He could feel her shake her head. "No. I'm fine now." She snuggled against him. "Who would have thought it could get so chilly in the desert?"

Alex pointed to the sky with his left hand. "No clouds. The ground radiates its heat into open space. I bet you could make ice that way."

"You can."

"Ah."

"Look at the moon," she said. It was three-quarters full and just kissing the horizon, swollen by the lens of air. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Not so beautiful as the Earth, looking back."

"Have you ever been there? To the moon."

"No." And now he could never go. Alex can't go out and play because he might get a nosebleed. I don't even have a suit anymore.

"I'd like to go there. I've always wanted to go there. Ever since I read Space Captives of the Golden Men. I forget who wrote it. A juvenile. These kids are kidnapped by Martians--we could still imagine Martians in those days--and taken to the moon; and I've always wanted to be… to be…"

She turned and buried her face against him and he hugged her tight. "I'll take you there," he promised. Don't make promises you can't keep. "Someday, I'll kidnap you and take you to the moon."

Oh, Alex." She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was a soft, lingering kiss, and Alex felt himself respond to the promise. He shifted his arms and hugged her tight and kissed her back. "Alex, make love to me."

"What, here? Now? It's too cold."

She laid her head on his shoulder. "You don't want to?"

"I--yes, dammit. Yes, I do. But--"

"Then forget your damned courtship rites and your damned propriety. You're in Faerie now. All the habitat rules are suspended."

"Except cold!" he laughed.

She grabbed him and ran her hands down his body. The moon had set and the desert night was as black as death. The galactic spiral was a garland draped across the sky. They fumbled under their clothing, exploring each other; never quite exposed to the night cold and growing warm enough with the effort. Alex discovered that if you were careful and if you wanted something badly enough, you could accomplish anything. None of it was planned.

It was better than a plan.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The LASFS

Steve Mews and George Long pedaled through the decaying neighborhood at dusk. Long looked around and whistled "Man, this place would make Harlem look like Bel Air!"

Mews grinned. "Yeah, but it's not so bad. Besides, we're the meanest S-O-B's in the valley."

George Long looked it. He was an enormous black giant. Steve had been trying to get him to work out for years, but Long always said, "Hell, I'm a nurse! Sometimes I wonder what a frail old geriatric patient thinks when he sees, or she sees, Rosey Grier bearing down on her with a bedpan and a mucking great hypodermic. You get me doing that black-belt stuff and they'll arrest me for breathing."

The house was huge, a six-bedroom mansion built in the 1920s during the Hollywood era. It hadn't been painted in years, and now stood almost isolated. There were houses on both sides of it but they'd sunk even further into decay, not quite abandoned, but inhabited by people who just didn't give a damn. Mews led Long up the driveway to the garage in back. There were other bicycles there. The garage was dimly lit by a single electric bulb.

"Big place," Long said. "I knew Los Angeles fans had a clubhouse, but this is something!"

"Heh, heh. You don't know the half of it." Steve swept his hand around. "There was a freeway going through. The Greens got that stopped, but the whole area had already been condemned. Nobody can get permits to build here, or to tear anything down either. It's all pretty stupid, but it's good for LASFS. Glen Bailey knew it first because he's a Green."

Long shied off a bit. "You've got a tame Green?"

"Glennie's not tame. But he's definitely one of ours, and he got us this house. They're paying us a caretaker fee to keep the druggies out!" He grinned. "Of course, they aren't paying the Los Angeles Science Fantasy Society, Inc. They're paying the LA Safety First Society. The checks still read LASFS."

"You're still incorporated?"

"No, they yanked our Inc. 'Not in the public interest.' I keep forgetting."

There were more lights at the big house. Steve led the way to the back door and knocked, then stood in the dim pool of light from the porch lamp. After a moment the door opened. " 'Lo, Steve," a large elderly woman said.

" 'Lo, June. This is George Long."

"I know George," she said. "You're a long way from NESFA."

Long nodded. "New England's getting cold. I'm moving out here," he said. "By way of Worldcon."

"I ran into him at Minicon, then on the Amtrak," Steve said.

June opened the door and led them into a kitchen. There were a dozen fans talking, standing in doorways as fans did. Most didn't know George Long, but June was taking care of the introductions. "Is Merlin here yet?" Steve asked.

"Upstairs."

The stairway was ornate, with magnificent wood bannisters. There was mahogany wainscoting in the hallways, and the ceilings were carved plaster. Most of the splendor was in decay, but here and there someone had worked to restore it.

The upstairs room was locked. Steve knocked and waited. Finally the door was opened by a tall man with stringy gray hair and bad teeth. He stood in the doorway. "Steve."

"I need to get on-line."

Merlin Null, LASFS Senior Committeeman, frowned at Mews. "The rules are, you tell me, and I do it if I think it's safe."

"Merlin, this is Stone from Heaven business."

Null thought about it. "Have to check." He came out into the hall, carefully locking the door behind him, and led the way down the hall to another room.

C.C. Miller, often called Cissy for reasons no one remembered, was Chairman of the LASFS. He sat at a table in the old butlers pantry making a list. Miller was a large, round man, gray haired as most LASFASians were. His wife, Ginny, looked half his age, but she always had.

"Steve wants me to log him on," Null said.

Miller nodded knowingly. "It's all right. Steve, when you get done, we've got a package for you."

"Package?"

"Fan Express," Miller said. "From Curtis. Address 'Bottle Shop Keeper, care of Steve Mews.' I gather he wants you to deliver it."

"That figures. See you in a minute."

Back inside the locked computer room there were three people at a poker table. Hands had been dealt, and there were poker chips in front of the players. No one really cared much about illegal gambling, but it was a cover for the locked door.

Null locked the door again, then opened a cabinet. Inside were more poker chips and cards. Null reached past them to open the back of the cabinet, exposing a computer console. Null pulled it out. "OK, what?"

"FAPANET," Steve said. "I need to get on."

Null typed furiously. There were the odd tones of a modem dialing, then locking on. Finally Null stepped back. "You got it."

Steve typed gingerly. "They call me Bruce."

«Hello Bruce. Enter your password»:

"I am new in town."

«Welcome Bruce. Down, alter. Down I say! Be a good Imp and let me talk. Bruce, Pins says they're looking forward to greatest burgers in the universe for lunch tomorrow. That is tomorrow. Treasure hunt has gone well. Time to see the bottle shop wizard.»

"Roger Dodger." Steve stepped back from the console.

"That's it?" Null asked.

"That's a lot," Steve said. "Now I need to see C.C. again. I'm going to need some help. Starting with a car and somebody to drive."

The drive from Los Angeles through Mojave took nearly three hours in C.C. Miller's underpowered car. Interstate 5, the main north-south California artery, was still maintained, but when they turned off into the Antelope Valley and headed toward Palmdale the decay in America's infrastructure was obvious.