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Reversion

a Novel by Varkel
Fall, 2002



Chapter 20: Liftoff


I only had to stew for half an hour before Lacey said, "Who's
that?"  She was looking out the front window.

An unmarked dun-colored van, about the size of the one in which
we had first traveled to Cleveland, was crossing the parking lot
toward the front door.  It stopped in the traffic aisle and -- I
gasped in relief -- Rosalind emerged from the driver's door, Alice
from the passenger's.

I rushed out into the parking lot in time to meet them at the far
side of the van.  Rosalind slid open the door just as I caught
Alice in a fierce embrace.  Extending my arm, I pulled Rosalind
into it also.  I'm sure I was muttering inanities, such as
"You're safe, you're safe!" while showering their faces with
kisses.

They pushed me back.  "Calm down!" Alice commanded, her eyes
glaring.

"Wonder if it would work on him?" asked Rosalind with a giggle.

"What happened to you?" I demanded.  They seemed somewhat
disheveled: hair in disarray, Alice's blouse unbuttoned in back,
Rosalind wearing only one stocking, both without shoes.

"_They_ happened to us!" declared Alice, pointing into the van.
It contained three -- no, four unconscious bodies in various
stages of undress, all definitely male.  I use that word
advisedly.  They all seemed to be sporting hard-ons.

Alice stepped up into the vehicle while I stared in stupefaction.
After a moment to stir the bodies, she stuck one foot into her
missing slipper, then threw out another in Rosalind's direction,
followed by two small suitcases.  She held out a drooping pink
flimsy distastefully at arm's length.  "This is yours.  How'd it
get so sopping?"

"Let Bertie have it," the tall girl answered.  "He tore it off me
too late."

Alice leaned over and carefully spread it over a snoring face
that looked familiar.

"Bertie?" I asked.

"You remember," said Rosalind.  "You threw him down the steps on
Cleaver's yacht."

"All these guys work for Cleaver?  You two were kidnapped?"

"Yes and yes."

Alice threw out another shoe and two small suitcases before
stepping down from the van.  Rosalind slipped on her shoes and
took up her bag.

I stood with fists clenched on my hips.  "That son of a bitch has
finally gone too far!  Ladies, I want to know every detail of
this adventure."

Rosalind smirked at Alice.  "Didn't I tell you he'd say that?"

"The exact words," Alice agreed dryly, donning her other shoe.

"I've got a viewer in my bag," Rosalind noted.  "I'll download it
in your office, Tim.  In the meantime you ought to have someone
deliver these poor fellows to their boss."

"I'll take care of that," Alice said, winking at me.  She leaned
over the sill of the van and dragged the head of a somnolent
occupant toward her.  Bending, she covered his mouth with her
own.  When she arose, he sat up groggily.

"Wha-what?"

She leaned into his face.  "Can you drive the van?"

"Y-yeah."

"Then close this door and drive it to Cleaver."

"T-to Cleaver?"

"That's right.  Get going."

"Yes, ma'am."

She cocked her head.  "That was an awful wart on your cock.  I
removed it."

"Y-yes, ma'am."

Under her watchful eye he closed the side door as directed and
shambled around to the driver's side, wearing only a T-shirt.  A
moment later the engine started and the van threaded its way out
of the lot.  At that time driving barefoot was against the law in
North Carolina, but this was the least of his worries.

* * *

Downloading a viewer only takes a moment when you have the talent
built-in.  Rosalind handed it to me, curled her lip disdainfully
and said, "Turning arrogant men into pitiful little boys has its
unattractive aspects.  I take it back.  I'd hate to see it happen
to you."

I'm sure my eyes widened.  "You consider me arrogant, do you?"

She managed a grin.  "And the funniest part is, _you_ don't see
it!"  She took a breath.  "Tim, for your information Alice and I
were up all night, consulting with Clara and making provisions
for the unexpected."  The grin became a wry chuckle.  "Though we
didn't anticipate being kidnapped before we could get to Baylor!"

"No doubt.  I wonder how Cleaver knew you were coming."

She gestured.  "You'll see it in the record.  Men's brags are
sometimes useful.  The point is, although we caught a little
sleep on the plane, we still need to rest and recuperate before
tonight."

"Of course."  I took a set of keys from the guard desk.  "These
fit the blue Plymouth.  Go take a nap.  Get back here about six
p.m."

"Thanks, Tim.  Will do."

As they departed, I said to Lacey, "Call Wilbur at that number,
give him the good news and tell him to hurry back here."

But Lacey was slow to respond.  When I looked up, she was staring
with open mouth after the girls, who were just getting into the
Plymouth.  "Mr. Maple, did they ... cause those men to ... to
..."

"I believe the expression is, 'Lose their pants.'  No, my dear, I
doubt the men needed help with that.  They probably only needed
help to sleep."

"To sleep," she repeated, goggling.

"Will you please call Wilbur?"

She took a very deep breath.  "At that number.  Yes, sir.  Right
away, sir!"

"You mind the front desk until Wilbur gets back.  In the meantime
I'll be in my office.  Don't disturb me unless it's urgent,
please."

Arrogant, was I?  Didn't I always say, "Please?"

* * *

With an earplug in each ear -- Clara has implemented stereo -- I
leaned back in my big chair and held the viewer up to the light.
In this world, recently seen through Rosalind's perspective, she
emerged from a restroom stall to stare at herself in a mirror and
straighten her skirt.  She washed her hands, smiling slightly at
her reflection.  Why not?  She was lovely.

The image of Alice appeared behind her, moving to the adjacent
sink.  "I hope you're not going to primp," came Alice's voice.
"That hillbilly is waiting for us outside."

"Too bad he's not more handsome," retorted Rosalind.  "I'm
feeling rather itchy, and I'll bet Tim and Karl are too engrossed
in their work to take care of us."

Alice's hand appeared in the corner of vision, touching
Rosalind's shoulder.  "We could cuddle later," she cooed.

