Early the next morning, Andrews and Wright met in the Chicago Science Police field office.  They sat down in a room with four local agents.  Stacked on a conference table were five large cardboard boxes.  Wright looked at each person seated in turn.

“We have our work cut out for us this morning ladies.  Inside these boxes are as many of the threatening letters, unsettling telegrams, and creepy missives that the Ladybugs have received in the past twelve months, as a group or individuals, as we could get a hold of.  Lucky us.  We get to go through and read them.  I want them sorted by who they are targeting, the reason for the threat, their geographic origin, their likely source, and the threat level.”

The team sorted through the files by placing each of the items into matrix created by Agent Wright.  Sandwiches and coffee were brought in and they worked right through lunch and well past five o’clock in the evening.  In the end, they had 342 individual threats to investigate.

“All right,” said Wright.  “The most important factor is threat level. We begin farming these individual items to the field offices based on their geographic origin, but we do so in order of threat level, starting with the most severe.”

“That’s a lot of woman-power strung out all through the bureau, isn’t it?” asked Anna Finnegan, one of the local field agents.

“Chicago was willing enough to spare the four of you.  I’m sure that the other offices can spare a couple of agents to investigate someone living in their area.  We’ll all meet back here first thing tomorrow.”

“Agent Andrews…” two of the women started at once, and then looked at each other.

“If you’re not doing anything for dinner…” one of them continued.

“I’m sorry ladies, but my partner has a meeting,” said Wright.  “I however, would be happy to escort any or all of you to dinner.”

“I have a meeting?”  Andrews leaned over and asked.

“In the lobby.”

The lobby of the Grace Coolidge International Building, though spartan, was large.  It took a minute for Andrews to find his appointment waiting by feet of the statue of Justice.  He almost didn’t recognize Ep!phanee.  She was dressed in faded jeans and a Nehi Blue Cream Soda tee shirt.  Her hair was tucked up under a black military cap.

“Is somebody here with you?” he asked.

“Nope.  I ditched the cops back at the hotel.  Buy me a hotdog.”

“You shouldn’t be running around town without an escort.”

“Well I have one now.  Besides, I just want a hotdog.  There’s a hotdog cart just down on the corner.  I saw it on the cab ride over here.”

She took him by the arm and led him to the glass-enclosed front of the building, holding the door open for him. The hotdog vendor was stationed just where she had described, a chubby little woman with a striped shirt, a large stain covering most of the front.

“Two dogs,” Ep!phanee ordered, then turned to Andrews.  “What do you want on yours?”

“I don’t know; whatever’s customary.”

“Haven’t you ever had a hotdog before?”

He shook his head.  “German food’s not very popular in the enclaves.”

“Hotdogs are as American as apple pie. All right.  Bacon, beans, avocado, catsup, and mayonnaise.  Do you want jalapenos?”

“Yes please.”

“So you don’t have street food in the enclaves?”

“Sure.  Tacos– usually fish tacos, but sometimes grilled shrimp.”

The vendor handed Piffy the hotdogs, already loaded with beans and avocado.  Stepping to the end of the cart, she scooped on the jalapenos and then squirted on squiggly lines of red catsup and white mayonnaise.  Handing one of the dogs to Andrews, she watched as he took a tentative bite.  She then opened her mouth wide and shoved in about a third of hers.

“Good huh?” she asked, her mouth full.

He nodded and then took another bite. Ep!phanee began strolling down the sidewalk and even though she was moving slowly Andrews had to take a few quick steps to keep up.  He was still eating his hotdog as they walked, being careful not to spill the condiments on his jacket.  She finished first and dropped the little paper hotdog caddie in a trashcan beside the street.

“I should get you back to the hotel.”

“I’m staying in this hotel now.”

Andrews looked skyward to find that they were in front of the Palmer House.  When he looked back down, Ep!phanee was already going through the revolving door.  He stuffed the last bit of hotdog into his mouth and dropped the paper waste in a can beside the door, following her.  The lobby was huge, with a tiled vaulted ceiling that looked like it belonged in a cathedral.  Andrews felt self-conscious even walking on the rugs.

