The Alderman looked up from the photographs he had been given. He licked his lips and looked around at his ward heelers. The ward heelers would not meet his eyes.

"Yeah. Sure." Alderman Strauss stuck his chin out. "They was here. What about it?"

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Alderman. It confirms what we learned from the truck drivers and your own stevedores." Though those farmers in Millville were certainly tight-lipped. HAH! "Big Front Yard Sale." And that van the Kilbournetowners confiscated… Lieutenant Billings says it's maroon under the new paint job. Thank God I saw that deputy's report on the funeral in Millville. The engine's VIN had matched a van owned by Robert K. Needleton of Minneapolis, a materialist science professor at U. Minn. Called in sick, with typhus. Whereabouts unknown.

"Now, where did they go when they left here?" God, we should clean out this nest of barbarians, too. Why haven't they been evacuated south? If the government knew how far they've fallen under the cloak of anarchy… The Green Weenies would love to arrest an entire city for air pollution. Unless they don't care, or don't dare let the rest of the country know what's happened here.

Arteria studied the bitter and edgy men and women clustered around the Alderman's throne; smelled the ripe smell of fear. Sure. Move them south. And when conditions to the south worsen, too, move them farther south. I'm glad it's not my job to do anything about it. Maybe they've got the right idea. Stay and fight. Like Scithers and his engineer cadre at Fargo Gap.

The Alderman tugged at his spade-like beard, clearly wondering if he should try to hold out for some advantage, but Arteria's face decided him. "They went west," he said. "They escaped from the de-lousing station, stole some horses and rode west. We didn't bother to chase 'em because of the typhus."

West didn't make sense… though typhus did. If Needleton had been here… "Are you sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure. You can ask over at Yngvi De-Lousing, if you want."

Arteria nodded slowly, eyes hooded. "You're right. Maybe I should ask over there." Arteria turned to leave, and the MP platoon followed, not quite relaxing, not quite turning their backs.

"Hey!" The Alderman's voice stopped them and Arteria lifted a questioning eyebrow.

"You're from the government, aina?" The Alderman was out of his seat and the arrogance and contempt had dropped from his face. "When's the government gonna come and help us out of this? I've got people dying up here!"

Arteria said nothing for a long moment. He still believes in government bailouts. What can I tell him? That the government is too busy chasing polluters and nuclear scientists and secular humanists? And people who cut wood without permission. That the government can't afford it any more and wouldn't know how, anyway?

A curt nod. "I'll let them know the way things stand. Things are tough all across the northern tier."

The Alderman licked his lips. "Yeah. Sure." He looked around at his cronies. "Things must be a lot worse other places, right? Otherwise they'da gotten to us by now."

Arteria wouldn't meet his eyes. A crafty machine politician. He wasn't fooled. It was the Titanic all over again. Not enough lifeboats to go around.

Outside at the command chopper Arteria contacted Redden on the radio. "Your reports seem to have been correct, sir. That's right. We found the van. We can confirm Needleton as well as the Hartley woman. Plus four other males, three Caucasian and one black." Twoof them were tall and skinny and havingtrouble walking. Things were getting interesting. "There's a lead here I want to follow up on. No, sir, I don't need anything more. I'll go solo on this."

Arteria rang off and handed the set back to the tech sergeant. The sergeant looked worried. "Do you think that's wise, Captain? You could send one of the troops, instead."

"No, Sergeant, this is something I've got to do personally."

"But you'll be out of touch. Shouldn't you…?"

"Soldier, ask not what my plans might be." Arteria looked left, then right, then added in a lower voice, "It's a crazy idea; and if it doesn't pan out…"

The sergeant blinked, then slowly brightened. "I get you. No one will know."

"Right you are. Besides, I won't be any further out of touch than the radio in my car, will I? We'll just have to make sure that the Rapid Deployment Team is ready to go anywhere, anytime, on my signal. Now tell Lieutenant Billings I want a staff meeting in ten minutes."

The sergeant saluted and dogtrotted off to find the platoon commanders. Arteria smiled a slow smile. Solo and in civilian clothes. That was the best way. No committees to second guess and hamper you. Just your own wits and reactions. Follow the clues wherever they led, without a lot of silly debate. Redden and the military brass would want periodic reports; but that was no problem. Moorkith would be worried that he wasn't getting all the skinny; let him stew. If the others wanted the credit of finding the Angels first, they would have to do the same thing. Get off their asses and scour the highways and byways. Especially, the fannish byways.

And who better to scour those byways than a gafiated fan?

Lee parked outside Yngvi's De-Lousing. Her car was plain back, with civilian license plates from Ohio, because this wasn't the first time she'd needed to look like a civilian. She went up to the door and waited to see a sensitive fannish face.

"FIAWOL," Arteria said.

Terri Whitehead gave her a blank look. "What?"

"FIAWOL, and it's damned well true of you if not me."

"I don't know--"

"Look, I don't have a lot of time," Arteria said. "Yngvi is a louse, but throwing a handful of rotten snow at me isn't going to get rid of me."

"Who are you?" Terri asked grimly. "The only people here are the Alderman's slaves--and police. And you?"

"Air Force," Arteria said. "I'm in charge of finding the Angels."

"Angels?"

"Look, Dr. Whitehead, if I wanted you in jail I'd have come with a squad and taken you away." Lee took a photograph from her jacket pocket. "Here. Sherrine Hartley and Bob Needleton. They were here. Incidentally, Dr. Needleton called in to his university claiming he had typhus. I suppose he got that idea from you. Ideas are contagious."

"I - -"

"So why should you tell me anything?" Lee asked. "Because they're going to get caught. Be real clear about it. That picture's being circulated all over the country. If I find them, I can help them. And will."

"How do I know that?" Terri asked. She was near tears.

"You don't, but you know damned well nobody else cares," Lee said.

"Who are you--"

"Hah. Got it," Lee said. "WackyCon at Waikiki Beach. Lex Nakashima's convention. You were on a panel with Will Waxman. The Miracles Panel. Cheap superconductor wire, cold fusion--"

"My God, that was fifteen years ago!" Terri said. "You were there all right. But--you're police now."

"Air Force," Lee said. "Air Police. Office of Special Investigations. Yes. Look, Dr. Whitehead, this is it: you tell me where they went, or--"

"Or?"

"Or I walk out of here, of course, and keep looking on my own. You're safe no matter what you do. But you won't know who finds them."

"What will you do with them?"

Lee shook her head. "I won't kid you. I don't know myself. Let me point out that I can always find them. I can go back and take the Tre-house apart. Somebody there knows. Save your friends a lot of trouble, Terri. Where'd they go?"

"I won't tell you."

Lee shrugged. "Ok but you're making a lot of trouble for 3MJ, and the result will be the same no matter what. I sort of like the old boy, but--anyway, good luck." She turned to go.