"That's always nice, Alice.  But right now I want to feel a guy."

They both turned to the noise of an outside door slamming open.
As if on cue, a large man in a business suit stood glaring into
the room.

"That was fast!" Rosalind commented but Alice snarled, "You're in
the wrong place, Buster."

He came fully into the room, scanning around at the stall doors,
all of which were now open.  He pulled a pistol from beneath
his jacket.

At last his gaze settled on the two women, standing side by side
before the sinks.  "Out, ladies!  This way and move it now!"  He
waved his weapon at them and indicating the door through which he
had entered.

The reflected faces of the two women expressed concern but not
fear.  "Just let me dry my hands," Rosalind said impudently.
With calculated slowness she tugged a paper towel from the
dispenser.

The world tilted.  Apparently the impatient man had pushed her
away from the sink toward the door.  She glanced back to see
Alice following voluntarily, though producing a sneer as she
passed.  Two more men waited outside.  The first one concealed
his gun as the three of them hustled the women from the building
to a van waiting at the curb, the same one I had seen later in
the Fernworks parking lot.  I felt their hands gripping
Rosalind's arms but hesitated to turn off the tactile record.

Rosalind ducked and entered the open side door of the vehicle.
Alice resisted and had to be shoved in.  The men followed
quickly, the last one sliding the door shut with a bang.  The
van, engine already ticking over, revved up.  The view tilted
crazily and steadied from a lower angle, accompanied by a blow to
the butt.  Apparently the acceleration had thrown Rosalind down.
Alice must have grabbed the back of a front seat.  She slid down
before Rosalind in a thicket of men's legs.

Rosalind's gaze turned up to one of the faces.  "So, Bertie,
what's on the agenda?"

The men sat also, not very comfortably judging by their grimaces.
Only the driver's arm was visible beyond his seatback.  He said
nothing as he concentrated on the traffic.

"We're just delivering you ladies," the initial washroom invader,
a blond guy in his thirties, answered in a somewhat conciliatory
voice.  Perhaps as a result of Rosalind's prompt, I recognized
him.  I had previously seen him buckling before my fist in his
belly.  I wished for a second opportunity.

"Delivering us!" sniffed Alice.  "To what, a life as sex slaves?"

"Absolutely not!" declared the blond.

"Oh, yeah?  You've never seen us before."

He pointed at me -- I mean, at Rosalind.  "I've seen _her_,
haven't I, Rosalind?  And you're with her, which is good enough
for me."

Alice clamped her mouth shut, but Rosalind spoke in her place.
"Then you're taking us to Cleaver.  Tell me something, Bertie:
how'd he know where to find us?"

The blond only smiled but a surly fellow beside him snickered.
"We followed your stupid guard."

"Shut up!" ordered Bertie.

"But Cleaver couldn't have expected us!" Rosalind asserted.

Alice said, "They must have phoned him while we waited for your
bag.  I get it.  Cleaver means to hold us as a bargaining tool."

"Sex slaves too," Rosalind jibed.  I felt her lips stretch in a
smile.

"Think that's funny?" asked the bean-spiller.

"Not exactly."  Her eyes went to his hands.  "I was wondering
about the old saw that a man's fingers gave a hint about the size
of his cock."

"Yeah!" Alice chimed in.  "Judging from your stubby ones I bet
you have an embarrassment between the legs."

The other men laughed uproariously.  "Hey, Smitty," the third guy
said, "you want to prove her wrong?"

Smitty sulked without further comment.

"So you value large ones?" the grinning blond leader said to
Alice, who shrugged.

"I place no particular value on them," Rosalind replied, "because
so many are available.  But they're always useful when a girl
gets itchy."

Alice said, "You snatched us because of a business disagreement,
Blondie.  Later you'll be chauffeuring us to where we were
heading in the first place."

Rosalind added, "I hope you guys aren't so rushed that you don't
have time to scratch our itches."

"Both of you?" asked Smitty, blinking.

"Sure," agreed Alice.

"Are you suggesting a gang bang, lady?" the third man asked, hope
in his voice.

Rosalind answered, "Even Smitty here."

"How about me," the driver yelled.

"All of you," Alice shouted back.

"Stop at Minerva State Park," the blond one called to the driver.
"It's on the way.  Cleaver won't notice a half-hour delay.  That
is," he said to Rosalind, "if you're serious about this.  We
don't rape women."

"I'm sure you don't," she said with a hand kneading his upper
thigh.  "Is that park grassy?"

"Oh yes."

"I love it in the grass, smelling the green things, hearing the
birds chirp."

The van had picked up speed, skirting most of the city.  Bertie
hitched closer to Rosalind, who looked down to see his hand under
her skirt.  "I've always thought you were a looker!" he said in
her ear.

"Thank you.  You're not so bad yourself."

His face loomed up in my vision.  Simultaneously I felt his
tongue in my mouth, his hand squeezing my tit and a finger
prodding between my legs.  I turned off the tactile record as
fast as my thumb would move!

It was a hell of a long kiss.  I could see nothing and hear only
the roar of the speeding van.  I found the fast-forward controls.
When light flashed up in my vision, I stopped.  Rosalind's eyes
were lowered to her hand, now jacking on a respectable dick.  The
van lurched and she looked up.  Tree limbs swung above the
windshield and the vehicle came to a stop.  Alice was sprawled
just below the front seat with three men around her.  Her skirt
was above her waist.

The men helped the women to stand.  They stepped down onto lush
grass in a small clearing, blocked on one side by the van's
massive body, on all others by thick brush.  From the shadows the
sun was high overhead.

"Ooo!" intoned Rosalind.  "This is nice."

"It _is_ nice," Alice chimed in.  "Let's get to it.  But we don't
want to lie in the dirt."

"You get on top, one of us at a time," the blonde leader
announced, "while two guys remain on guard."