“Why are you staying here?”

“We have two more days in Chicago. I’ll go crazy if I’m cooped up with the girls the whole time.”

“You have two entire suites at the American.  And it’s under complete police protection.”

“I’ve got my own suite here.”  She twirled around a few times but kept on course for the elevator.  “It’s the same one Ulysses S. Grant stayed in.  He used to be on money, you know.”

She skipped into the elevator and he followed.  An attendant, a small woman in a tight red uniform, was waiting inside.

“Twenty-fifth floor,” said Ep!phanee.

The attendant nodded, and then turned the lever sending the car gliding swiftly upwards.

“Ulysses S. Grant died in 1885,” said Andrews.  “There weren’t any twenty-five story buildings in Chicago then.”

“I think I feel his presence though.”

“Uh-huh.”

Built in 1929, the Chicago Stadium was the largest indoor venue in the world, almost twice as large as Madison Square Gardens.  In its forty-six years of existence, it had hosted hockey and football games, presidential nominating conventions, rodeos, boxing tournaments, and the 1964, 1965, and 1966 Ladybugs tours.  Its seventeen thousand seat capacity made it a far smaller venue than Shea, but being indoors, with a permanent stage, had some advantages.  Crews had been working on the laser and lighting systems for weeks. A single song had been switched.  Casanovawas replaced by Paragon of Virtue, allowing the band to use the fabled 3,663 pipe Baron organ in the Madhouse on the Madison.

Andrews watched from just off stage as some local celebrity or other introduced the band.  He hadn’t been at the previous concert, but he had seen the segments on the news.  If anything, the screaming sounded louder here than it had at Shea Stadium, but at least when the music started you could hear it.  The band was making the transition from Peggy Sueto She’s My Dreamwhen Wright tapped him on the shoulder.

“Chicago PD says everything is secure.” She had to scream to make herself heard.

He nodded, and while she hurried back to her position, he took a deep breath, allowing himself to enjoy the experience of seeing his favorite band, the world’s favorite band, play their music. It was easy to see that the girls were more at ease than they had been.  During Lonely Girl, Ep!phanee, who played no instrument in the song, began leaping around in circles as she sang, just as she had in the early days.  The crowd ate it up.  Then during DistortionPenny, Piffy, and Steffie fell into a line and began strutting across the stage with almost military precision, finally sliding toward the audience on their knees as they played the final chords.

The drumbeat continued and the all three took their places to begin Under the Heel.  That’s when Andrews saw it.  There was a flash of light high up in the rafters above the audience.  It wasn’t the flash of a camera bulb, but of reflective light bouncing off a pane of glass—like the end lens of binoculars, or of a rifle’s scope.

Ducking around the back curtain and running through the cluttered backstage, he found scaffolding with a metal ladder at one end.  Grabbing hold of a rung, he pulled himself upwards.  By the time he was twenty feet above the ground, the scaffolding began to sway dangerously with every step, and he still had more than fifty feet to go. When he reached the top he was sure the swaying structure would go crashing to the ground at any second, but he was able to clamber off it and onto the catwalk that ran the length of the stadium.

The stadium lights were out.  All spots were on the performing band.  Even if they hadn’t been, Andrews probably wouldn’t have been able to see anything.  The catwalk ran above the lighting tracks, and the centermost section, where he had seen the flash, was a long way off.  He ducked lower and grabbed the rail, but he didn’t have the luxury of watching from where he was, or even of taking it slow.  Hunched over, he ran the length of the clattering, swaying metal walkway. The Ladybugs were playing the last chords of Artificial Manwhen he saw a human figure, not on the catwalk he was on, but one that intersected it.  He ran faster.

When the song ended, the screaming applause continued but it, unlike the music, was not amplified up near the ceiling. Andrews stood up straight, but didn’t slow down.  As he ran, he pulled the pistol from his shoulder holster.  He flipped on the power and it began to whine as the solenoid charged.

“Hold it!” he yelled.

