Bob said, "Drive across the ford."
Fang ran one of his outsize fingers along his nose. "Maybe. But if we try to cross and get stuck, we won't be up the creek, we'll be in it."
Bob worked his lips; then he sighed. "Yeah, you're right. Jesus, can you imagine being stuck out here in, the middle of nowhere? It's so empty. I haven't seen a soul for the last score of miles."
"Don't you believe it," said Thor. "There were eyes in every one of those farmhouses watching us as we went past. They don't like or trust strangers out here. If you ain't white and Protestant, you ain't shit. Sorry, Steve."
Stephen Mews was standing by the opened side door of the van. He shrugged. "It isn't exactly news to me."
Sherrine waited, shivering. It was worse than that. This was Proxmire country. These were the people who had elected and reelected the nation's premier technophobe to the Senate, where he could give his Golden Fleece Award every month to some especially vulnerable example of scientific research.
Most of the targets he had drawn bead on had cost less than a single Washington bureaucrat. So how would these people react to a band of technophiles travelling in their midst? The Senator had always voted for dairy price supports. Hundreds of millions of taxpayer dollars. She supposed that if she had been a Wisconsin farmer she might have voted for him, too. Farm subsidies never won the Golden Fleece.
Bob nodded. "Okay. We'll look for a detour. Maybe the next road over goes across." He patted his jacket. "At least we can't get lost while we have the transponder. We know which way we want to go. It's just a matter of finding a road that will cooperate."
They trudged back toward the vehicle. "Sure hope so," said Fang.
"Yeah," said Bob. "I'm tired of zigzagging all over Pierce County."
Sherrine took hold of the handle to hoist herself back into the van. Fang shook his head. "Ah, sightseeing, I don't mind. It's the blizzard that bothers me." He pointed skyward with his chin.
Sherrine jerked her eyes upward. Black clouds huddled on the northern horizon. The wind blew cold and from the north. There was a taste of ice in the air.
Yeah, she thought. Thor and Fang have no jobs. They didn't have to call in and take vacation days. They could have trucked the Angels themselves, if Bob would lend them his van. But that sunuvabitch, Bob, he had to go and volunteer to do the driving. She dropped into her seat and pulled the door shut with a slam. Was she in a contest with Bob to see who would take the most risks?
She stole another glance at the northern clouds while Bob made a U-turn on the county road. Risky business, she thought. I sure hope I'mback at my desk next week. Not that she didn't have more vacation days coming, but … Risky business, she thought again, but at least they don't know I'm involved with the Angels.
The INS was late for the meeting and Lee Arteria spent the time waiting by doodling on the scratch pad. All the seats around the table had scratch pads and pencils in front of them. Arteria had never seen anything useful recorded on one. The pencil traced a light circle, slightly oblate. Arteria studied it, grinned and added two smaller circles on the sides. Chipmunk cheeks. A tiny pout of a mouth. Two large, little kid eyes, with eyebrows twisted to give the caricature a credulous look. Not too bad for a quick sketch. Sometimes Arteria missed the art world.
"Not bad," said Jheri Moorkith over her shoulder. He stole a glance at Shirley Johnson, then whispered, "But maybe make her a trifle plumper."
And you're next. Moorkith was a good-looking man, square-jawed, square-shouldered. Arteria would have sketched him as a Flash Gordon-style hero… but her sketches never came out flattering, somehow. She changed her mind and tossed the pencil to the table. "Where's Redden? I don't have time to waste in these meetings."
Moorkith shrugged. "None of us do. But this is INS's way of reminding us who's in charge." He leaned closer and whispered, "I checked your Air Force file."
"Ah. That is illegal, isn't it?"
Another shrug. "I was curious. I like to know who I'm working with."
"Whom."
"Whatever. Didn't do any good, though. Couldn't get access. You must have some good codesmiths on your team. But I was able to look at your credit report."
"That's illegal, too." But he wants me to know he can do it.
"Yeah. The box where it asked for sex. You wrote 'Yes.' "
Arteria grunted and half-swiveled the chair to get a better look at Moorkith. "So?"
"So, why didn't you put down the right answer?"
"I did."
"You did."
"Think about it."
He frowned. "Oh. But did you mean Yes, Ihave a sex. Or, Yes, Iwant sex?"
"Whichever way you want to take it."
Moorkith paused and stepped back. He licked his lip. Arteria knew what he was thinking: Do Imake the pass? What if I guesswrong and she's a he? Or he's a she. Arteia had no idea which way Moorkith swung, and so had no idea which alternative intimidated him.
Which way would he jump? Lee Arteria sent no signals; but she never bluffed.
He hadn't made his move when INS arrived. Ah, well. He who hesitates is lost.
"We don't even know if the spacemen were in Minneapolis," Ike Redden insisted. "All you did Captain Arteria, was bust a few sci-fi crazies holding an illegal meeting."
"Strictly speaking, Mr. Redden," Arteria responded, "the meeting itself was not illegal. The warrant was for harboring fugitives."
"Sci-fi nuts," said Moorkith. "Technophiles. It should be illegal."
"Nevertheless, there is the First Amendment."
"You tell him," said the Army rep.
"Maybe we need another exception. After all, Flag-burning and disrespectful singing of the Anthem are not covered by the First. The destruction of Mother Earth is at least as important as those issues." Moorkith smiled thinly. "Got a couple of technophiles to volunteer for reeducation, anyway."
Arteria hid a wry smile. And from what I could see of those two fans, its going to be interesting as to who educates whom.
Redden rapped the table. "Please. That is not the business of this task force." He ran a hand through his hair. "We are searching for two aliens who entered the country illegally. If we don't locate them quickly, we will all look very foolish."
Translation, thought Arteria: You will look very foolish.
What must it be like to mold your entire life around bureaucratic ladder climbing? To interpret every issue in terms of attaboys and awshits on your performance appraisal? Couldn't Redden see that there were principles at stake here? At least Moorkith had principles. Wrongheaded, but principles.
"The spacemen must be in Minneapolis," insisted the State Police commander. "It's the only big city reachable from the crash site. They had to head there. They would be too conspicuous in a small town. Our man at Fargo Gap told us that a van from Minneapolis drove through there the night of the crash, and they were asking about the air scooper."
Army frowned. "The same night? How did they know about it?"
"There was a girl with them. She claimed that her grandparents lived nearby. They'd seen it come down and phoned her."
"You think they were technophile subversives going to pick up the spacemen?"
State Police hesitated. "It seems likely," he admitted and hastily added: "In hindsight."
"Got an ID on the girl?" Arteria asked.
"No. We might have, but it wasn't our detail. One of your people was in charge."
"Who?"
"An engineer captain named Scithers."