Rosalind demurred, "They can guard us with their dicks out, can't
they?  I'd like to squat on yours and suck another."

"Okay," Bertie said, "if you girls take all your clothes off so
you can't run away."

Rosalind and Alice stripped naked in the bright sunlight to
reveal luscious bodies that caused the men to howl.  Bertie and
the driver undid their trousers and kicked them off, then lay on
the ground.

"You and Smitty keep your pants on," the leader said, "so you can
run after the girls if they try to get away."

"They ain't gonna run away naked," the third one asserted
scornfully.

"Don't we get a blow job?"  Smitty demanded.

"Sure, sure," was the reply, "but at least keep your shirts on."

Rosalind and Alice straddled the two men who lay on the ground a
few yards apart.  The other two stood by with erect cocks
extended.

"I can't do this without kissing a guy first," Rosalind said,
looking up.

"Me too," Alice agreed, despite having already sat on a cock that
penetrated her to the hilt.  "Stoop down for a kiss," she said to
the guy with a ready cock next to her face.

Rosalind likewise kissed a kneeling man.  Then her perspective on
his body changed radically.  I could see only wiry pubic hair,
approaching and receding, an action likely to continue for a
while.  I could hear grunting sounds.  Someone, Smitty, I think,
declared with awe in his voice, "God, that's a tight little
pussy."  Alice had indeed developed a crushing grip, as I well
knew.

I fast-forwarded and stopped just in time to see a straining dick
spurt into my eye.  Yuck, with emphasis!  I tried to fast-forward
again but the scene jerked too strangely.  Now Rosalind was
looking down into the driver's face, which seemed to be moving
rhythmically, I understood, because she was bouncing on his cock.
His mouth was open and he was staring upward glassily.  She
looked around.  Bertie sat beside her, head hanging between
drawn-up knees as if he were exhausted.  Nearby Alice was also
bouncing on a man.  The fourth lay quietly on his back beyond
her.  His dick stuck straight up.

"Did you also use PERPET?" Rosalind asked.

"Of course."

Fingers on my thigh brought up a quick display.  PERPET was a
program whose nanobiots, tunable to the individual or group like
those of DISINHIBITOR, caused perpetual erections: a future
Viagra without the side-effects.  In a woman it produced a
copious flow of lubricant.  I resolved that one of these days I'd
undertake a complete review of these sexual programs.  Apparently
I had not yet fully grasped just how determined the 24th Century
would be to repopulate the Earth!

"Excuse me," Alice continued.  "It's finally feeling good."

Rosalind rose up, leaned over, put her hand to Bertie's bent
forehead and shoved him backwards onto the grass, exposing
another swollen dick.  "You're the best of them, Bertie," she
said, squatting over him.  He looked at her with a slight smile,
his face also seeming to bounce.  According to the instructions,
DISINHIBITOR doesn't cause pain -- unless your slavemaster hurts
you, of course.  In fact it's supposed to make you feel a bit of
euphoria.  With my own dick in Rosalind I never needed a drug to
feel good.  Perhaps his smile was for natural reasons.

She bent far forward until his face again filled her vision.
Apparently they were kissing.  I wondered where Rosalind had
learned to like such long kisses.  Note for future reference!
For now I fast-forwarded once more.

Rosalind was groaning with every breath when I resumed normal
play.  In the background I could dimly hear Alice expressing
herself in the only somewhat more articulate manner typical of
her climaxes: "Oh, fuck!  Fuck!  Oh, fuck me!"  I had stopped
because the visual scene had gone dark.  Rosalind had closed her
eyes.

When I found light again, the women were haphazardly gathering
their scattered clothing.

"You sure we have to leave, Alice?" Rosalind groused.  "How often
do we get to _own_ a set of cocks?"

"It's almost one o'clock," Alice said regretfully.  "I'm sure of
one thing: Tim is about to have a conniption."  She chuckled.
"He'll insist on hearing everything that happened to us.  I hope
it doesn't upset him."  She frowned.  "Something worse: if we
don't show up soon, he'll think he has to go hat in hand to
Cleaver."

"He might.  God, you're a mess!"

"Look who's talking!"

Rosalind chuckled.  "A lovely mess!  But incomplete.  We'll have
to do this again soon, Alice.  Where can we round up another set
of cocks?"

"Lots of places, once we buy our own --  Hell, they haven't
invented the SUV yet!  Throw the rest of this stuff into the
van."

"What about the guys' britches?"

"_They_ took them off!  All right, Smitty.  Get your ass up and
into the van."

One of the men sat up groggily and crawled toward the open side
door.  "You too, whatever your name is," added Alice, kicking the
prone driver's naked hip.

"You don't think he can drive, do you?" asked Rosalind.

"No, not without a touch of ANTI-.  I think you'll have to drive.
You do know how to get to Fernworks, don't you?"

"Oh, yes.  I've been along this way many times.  Okay, Bertie,
get in the van.  You too, Wart."

"Wart?"

"Didn't you notice his cock?"

"Oh, yeah," said Alice, sighing.  "God, it's wonderful not having
to worry any more about catching something filthy!"

* * *

Lacey knocked on my door and I bade her enter, having laid the
viewer aside.  "Finished the time sheet ledgers," she explained,
sliding the tall books onto their shelves.  "Do you need me for
anything else?"

"No, thank you, Lacey.  You can leave."

"Are you sure, Mr. Maple?"  She studied me earnestly.

I leaned back in my chair with a smile.  "Why is it I have the
impression you don't want to go home?"

Her eyes fell.  "Because it's true."

"Why not?"

"It's ... getting exciting around here."

I chuckled.  "Is that the only reason?"

She swallowed.  "No," she admitted in a low voice, not meeting my
eyes.  I wanted to laugh.  I very nearly accused her of fearing
that Kelliam, due to arrive at four, would fall into the clutches
of Alice and Rosalind.