The person turned, saw him, and ran, the catwalk taking her away at a diagonal.  Andrews stopped and took aim, but didn’t fire.  There was something in the shadowy figure’s hand, but he wasn’t sure it was a weapon.  He raced forward to where the two catwalks intersected, then turned and followed the other’s path.  By that time, whoever he was following was a tiny figure half lost in the darkness. Andrews ran on, even when he could no longer see the person he was pursuing, secure in the knowledge that they had to be on the catwalk.  But then he reached the end of the building to find a short ladder leading to a roof access door.  Climbing up the stairs, he put his left hand on the hatch, his right still holding his gun. He quickly opened the door and stepped out onto the roof.

The moon, fully obscured by smoky clouds, did little to aid him, but Andrews carefully made the circuit around the rooftop, stepping around air conditioning units and other equipment. Suddenly a figure in black jumped up right in front of him.

“Freeze!”

“Don’t shoot!  Don’t shoot!”

“Hands in the air!”

Andrews could now see that it was a woman in front of him, something he had naturally expected.  She was in her late twenties or early thirties and she was dressed in an imitation of Ep!phanee’s dark blue costume—spandex leggings and bustier, though her hair was oily brown rather than a bright blue and she didn’t have a nose ring.  He grabbed the object she held up in her right hand.  It proved to be a Leica 35mm camera.

“What were you doing on the catwalk?”

“Just watching the concert.  I couldn’t get tickets, but I’m the biggest Ladybugs fan in the world.”

“Andrews!” Wright called from the roof entrance.

“Over here!”

A moment later she arrived with two Chicago police officers in tow.

“How did you get up there, past the police line?” Andrews asked his prisoner.

“I have a friend on the force.”

Wright turned to the officers.  “I want that cop’s name and I want her tits in a vise!”

Both the uniforms looked appropriately chastened as they frisked and then cuffed the suspect.

“Can I have my camera back?”

“No,” said Andrews, as he switched off the power on his pistol and stuffed it back in its holster.

All four of the ladybugs were pleased to get out of New York early.  The stress of being locked up in their hotel under guard, and the threat against their lives, hung over them like a cloud.  Having the chance to spend two full days in Chicago before the concert, instead of only one was just as welcome.  Rather than chartering another dirigible, the band was given the use of an official government airship.

“I didn’t know a Science Police agent could summon a dirigible at her whim,” commented Ep!phanee to Agent Andrews.

“We can’t, but the Science Council can. There are quite a few Ladybugs fans among them, I’m sure, and I doubt that they want any of you to hitchhike to Chicago.”

Every schoolgirl knew that the Science Council ran the world.  They had since the great Science War, which began in 1956.  At that time the last remaining totalitarian rulers had tried to expand across Europe and Asia.  A coalition of nations picked themselves up from the depths of the Great Depression and fought back.  When the war was won, a new world government had been created.  Science Council members were chosen for their knowledge and wisdom and acted for the good of humanity.

Once the airship S.V. Rosalie Morton had left LaGuardia, the two agents continued their investigation.  Agent Wright spoke to each of the crewmembers and support staff of the band and Andrews interviewed the two remaining musicians.  The first was Penny Dreadful.  They met in Andrew’s cabin and sat at the small desk beside a large window as the clouds passed by outside.  She was a large woman, though not fat.  If she had been a building, she would have been called structurally sound.  And a skyscraper.  She was about five foot eleven.  She weighed around one hundred fifty pounds, a good thirty pounds heavier than she was on the old album covers, on which she had seemed extraordinarily skinny. The white corset, not quite reaching down to her waist left plenty of cleavage, and she wore long white gloves decorated with tiny pink bows.  Her white-layered net tutu skirt left fourteen inches of bare, white thighs above her knees, which were covered by white lace stockings.  She wore white combat boots.  Her huge mane of red hair was still styled in the dreadlocks she had worn on stage, and she had two huge hoop earrings and a smaller hoop in the middle of her lower lip.

“Thanks for seeing me,” he said.

“You’re kidding, right?  Before yesterday I’d never seen a man in real life before.  This is really a treat for me… you know, besides somebody trying to kill me and all.”

