What the hell? She cranked down the window once more.
"What is it?" asked Bob.
"Look behind us." She popped the passenger door and jumped out. The students who had been waiting along the roadside were lined up now, cheering and clapping. Some of them were waving pennants with gophers and Greek letters on them. Farther up the road she saw a fleet of beds, a flotilla of four-posters and brass rails weaving toward her, white sheets flapping like spinnakers.
She went to the rear of the van for a better view. Bob joined her there. "It's a bed race," he said.
The student crowd was growing thicker. Spectators were running alongside the street to keep abreast of the racers. They were yelling and shouting encouragement. She could see now that each bed had a passenger and was being pushed by a crew of three. Did that make them triremes, she wondered? The bedsheets flaunted more Greek letters than a math convention.
"It must be a fraternity event," Bob decided.
"Why, Holmes, how clever of you!"
"Alimentary, my dear Watson. I had a gut feeling."
She stamped her feet. How would the Angels find them in this crowd, local guide or no local guide? Chuck was from the Bay Area, he wouldn't have known about this. So, should she go looking for them or should she stay put?
One of the beds hit an icy spot and skidded, forcing the bed next to it to swerve. The other racers shouted epithets and laughed as they sprinted by. Sherrine imagined the beds cartwheeling and bursting into flame like stock cars going out of control. Then she realized that the two stray beds were headed straight toward her. The students around her parted and fled.
"Hey!" She grabbed Bob by the sleeve and yanked him aside. They tumbled to the frosted grass together, rolling tipsy-topsy in a snarl of arms and legs, and Bob naturally contrived to wind up on top. There was a crash of metal and a few shouts. Plastic crunched and Bob leapt up, leaving her prone.
"That's my van!" he cried. "They smashed the tail light!"
"Thanks for helping me up, Bob," she said.
"What? Oh. Sorry." He hoisted her to her feet and watched while she brushed herself off. "I always said I wanted to die jumping into bed with you; but this wasn't quite what I had in mind. Damn, that light's broken. Hey, you bloody vandals!"
She laughed. When he gave her a look, she said, "I'm sorry. A hit-and-run accident with a brass bed? What'll your insurance company say?"
The race had passed by, with most of the spectators; but the two wrecked beds and their crews remained. They were hunched over the beds, tending to the occupants. "All right," Bob said to them, "what do you think you're up to?"
One of them turned around. It was Bruce. "We think we're making a getaway. What do you think?"
Sherrine's knees almost gave way. Alex grinned up from his place in one of the beds. "Hi, pretty girl," he said. "Is that the way fraternity kids talk?"
"We are all droogs here," Gordon said.
"Yep," Mike said. "We didn't have enough money to bribe the cops. But droogs will get you through times of no money much better than money will get you through…"
They loaded the Angels into the van. "I was sure they'd caught you," Sherrine said.
"Not a chance," said Bruce. "Chuck had it all scoped out. I don't know how he knew about the race--"