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were inside the fence and alongside the corrugated aluminum
building. Either the door wasn't locked or they were good at
lockpicking, because it didn't stop them for long.
They went in. Arteria timed it: nine minutes and a couple of
seconds. Then they were out again, out the door, pause to repair
the fence, then out on the lake, running to the bike. They walked it
for half a mile, then started it up and drove without lights. The
desert wind covered the sound as they drove back up to Thunder
Ridge.
Arteria got out her map of the base. It took a while to find the
area that the bandits had visited, but there it was:
HYDROGEN PIPELINE VALVE CONTROL BUILDING
A main hydrogen pipeline led down from the north, across Edwards,
and on toward Los Angeles. Two smaller lines branched off at
Edwards. One went from the valve building into Dryden. The other
went around the dry lake and up to Thunder Ridge.
***
"Slicker'n ary weasel," Harry said. "Got in, broke the lock, turned on
the valve, and epoxied the lock back so nobody'll notice even if they
look."
"They can find the hole in the fence," C.C. Miller said.
Bob Needleton said, "We did a pretty good job of restoring
the fence, too. It's like the lock, if they know to look they'll find it,
but that's the only way. The real question is, is the hydrogen
coming through?"
"There's pressure," Hudson said. "We're bleeding out air now,
but if there's pressure, we'll have hydrogen by morning. OK. Well
done. Tomorrow comes the real work."
Harry was weeping. "Shame," he said. "Goddam shame." He crawled
out of the tank, painfully, like the first fish that tried to conquer the
land. He was wearing white coveralls, white socks, and a big white
painter's hat. His face and beard were nearly covered by white
cloths, and he wore white gloves. He stood up in the sunlight,
leaning heavily on Jenny Trout, and blubbered. "Goddam crying
shame."
"How horrible. All that scotch." Fangs voice echoed like a
thousand metal ghosts. His head popped out of the opening,
swathed in white like Harry's and smiling a goofy smile. "Liter . . .
rary reference."
"It's in a good cause," Hudson said. "Harry, you're supposed
to clean that tank, not drink the solvent."
"I didn't drink one damn thing. Not one," Harry blubbered.
"Poor LASFS. Nothing to drink anymore. All they had."
"Drink, no," Fang said. "Woosh! But a man's got to breath.
Doesn't he? Hee!"
"Anyway, I think that's enough for Harry," Hudson said. "You,
too, Fang. Who's next?"
" 'How horrible! All that scotch!' Mad magazine, fifties," Fang
said. "When the oxygen comes in, we should breathe summa that.
Hangover."
"I'll take a turn," Jenny said. "I'm with Harry, though. Distilling
the alcohol off good scotch and bourbon is a hanging offense." She
took Fang's protective garments as he wrestled them off. "Cheer
up, Harry. You've never been so drunk, and the LASFS paid the
bill."
The noise began at noon, the high-pitched scream of a jet engine.
Arteria's camp was fully three miles from Thunder Ridge, but it was
still noisy. She swept her binoculars over the area. The fans had
clustered around one of the big cylindrical tanks, had opened it up
and gone inside two and three at a time. They came out staggering.
Now they had the tank sealed off and they'd started the big jet
engine on a stand next to the other partially buried tank. Other
fans were carrying things into the big hangar that housed the
rocket Arteria had never seen.
There was other machinery running, too. A big diesel engine
belched smoke on startup, and still put fumes into the air. That one
seemed to be attached to the larger of the two fuel cylinders. After
a while the lines from the diesel began to smoke.
Not smoke. Condensation, even in this dry air. LOX! They're
making LOX, which would explain their working on the tank,
cleaning it out. LOX, and hydrogen.
Lee had never seen anyone liquefy gasses, but it was clear
that's what they were doing. They must be entirely crazy- like the
Jonestown massacre, whole communities do go mad, and this little
clump of madmen must think- but why did they think they could-
The anticipation grows, in the crew that waits below, in the
silent burst of stars before the dawn.
Starfire! Starfire! We can know the promise of the stars . . .
Unless I stop it. I'm supposed to stop it.
She was still watching when the Green Police car drove onto
the base.
***
The car glowed iridescent green like a bottlefly. It wound up the
side of the hill toward Thunder Ridge. Harry dove into his
saddlebags and came up with a pistol. Jenny produced one from
her boot.
"No, dammit," C.C. Miller said. "Put the damn hardware away."
He had to shout, almost to scream, to be heard over the sound of
the compressor.
"They're police!" Harry said.
C.C. was bobbing and weaving to stay out of the line of
Harry's weaving revolver. Harry hungover wasn't much better than
Harry drunk. "Harry, we don't have time. Shut up and get
yourselves under cover! We'll fix it!"
"We'll be watching," Jenny threatened. She pulled Harry into
the blockhouse.
"So damned close," Hudson said. "Another couple of days- "
"Come and meet them."
"Oh, joy."
"Meet them on their own territory. At their car. It's supposed
to be reassuring," Miller said.
The Green car pulled up and two men got out. C.C. Miller
waved to one of them, a short man with a beard so black that it
looked dyed. "Hello, Glen!"
"Hello. This is official. Captain Hartwell, Green Police. Dan, this
is C.C. Miller. That's Gary Hudson. He's in charge here."
Hartwell was tall and thin. His look was grim as he stared at
the let engine. "What is this?" he shouted.
Hudson indicated the office area. "It's quieter in there." He led
them inside. With the door and windows closed they could almost
talk.
"All right," Hartwell said. "What's going on?"
"Hydrogen economy experiments," Hudson said. "We're
liquefying hydrogen and oxygen. Then well burn them. If we can
increase the efficiency of hydrogen burning by ten percent, we can
save enormous amounts of energy. Just enormous. And with the
winters getting longer, and everything colder- "
"You mean the glaciers coming," Hartwell said.
"Well, yes, but I wasn't sure you guys believed in them,"
Hudson said. "I've talked to some- "
"Some fuggheaded Green Police," Hartwell said. "Yeah, but you
can't judge us by them! Niven's law. No cause is so noble that it
won't attract fuggheads."
"Well- yes," Hudson said. "But wouldn't expect you to believe
that either."
"We're not all fools," Hartwell said. "Man, that noise pollution is
savage, and the smoke isn't much better. If you can really justify
this you'd better tell me, quick, because someone is sure as hell
going to notice."
***
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