“So you think you are the target?”

She shrugged.  “Steffie’s probably right.  A lot of people were pissed off when Carpetmuncherhit the air.  That’s the name of the song, um… no offense.”

“I think it’s a great song,” he said.

“You’ve heard it?”

“I bought the album the day it came out.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.  I’m a huge Ladybugs fan, and that includes your solo albums.  I remember watching you on the Dorothy Kilgallen Show, and I had to present my PhD thesis the next day.  So you see; it’s an even bigger treat for me to be assigned here with you.”  He watched her for a moment, and then asked. “I’ve been north for two years now, but I still don’t really understand the anti-homosexual attitude.  There are plenty of women running around dressed as men, my partner for instance, with her little fake mustache.  It all seems pretty open.”

“Not really.  We’re still very parochial.  Even though men have been gone from most of society for years, there is the tradition around the world of women not going out unescorted.  So women like Agent Wright and Alexa Rothman, faux-men, are tolerated and even encouraged.  With no men to escort women, someone just had to take their place. Sex in some ways is really just an extension of that, but nobody talks about it.  Women pretend that faux-men are men and for the most part, treat them that way.  Women who openly have sexual relationships with other women, or at least with other women who look like women, are ostracized.”

“That’s the other thing that surprises me,” said Andrews.  “How women look.  Without many men around, I expected to see relatively few women putting on makeup, but you all do… except those pretending to be men.”

“I imagine that most men and women were surprised to find out how little women dressed up for men and how much they dressed up for each other.  It’s all about outdoing each other.  That includes painting our faces, and wearing jewelry.”

“Yes, I knew women pierced their ears, but I wasn’t expecting everything else.”

“Maybe sometime I’ll show you all my jewelry.”

This seemed as though it was meant to be suggestive, but Andrews couldn’t find anything particularly arousing in looking through a jewelry box.

“Besides those who are upset over homosexual content in the music, can you think of anyone else who might have something against you?”

She stared back, smiled, and then rolled up the bottom of the white corset to reveal her smooth featureless stomach.

“You mean because I have no belly button—because I’m a vat baby?”

“That’s one possibility.”

“That’s hardly my fault.  They should blame Anton Dilger, not me…  Are you all right?”

Andrews had turned white and his eyes widened.

“Are you all right?  Do you need the doctor?”

“No.”  He took a deep breath.  “No, I’m all right.  It’s just that… in the enclaves… we don’t ever say that name.  Not ever.  It’s worse than any profanity or blasphemy.  It’s just not tolerated.”

Penny nodded, tugging on the ring through her lower lip.

Safely tucked away on the top floor of the Armstrong, Ep!phanee took a long hot bath in the huge sunken tub, and then wrapped herself in one of the hotel’s complimentary fluffy robes and sat down in front of the radio-vid.  This one was a newer and more expensive model than the one on the dirigible.  It boasted a twenty-five inch screen and according to the logo was in living color, but the news program was still in black and white.

“… though at least fifteen are missing and presumed to be dead.  Speculation continues that the explosion was a result of a bomb and that it might have been an attempt on the lives of one or all of the members of the Ladybugs, whose sold out performance at Shea Stadium was called by more than one fan ‘the event of a lifetime’.”

“Don’t listen to that,” said Alexa, turning it off.

“The event of a lifetime?”

“Well, that part’s okay.  I don’t want you worrying about somebody trying to kill you though.  You’ve got to think about your music.”

“So you think someone was trying to kill us?”

Alexa frowned.  “Maybe.  Dirigibles don’t just blow up.  They’re not flammable.”

“Inflammable.”

“Right.  They’re inflammable, not flammable.”

“Inflammable and flammable mean the same thing.”

“Well they don’t catch fire very easily. When was the last time you heard of one catching fire or exploding on its own?”

“Never.”

“That’s right.  That’s why people fly in them instead of really big aeroplanes.”

Janet Shaw, one of the crewmembers, stuck her head into the room.  “Alexa, the Science Police are down at the lobby.  Should they come up?”