"Lacey," I said in my best imitation of kindly management, "it
just might get _too_ exciting.  I'd feel better if you were in a
safer place.  I think you should go on home as planned.  Your pay
won't get docked."

She heaved a big sigh and turned away.  "Whatever you say, Mr.
Maple.  I'll switch the phone lines into here."

"Thank you."

But she was back almost immediately with wide eyes.  "A bunch of
old cars are in the parking lot and Judd's here to see you."

"Judd."  I recalled his proposal to invite defenders.  "Send him
in."

He appeared shortly in his guard uniform, complete with holstered
pistol.  I asked, "Those cars in the lot -- your neighbors, Judd?"

He grinned proudly.  "I told you they'd come, Mr. Maple.  I went
up and down the valley and into the hollows.  I called out every
man with a squirrel gun or better, and most of them answered."

I gave him a smile.  "Good work, Judd.  They may buy us the time
we need, although I hope we can win without shooting."

He stood aside as I came around the desk, then followed me along
the hall toward the front.  Apparently he felt a need to explain.
"It wa'n't just me, Mr. Maple.  I couldn't've done it without
Harlan Sweet, who don't even work for you.  He's the one the
folks come out for, not me.  He's a real leader.

"I knew he was home when I went by in my pick-up, 'cause his
ten-wheeler was sitting right beside the place.  Said he just got
back from a long haul to Georgia and was a-going to drink hisself
silly on some shine of Ma Grissom's that the buyer wouldn't take,
but when I told him about the flatlanders wanting to shut down
Fernworks, he put his jug aside and picked up the M1 he brung
home from the war.  Told his woman, Elma Mae, to pass the word to
everybody with a phone and we set out.

"'We'll empty Lizzie's whorehouse first, Judd,' he says, 'then
we'll go to the holy rollers and stop their crazy caterwallering
-- leastwise the men.'

"Folks look up to Harlan; he'd be the sheriff if it wa'n't for
them bastards in Asheville.  'Fore long we got a whole line of
vehicles a-following us.  Even Ma Grissom's old man came out,
hardly able to walk but he could drive, and he brung a real fine
weapon like I never seen afore, a machine gun he carried in his
arms just like John Wayne.  They're all gathered in the parking
lot, Mr. Maple, maybe half a hundred men and a few tough women.
Lizzie's whores brung the coffee."

"Remarkable," I commented.  I guess he took it as approval.  A
machine gun, indeed!  "Remember what I said, Judd: you've got to
keep them in line.  Fernworks could be ruined if innocent people
get killed."

"Yes, sir."

A flat car still stood on the siding, its near end only a few
steps from the door.  I jumped onto the coupler and from there to
the scuffed platform.  Judd looked oddly up at me, as if
surprised at my nimbleness, and mounted the platform via the end
stirrup, pulling himself up by the brake rod.

Since the departure of Bertie's van the vehicle population had
increased by a dozen cars and pickup trucks.  A small, colorful
crowd had gathered near the Fernworks storefront, consisting of
men dressed largely in faded shirts and jeans, many with beards,
shouting and gesticulating with rifles or shotguns under their
arms.  In the back a few women sat on a pickup's tailgate and
fenders, protecting what might have been a large coffee urn,
presumably "Lizzie's whores."

I started to ask who was Harlan Sweet but found that I needed
only confirmation.  An enormous man, taller and thicker than I,
stood before the front bumper of a battered pre-war Dodge pickup,
an ax handle cradled in both hands.  He was bare-chested under
tattered bib overalls.  A long brown beard fell upon the
impressive belly.  A battered, broad-brimmed fedora adorned his
head and a corncob pipe thrust jauntily from one side of his
mouth, in perhaps unconscious mimicry of Gen. Douglas MacArthur.

He noticed Judd in his uniform and me in my business suit.  He
straightened himself, throwing out his chest.  The crowd reacted
by turning to follow his gaze and falling silent.

"Who might you be?" he called to me in a booming, penetrating
bass voice.  Now I could believe he might be the natural leader
that Judd reported.  Military academies hold classes for would-be
officers to deepen their voices into that tone of command.  I
never knew a leader to be much respected without one.

So I gave the nanobiots a moment to work on mine and responded in
the same tone if not the same accent.  "I'm John Maple," I
declared loudly, "the owner of this parking lot.  Who are you?"

I'm sure if Alice had been present she would have made some
disparaging comment behind her hand about masculine bellowing and
suggested an accompaniment of chest thumping.  Strike the hand.

The big man nodded and spoke less brusquely in the now total
silence.  "Harlan Sweet, and I'm glad to see you, Mr. Maple."

I reduced volume also.  "I'm glad to see you, Mr. Sweet, and your
neighbors -- especially this afternoon."

That brought a few chuckles and some apprehensive glances back
toward the road.  Sweet came toward the flat car, his ax handle
dangling.  I jumped down to meet him.  When I straightened up, he
proved half a head taller than I.  For the first time I regretted
not going for the full two meters.

"Judd says somebody is out to smash Fernworks," he remarked,
sizing me up in return.

"I'm not sure of their motives, but we had trespassers yesterday
and the threat of more."

"Flatlanders."

"From out of state, in fact."

He grinned around at the crowd.  "We know how to handle
flatlanders."

His words drew a chorus of cheers and catcalls.

"That worries me just a little bit," I admitted when the noise
tapered off.  "I'm sure you've heard that Fernworks is a
low-profile -- that is, an operation that needs to keep its head
down and not attract a lot of attention, especially from the
newspapers.  I appreciate very much your interest in protecting
us, but I ask you in the strongest terms not to _kill_ anybody if
you can possibly help it."

His eyes narrowed and he shook his head.  "Somebody's gonna get
killed, sure as shooting -- if the shooting starts."

"And that will ruin Fernworks more certainly than any sabotage."

To my relief he actually looked concerned.  "If flatlanders show
up and open fire, I don't see how I can hold my crowd back."

