… Night was falling fast now. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. What in hell can they be planning?

She got out her best night glasses. There was just enough moonlight to let the big binoculars follow the unlighted motorcycle across the lake--

They stopped about a quarter of a mile from the fence, left the bike, and went on foot to the fence.

Not quite to the main fence. To a smaller fenced compound outside the main base. The two figures huddled near the fence on the far side from the base. No one was likely to see them--no one not watching them in the first place, anyway. In a few minutes they 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."