Thor released the brake on the wheelchair. "The danelaw is where the mundanes rule. Downers, you called them. The Imagi-Nation is us."

"I see." A small group, persecuted by its government, forced to hide its treasures and meet in secret. Arguably crazy, every one of them he'd seen, except for Sherrine. And they had risked everything, all their treasures, to rescue him from the Ice. It would hardly be polite to let them know that they were Downers, too.

Alex said, "I'm starting to realize what Mary meant."

"Eh?"

"Mission control told us we had strange friends on Earth."

"None stranger," Thor agreed.

"Now I see what you're up against. It's like David facing Goliath."

Thor grunted, disparagingly. "Big deal. Remember who won that fight?"

"But why--" He wanted to ask, why would someone like Sherrine do it? These others he could understand. Thor, running away, looking for some way to hit back. The others, some losers, none of them ding anything important--but Sherrine with her looks and brains could do anything. He couldn't say any of that. "Why do you do it?"

Thor shrugged his massive shoulders. What else can we do? We believe in the future. We don't turn our backs on it, like the 'danes, and pretend that everything will always be the way it is today. Have you ever read science fiction?"

Alex shook his head. "A little."

"Well, you can see it in our stories. Mainstream literature is about Being. For character studies, it's probably the best genre around; but nothing happens, nothing changes. Imaginative literature is about Doing. About making the future, not just bemoaning it. We'll all be living in the future by and by. Some of us like to scout ahead."

"You make it sound like more than just a hobby."

"FIAWOL. Fandom is a way of life."

Alex opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment a small crowd of people emerged into the foyer from the west wing. They were pushing a large cardboard carton on a handcart. Inside the carton sat a burly, bearded man wearing a snorkle. He was grinnning while the others poured styrofoam packing chips into the carton, chanting, "Kill Seth! Kill Seth!"

The parade circled the base of the staircase, flowing around both sides of the wheelchair, and disappeared down the east wing. Silence descended. Alex had trouble finding his voice for several seconds. Finally, he croaked, "Er, Thor?"

"Hmm?"

He turned around and looked at the Nordic god. "What was that?"

Thor checked his watch. "They must be getting ready for the book auction. Hunh. I didn't think they'd scheduled it this early in the program."

"Book auction? Who were those lunatics?"

They turned right, into the north wing. Thor said, "No no no. Lunarians. A New York fan club. They raffle off books at the auction. Seth always wins, so now they kill him at every con so he can't buy any tickets. Last year, they made him `The Wicker Man.' "

Alex didn't ask him what "The Wicker Man" was. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

When they arrived at the meeting room, Alex saw Sherrine evicting a group of young women dressed in outlandish robes and armor. "Costumers," Thor told him, "preparing for the Masquerade." Neither the fabric nor the chain mail concealed very much and he noticed Gordon staring at the women with considerable interest. Alex stared, too.

The women were not grotesquely fat; but they may have massed as much as 60 kilos each. Parts of them bulged and hung in unusual ways. Gravity, he supposed. Their breasts and hips were nearly as rounded as those of the Eskimo women. They needed special clothing to hold their breasts in place. Some wore their hair so long that it hung to their waists in back.

Only one, a woman dressed in armor, wore hers sensibly short. In fact, if he pretended the armor was a space suit, she looked halfway normal. All in all, he admitted, Earth women did have a vague, exotic appeal. But true beauties like Sherrine were apparently rare down in the Well.

"I'm sorry," Sherrine told the costumers. "There's been a program change. Didn't you get the update? All costuming panels have been moved to the north wing, third floor."

"Third floor! No, we weren't told," the panel leader said. "How disorganized is this Con Committee an anyway? People have been looking for them all day. If they're hiding, I don't blame them!"

"I'm sorry," Sherrine said again. She pointed to Gordon and Alex. "It's a question of handicapped access. If you'd like to help keep the programming on course, I'll pass your names on to Ops--"

"No thanks. We didn't come here to run errands for Bruce Hyde and his elitist gang." The costumers gathered themselves together and left in a billow of robes.

They settled into the meeting room and waited. The others dribbled in by ones and twos. Everyone behaved so furtively that Alex was sure they would draw attention to themselves. Bruce arrived grinning. "This is the one room," he announced, "where Chuck won't look for us."

Soon most of the rescue party was present. Doc (Sherrine told him) was a costumer himself and was busy on one of the panels; and Bob had to make a guest appearance at his mundane job at the University. Two strangers had joined them; Sherrine introduced them as Fang and Crazy Eddie.

Bruce rapped his chair arm with his knuckles. "Let's get this show on the road. First order of business is: What do we do with our guests, now that they are here?"

Fang tilted his head back. "Excuse me, Bruce; but let's follow form. I'm Con-Guest-of-Honor Chair, so I'd better lead this discussion."

"Find your egoboo on your own time," said Bruce. "The Con Committee rescued the Angels; so the Con Committee is in charge."

Crazy Eddie frowned. He turned to Fang. "Besides, the Angels aren't Guests of Honor, so your subcommittee's jurisdiction--"

"Sure they're GoH's," Mike interjected. "Who could be more honored at a Worldcon than a pair of spacemen? And they are our guests, Ergo: Guests of Honor."

"Spoken like a faaan, said Edward Two Bats. "Can't you understand? This is big. Bigger than Worldcon."

His eyes lit up, as if he had had a vision of the Holy Grail. There was a moment of hushed silence.

Alex spoke into it. "Excuse me. Do Gordon and I have any say in this?"

No, Fang replied after a moment's thought. "You aren't convention members. You don't get a vote."

"Say, that's right," said Mike. "They haven't paid the membership fee."

`That's silly," said Thor. "I'll lend them the ten bucks."

"We could DUFF them," Bruce suggested. "Plenty of money in the Down Under Fan Fund.

Fang shook his head. "No, that's to help Australians come to Worldcon. You guys aren't Australians, are you?"

Gordon looked bewildered. Alex shook his head.

Mike tried to look serious. "Well, but at the moment they are Down Under."

This announcement was greeted with respectful silence. Bruce nodded his head slowly. "I like it. I like it." He rapped the arm of his chair. "They are officially the DUFF members of this convention. As Con Chair, I so rule."

Three people spoke at once. "You can't do that! We have to take a vote."

Alex sighed and closed his eyes. Do they ever settle anything? He breathed in through his left nostril and out through-his right. It didn't help, but he was fascinated to learn he could do it, and it seemed at least as constructive as anything he was watching.

"Look," Crazy Eddie said, "this is serious!"

And yet--things were being settled. It was always a pleasure to watch a master craftsman at his job. Alex began to enjoy the way Bruce ran the meeting. Bruce played the committee the way a jazzman played his sax.

He played Mike and Fang against Eddie Two Bats and against each other. He worked subtly and indirectly, only rarely resorting to direct action. Bruce ran the show. Crazy Eddie tended to forget this every now and then, but nobody made an issue of it. Alex made a whispered comment to Sherrine.