"Well, no, I agree.  If they do that, then you have to give it
back to them.  I ask only that _you_ not be the ones who fire the
first shot."

He raised his voice.  "You heard that?"  He pronounced it
_heerd_.  The closer men nodded.  "We gonna give them bastards
the first shot, _then_ we gonna wipe them out.  If one of my men
shoots first, I'm gonna cave in his head."  He brandished the ax
handle.

"Okay, Harl," someone muttered.

He looked at me.  "We know what these hills owe to you, Mr.
Maple.  We'll just stand guard here tonight."

"Mr. Sweet and all of you" -- I raised my voice to match his
earlier -- "Fernworks won't forget this."

Now I received a chorus of cheers.  I extended my hand to Sweet.
He took it and we shook.  I was ready to crush in return but was
pleased to learn that Harlan Sweet was not the secretly insecure
sadist typical of most hand crushers.  Close up he looked to be
in his thirties.  I made a mental note to cultivate this man in
the future.

On the way into the plant I asked Judd, "Anyplace around here we
can get supper for 50 or 60 delivered on short notice?"

"They's a big barbecue place in Asheville," he answered as we
reached the guard desk.  He studied his wristwatch.  "It's just
after three.  They ought to have time to get it here by six
o'clock.  Want me to give them a call?  Course, it'll cost you."

I dropped six twenties on the desk.  "Call them.  Get some beer,
too, if the law lets it be sold up here, and some pop -- ah, that
is, soft drinks."

"Yes, sir."  He smiled.  "Harlan purely _loves_ that Carolina
barbecue!  You ever try it, Mr. Maple?"

Pork, vinegar and pepper?  I hope I turned away before he saw my
expression.

* * *

"Trouble outside!" Karl exclaimed, rushing up to me in the main
assembly area.

I darted him a glance before handing Kelliam the clipboard we'd
been studying.

"Are you sure?" I asked perhaps too peevishly.

"They must be Cleaver's men -- several carloads of them just
pulled into the parking lot."  He sounded out of breath.  "I saw
a lot of men get out and Sweet's people surge to meet them.
There may be a, a, _ein Aufruhr_."

"You mean a riot?"

"Yes, precisely!  And some of the locals are drunk."

We rushed down the aisle to the front, Kelliam pounding behind
us.  The sun was very low; the hill to the west already shaded
the parking lot.  Indeed a riot was in progress!  All around the
front door mountain men in jeans were exchanging insults and
blows with men in white shirts and loosened neckties.  The scene
resembled a 21st Century battle between druggies and the FBI,
including the beards on the locals.  At least I had not yet heard
any shooting.

I shouted to Karl, "We better make sure it's not the law!"

He and I pushed through the tumult, fending off blows, presumably
because of our neckties, from our own supporters.  Others
recognized our authority and nodded politely before bashing
anyone else within reach.  Good thing we wore our green coats!

Harlan Sweet stood in the midst of it all, swigging from a jug
that rested on his shoulder. No one dared confront him.  With his
free hand he had obviously lashed out with the ax handle to good
effect; two men lay groaning in the dirt near him, one bleeding
on the large man's shoe.

"It has the appearance of a primitive ritual," Karl remarked,
stiff arming an assailant in a necktie.

I caught the man by shirt and seat and tossed him into the crowd,
where his flying body knocked down three others, at least two of
whom wore jeans, unfortunately.

"Excuse me," I said to Sweet and kneeling, spat into the mouth of
the man on the tarmac who wasn't bleeding.  He had already begun
to stir.  Now he blinked up at me with wide eyes.

"Who do you work for?" I demanded.

"D-d-d-d ..." he stuttered.

Impatiently I turned him over and tore his wallet out of his
pants.  A driving license appeared first, behind it another.
This was what I hoped to see.  Illinois Detective License number
27-11094, effective through December, 1954.  Good enough.  I
tucked the wallet under his belt and stood up.

"Could that be reinforcements?" asked Karl.  He was on tip-toe,
looking over the crowd.  It was a familiar blue Plymouth, edging
slowly into the tangled throng.  "For us," I answered him.

"_Mein Gott_, the girls!" he screamed and tore into the crowd
toward the car.

Curiously the blue car's arrival seemed gradually to calm the
rioters.  Maybe they thought it was a cop.  Whatever the reason
the two groups separated after throwing a few final punches,
opening a path to the front door that Rosalind turned into.
Karl, grabbing the hood ornament, plopped down on the wide front
fender and stared belligerently around at the mob.  They drove
past me directly to the door.

Two of the necktie group crossed behind it toward Sweet and me.
"You win," said the taller.  "We're cutting out.  What do you
plan for those two?"  He gestured to the men at our feet.

Sweet tilted his head to me.  "Up to Mr. Maple."

"Take them away," I said curtly.

They helped their comrades to their feet, but a group of
jean-clad warriors blocked them until Sweet raised his voice.
"Let 'em go.  They give up!"  Cheers resounded all around us and
the four flatlanders succeeded in rejoining their group.  Shortly
car engines started up.  The cars at the back of the lot departed
down the road, sped along by pejorative hoots.

"How are _our_ casualties?" I asked Sweet.

"Not much, far as I can see.  A couple of the boys might have
black eyes tomorrow."

"Tell them how much I appreciate them not shooting.  How'd they
manage that, by the way?"

He shrugged.  "Them flatlanders never drew a gun.  The two I
knocked down didn't even carry one."

"Yet they attacked armed men anyway?"

"Don't make much sense, do it."

An interesting puzzle, I thought.  They must have been under
orders, but what was their objective?

"How many were they, do you think?"

"Not as many as us."

I started to chuckle appreciatively, but he cocked his head,
looking beyond me.  "Now who's this?"

It was another van, but this one was hardly anonymous.  "Mountain
Doo BarBQ" was painted on its side, emblazoned across the
stupidly smiling countenance of a pink pig.  "Supper for you fine
people," I answered.  "Tell the guys to let them through.  It's
on Fernworks."

He blinked.  "What do you mean?"

Apparently that wasn't a mountain idiom.  "I mean Fernworks is
paying for it.  Eat all you can hold, and Harlan, I thank you
very much."

His eyes lit as the van neared.  "Well, I thank _you_!"
Apparently Judd was right about his dietary preference.

* * *

Our guests ate enthusiastically as the area lights came on under
the darkening sky.  I spent a minute with Judd, arranging that a
dozen mountain men would camp in the parking lot in case of a
second assault.  After checking with a photograph to show around,
he reported Cleaver had not been seen among the attackers.
Presumably my enemy had issued his orders from the road -- perhaps
even from Ma Wellington's place.

Orders.  That bothered me.  What kind of orders?  What was his
purpose -- to break in and trash the plant?  If so his men's
behavior made a certain amount of sense.  They would obediently
try to get through, but not in a shoot-out with better armed
mountain men.  Still I'd like to have known.  As I strolled back
into the hill I regretted freeing the two who had been knocked
down.

But I was going to the moon before dawn!  I could worry about
Cleaver when we returned, now scheduled for tomorrow evening.

I found my women in the break room.  On the table they had spread
sandwiches from the snack bar.

"Where's Karl?" I asked.

Rosalind responded, "He said he was going to check on the
ships."

"What's all this?"

Alice sniffed.  "Female duty."

"Duty?"

"Anthropologists claim that in all human societies the main job
of the female is to keep the male clean, but in my opinion
feeding him must be up there somewhere.  That is, making sure he
gets plenty before he goes hying off somewhere."

"Plenty of what?" asked Rosalind with a grin.

"That, too."

I expect my face lit up.  "Do you know, I'm hungry and thirsty
and never even realized it!"

"We thought so," retorted Alice.  "You have sandwiches on the
ships, but eating these" -- she gestured at the table -- "won't
reduce their larders."

"Galleys," I corrected.

"Whatever."

"I hope you paid the blind woman."

Rosalind said, "We left her five bucks and a note.  Oops!"

I took up a roast beef and responded around my first bite, "I'll
take care of her when we get back."

"Thank you."  She looked at me and bit her lip.

"What's troubling you, Rosie?"

When she failed to flinch at the fond nickname, I knew that
indeed she was worrying about something.  I smiled encouragingly.
"Surely it's not what you plan to do tonight!"

Alice grinned.  "Couldn't be!  Karl says he'll _take_ her to the
moon instead of _sending_ her."

Rosalind drew herself up.  "All right.  You've explained about
Virtual Inertia Detachment so many times, to me and others in my
hearing, that I can practically repeat it verbatim.  I understand
those thousands of dicks are supposed to generate a field that
includes the entire ship and counters its inertia, which
is said to be the property of matter that resists pushing.  But
Tim ..."  She sighed.  "I don't know math as you do and I
certainly don't have your confidence in it.  I guess I am a
little nervous about what we plan to do tonight."

I took her in my arms.  "Do you trust me, Rosalind?"

"Y-yes, Tim."

"I'm risking my life on it too -- and you know me.  I'm not the
suicidal type."

She took a deep breath.  "I know that.  I also know that Karl,
who has both experience _and_ math, believes in you.  Will he be
in soon?"

"Go look in my office.  He may be waiting for me."

She departed hopefully.

Alice and I ate in peaceable silence until she asked, "What's
Karl checking on?"

"His experience with V2s is pushing him.  You remember Murphy's
Law, don't you?  They don't call it that now, but Karl respects
it just the same."

"Aren't the ships ready?"

I looked at my wristwatch, still quicker than tapping TIME on my
thigh.  "The dick charging is complete and everything else has
been loaded.  Karl wants to run through a complete simulation, up
to clearing the floor and setting them back down.  He's right; if
anything's shaky it'll be a lot better to find it out here than
on the moon.  But they're ready to be boarded any time.  Any
second thoughts about going?"

"Second thoughts?"  She grinned smugly.  "That's for people with
no confidence in math."

I shook my head and grinned wryly.  "Despite all the 24th Century
experience, this is potentially a very dangerous mission, my
dear.  Rosalind didn't mention our main exposure: the VID drive
is untested on such large masses."

She sniffed.  "It's too simple not to work.  What about our space
suits?"

"They passed the pressure test and were loaded into the suit
lockers before lunch.  We've been rather busy since then and I
haven't actually put one on.  But we don't have to leave the ship
on this first mission."

"Go to the moon and not step on the surface?  You've got to be
kidding!"

"Who makes such a poor joke?" demanded Karl, entering the room
with Rosalind on his heels.  He went directly to a sausage and
roll, _Weisswurst und Semmel_, which the blind woman had learned
to make to his specification.  Presumably the odor was
distinctive.

"If necessary," I explained, "we can collect some verifying dust
with the remote grapple."

"Dust?  Ha!"  Karl sniffed and added in a voice garbled by a
mouthful of food, "_I_ shall jump ten feet high in one-sixth G
and stomp the ground when I get back down, while Rosalind makes a
recording of --   Hmm.  Do you call the lunar surface _ground_?"

"What else?" I said with a shrug.

He began to list possible variants: land, soil, dirt, surface,
with supporting concepts in German.  I recalled the real lunar
explorers of the Seventies often using the word _regolith_.  Both
Rosalind and I had taken up the argument when Jerome Kelliam
stuck his head into the room and waited for Karl to run down.

"Trouble, boss," he said at last.

Karl swallowed his final bite.  "What is it?"

Jerome spoke over his own shoulder.  "Tell them what you saw."
Maryanne in her customary bandanna hove into view beside him.

"More intruders."  She was looking at me.  "I spied them a while
back, two strangers in green jackets.  When they saw me
a-looking, they high tailed it under the forming brake covers.
So I went to report them, but I couldn't find _nobody_!  Guess
you were all busy in the parking lot."

I stiffened.  "Good god!  You mean strangers are loose in the
plant?"

"Reckon so.  By now they've had time to do all kinds of
meanness."

"_Verdammte Scheisse_!" Karl cursed and burst past her into the
hall.

"Lift off in three minutes!" I screamed after him.

Alice set down her coffee cup.  "You mean that?  What about your
simulations?"

"_Damn_ the simulations!  Let's get to the ships now.  Jerome, is
it full dark outside?"

He blinked.  "I don't know, boss.  Just about, maybe."

"Okay.  Who's left in the factory room?"

"Only Big Joe and Morgan.  They should've disconnected both asses
from power by now."

"I'll send them to the suit room.  Remember, all the lights will
go out for about a minute.  You stand by the radio in my office."
Had I enabled its loudspeaker?  No: an oversight that I rectified
quickly with fingertips on my thigh.

"What about the intruders?" Kelliam asked.

"Wilbur came inside, didn't he?  Tell him to search the place
when the lights come back on."  I snickered.  "If he catches
anyone, he might ask if they were well steamed.  Come on, ladies.
Maryanne, Jerome is in charge."

"They're really _ships_?" she called after me, eyes wide as we
crowded out the door and down the hall.

If intruders were present we met none on our headlong charge to
the center of the huge room, past the looming machine tools
shrouded now against the forthcoming deluge.  The two spaceships
were hard to distinguish despite the bright lights, seeming to
consist of ceiling girders in vaguely triangular array.  In both
cases the swung-up entry hatches were on the far sides of the
ships, permitting me a last full appreciation of the success of
our visual stealthing.

Karl and Rosalind entered the nearer, _Ship Two_.  I paused to
instruct the two technicians, saw them scurrying for cover, then
clanked up the metal rollaway stairs after Alice into _Ship One_.
Yes, I know just how shameful it was that in two years we had
invented no better names for them.  I had originally proposed
_Alice_ and _Rosalind_, withdrawing them only when Alice herself
pointed out how confusing it could be to have crew of the same
name, but I refused to accept other names, even _Timothy_ and
_Karl-Heinz_, expecting to renew my proposal when the two
namesakes retired as crew.

We took our seats in the padded acceleration chairs before the
control panel, fitted with mechanical aviation instruments useful
solely in proximity to the Earth's surface, plus a pair of main
power switches for ultimate control.  I flipped on the one that
supplied current to the boilers.

The consumables, pressurized air but mostly water for steam
propulsion, were adequate.  The general dick charge indicated 54
hours.  This was how long the ship might accelerate in near-zero
inertia at one Gravity while expending part of that energy in
raising water to steam.  With turnover at midpoint, so much time
could put us at rest well beyond the orbit of Mars.  The limiting
factor was not the charge; it was reaction mass -- how much water
our tanks might hold.  They were deliberately only half filled
for this maiden voyage.

"Buckle up," I told Alice.

"Buckle up yourself," she retorted, her latches clicking.

I obeyed, then slipped the earphone-mike into my left ear canal
and keyed on the radio.  "Communications check," I announced.
"Karl, are you receiving?"

"Receiving clearly," he retorted in my ear.  From the corner of
my eye I saw Alice insert her own plug.

"Is _Ship Two_ ready?"

"Everything is nominal.  Steam pressure at 20 percent and
building."

Of course he had turned on his boiler first.  "Good.  What about
you, Jerome?"

Silence.

"Jerome, are you receiving?"

Silence again.  Karl answered, "You know his antenna is above the
roof.  Wait till we're aloft."

"I expected some leakage through the building walls," I groused.
Was this something to worry about?  Probably not.  "Okay," I
continued.  "My steam is at 25 percent.  What's yours now?"

"45."

25 percent of full pressure was the minimum required for
operation.  "Good enough.  Otherwise ready to lift?"

"Ready."

Alice's voice chimed in both my ears, "Let's go, lovers.  Up, up
and away!"

Rosalind added, "Even if we're not supermen."

"But we are!" declared Alice.

No one responded to that simple truth.  After a moment I said,
"Here goes."

My computer displayed the real control panel in glowing symbols
on my retinas, copied to Alice's through the earpiece radio link.
Karl had one like it for _Ship Two_, but mine also controlled
certain systems inside Fernworks.  With finger taps on the chair
arm I ordered a timed lights-out in the factory.

The ship was equipped with in-folding viewports at the apex where
Alice and I sat.  The brightly illuminated scene outside,
consisting mostly of ceiling girders and the top of _Ship Two_ --
that is, queerly tilted ceiling girders -- faded quickly through
red to pitch black.  Immediately I commanded, OPEN ROOF.

To preserve its secret, this ability had not been tested in
almost two years.  I watched the sensor update on my retina with
some trepidation.  But I worried needlessly.  Directly above us a
long slit appeared and widened steadily.

"Damn!" I uttered involuntarily.

Alice expressed the reason for my curse.  "The sky's not dark."

"It's almost dark," contributed Rosalind by radio.

I sighed.  "The initial stealth test will be tougher than
planned.  Karl, follow as soon as I clear the roof."

"_Jawohl_!"

I almost chuckled at that.  He had no reason for irony.  It
occurred to me that my experienced V2 engineer must again find
himself impressed.  Or just nervous.  Well, so was I!

Steam now at 55 percent.  I took hold of the attitude stick and
commanded, DISPLACE INERTIA, followed by THRUST 1.1G.  Too bad, I
thought, that I couldn't cross my fingers -- and that I couldn't
whisper that sentiment to Alice without the others hearing me.  I
would've loved the comfort of her smile then.

Behind and below us a huge snake began to hiss.  The ship lurched
once.  The padded chair pressed harder under my ass and settled
to an unmistakable lifting thrust.  The edges of the withdrawn
roof, 180 feet above us, sank away on either side.  The eleven
seconds needed to emerge above them passed quickly.  Dark hills
appeared all around us, profiled in the west against a deep red
sky.

"It works!" I declared inadvertently, overcome with unanticipated
awe.

"Yeah," Alice agreed with less enthusiasm, "but what's that
noise?"

I became aware of a chugging sound in the ship below us,
interspersed with tings and clanks, and recognized it immediately
from experience while testing the steam propulsion prototype.
Quick fingers on thigh and control stick adjusted the flow among
the feeder valves.  The noise subsided to the original hiss.

"Karl," I said to the always-on radio, "be sure to balance your
valving."

"No problem here, but I'll keep an ear on it.  I've just cleared
the roof."

"Very good."

I commanded, CLOSE ROOF.

"Jerome, do you receive me?"

Silence.

I had an idea.  "Don't forget to talk directly into the
loudspeaker."

That got results.  Kelliam's voice said, "Can you hear me now,
sir?"

"That's better."  I looked at my wristwatch.  "The lights will
come on in ten seconds.  Send Maryanne to stick her head into the
factory and tell you what she sees."

"Yes, sir.  You heard the man."

"Radar scan detected," Karl said quietly.

500 feet already?  The mechanical altimeter indicated 5930,
having started at 2600.  I said to Karl, "Monitor the standard
aircraft frequencies."

"Already doing that."

"Yes, of course you are."  And the principal military radio
links, as well, all according to plan.  A little higher and I
could contact Clara.  Which reminded me.

"I should be about 100 feet above you.  What do you see almost
straight up from south?

After a moment's hesitation he answered, "A black kite-shape."

"Uh-oh!"

"Against the very slight remaining sky light.  In ten minutes
you'll be invisible, John, except for your steam plume.  It
reminds me of a vapor trail and is only too visible."

"Even against the fully dark sky?"

"_Especially_ against the fully dark sky!"

"B-but --"

"Have _you_ looked up, John?"

Raising my eyes from the instruments, I saw it: the half moon,
directly above us, though actually 30-some degrees south of true
vertical.    Of course it would light up our steam trails!  Not
much we could do about that: it was our eminently visible
destination.  "Hang in there, Baby, we're on the way!"

"I think she'll wait," said Alice dryly.

The aneroid altimeter was winding up fast.  Rate of climb was
already off the scale.  Time to contact Cleveland.

But Kelliam spoke first.  "Uh, Mr. Maple, Maryanne is back."

"What does she say?"

"That the factory is full of fog."

"Does she report anything else out of the ordinary."

The man hesitated, saying at last, "She says -- course they're
hard to see anyhow, but ... she says it looks like the asses are
gone.  Both of them."

"Indeed they are, Jerome.  Turn up the fans to remove that fog,
then tell me what she sees."

"But how could -- Yes, sir."

"Clara," I said hopefully, unconsciously and uselessly
strengthening my voice for distance, "are you receiving this?"

Her sweet voice sounded almost instantly.  "Yes, Tim, I'm here.
Oh, Tim, this is so wonderful!  It means you're airborne, doesn't
it?"

"Steam born," I corrected.  "Everything is going perfectly so
far.  We've been aloft for two minutes.  We're 4.4 miles up
according to the infrared ranging laser.  Do you have TV and
radio turned on?"

"Oh, yes.  I'll relay if anything is reported, though I'm sure
you'll know it before I do.  And Tim ..."

"Go ahead, Clara."

"I love all four of you, you know."

"And we all love you."  My voice was hardly silent before the
other three with earphone-mikes chimed in similarly.

She concluded with a catch in her voice, "Don't stay too long on
the moon.  I expect to see all four of you very soon in my
kitchen."

"We'll all be there," I said with determination before returning
to the task at hand.  "Karl, have you heard anything from the
airports about noticing us?"

"Not the airports."

"What do you mean?"

"Piedmont Flight 79 just reported two nearly vertical vapor
trails north of Asheville."

I considered that for a moment before responding, "Guess we ought
to conform to airline schedules in the future."

"To the degree we can discover them."

"Who did he report to?"

"Charlotte, of course."

"What did the airport say?"

"They've seen nothing on radar."

I heard a click.  A strange male voice, made hollow by the narrow
audio response of the distant pilot's AM transmitter, sounded in
midsentence.  "-- is Piedmont 79 again.  Whatever is making those
vapor trails is accelerating well above my 18,000.  I couldn't
investigate them even if I had time, but somebody ought to."

His transmission terminated with the flatulent burst of a noise
squelcher.  Karl was repeating the standard aircraft control
frequency into our spread spectrum channel.

Another, weaker male voice said, "Probably something to do with
the military."

"I tell you, those guys are going, um, about 30 degrees south of
_straight up_!  And the trails start nearly on the ground."

"I'll admit it's odd nothing shows on radar.  Piedmont 79,
continue on course."

With another click the radio fell silent until Karl said, "We
need to find a propellant that doesn't leave a trail of ice
crystals, at least for operations near Earth.  I have an idea.
How about liquid --"

His voice ended in a curious sound: a painful grunt, followed a
heartbeat later by a feminine squeal and Rosalind's cry, "You
bastards!  What do you think you're --"

Then silence.

What the hell?  I looked around at Alice, who returned my stare
with round eyes.  She murmured, "Who could it possibly be?"

"At this altitude?" I asked.  My retina reported 16 miles.

Her eyes narrowed.  "I can think of only one possibility."

"Yes," I agreed with a grimace as the same idea occurred to me.
I cleared the glowing display from my vision and hit the
quick-disconnect on my seat harness.  Alice released her own as I
slipped past her to the suit locker hatchway.

"You stay back," I ordered and snatched the door open.

Bertie knelt just beyond it, his back against Alice's hanging
suit.  The pistol in his hand was raised to point at my face.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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