“Yes, send them up.”  Then turning back to Piffy, she made a face.  “Like I could stop the Science Police.”

By the time the Science Police arrived at the door, Steffie had come out of the shower in the other bathroom, Ruth had kicked off her boots and put her feet up, and Penny had assemble a huge burger from the tray sent up by room service.  She had a separate platter of fries.

“You’re going to get fat,” said Steffie. “Fatter.”

“Don’t even start, you boney-assed bitch,” Penny replied.

Piffy got up and followed Alexa to the door.  The two agents entered.  They were both about six feet tall, lean and muscular, with close-cropped hair, and sharp features.  They wore dark suits and one had a small mustache.  The one with the mustache spoke in a crisp, sharp soprano.

“I’m Agent Wright and this is Agent Andrews.”

When Alexa reached to shake Agent Wright’s hand, Ep!phanee automatically reached out to shake hands with Agent Andrews. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you,” said the agent.

Something suddenly rushed around in Piffy’s insides.  Her skin felt hot and her breath caught in her throat.  Other things were happening inside her too.  It was as if some kind of chemical reaction had opened the floodgates that held back rivers of hormones.

“Holy shit,” she said.  “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.  You’re a man.”

“That’s right.”

“No, I mean you’re a man—a real one.”

“Yes, I know.”

Agent Wright cast a sidelong glance at Agent Andrews, who returned the look with a shrug.  Piffy looked at the former.

“Are you?  No, I see you’re not.”

“Nice mustache though,” offered Alexa.

“Thank you.  I made it with my own hair.”

“May we come in and talk with you?” asked Agent Andrews.

The other women, who had rushed over to see what Ep!phanee was so excited about, now were loath to move away from the door, each feeling something akin to what she had felt.  Alexa finally had to physically push them aside so that the agents could lead them back to the living area where they all sat down near Steffie, the only one who had not rushed to the door.

“Where are you from?” Piffy asked Agent Andrews.

“Cape Horn enclave.”

“Aren’t you afraid of the disease?” asked Steffie.

“Are you married?” asked Ruth.

“We need to ask you the questions, I’m afraid,” said Agent Wright.  “The NYPD has made a preliminary finding that it was a bomb on your dirigible that caused the explosion at LaGuardia.  We have to assume that it was an attempt on your lives.  That’s why we’re here.”

“We need any information you might have on anyone who might want to do you harm,” said Agent Andrews.  “Have you received any recent threats, either as a group or individually?”

“I like it when he talks,” said Ruth.

“The group has gotten hundreds of death threats since last year, and they’ve gotten them as individuals for years,” said Alexa.

“Some more than others,” said Steffie, looking at Penny, who glared back at her.

“We’ll need copies of all of those, plus we’re going to need to interview each of you separately; you and your crew members.”

“Can’t that wait until tomorrow?” asked Alexa.  “It’s past midnight and the girls are exhausted.”

“Perhaps that would be best,” said Agent Andrews.  “We’ll meet here first thing in the morning.  In the meantime we have posted police officers outside your door, at the elevator, stairwell, and at every building entrance.  You’ll be safe here tonight.”

As the agents were leaving E!piphanee pulled Agent Wright aside.

“I felt something when I… um, met your partner.”

Rain beat against the wide windows of the promenade deck as the massive form of the S.S. Lady of Angels descended through the clouds.  The dirigible, one of the largest in the air, had made the trip from Los Angeles to New York in just over twenty-six hours, almost two full hours ahead of schedule. In a few minutes, the mooring team would have it fastened to the ground at LaGuardia, and its passengers would be disembarking.  The great golden craft was one of the latest generation of airships.  Massive, as if someone had turned the Empire State Building on its side and launched it through the air; fast, propelled by six huge steam powered propellers; but unlike the other two dozen gigantic vessels at the airport, the Lady of Angels had only a few passengers—the four members of the rock band the Ladybugs, their managers, staff, and crew.

“Is it going to be raining at Shea Stadium?” asked Ruth De Molay, her island accent a blend of American and British dialect.

“Yes,” answered Alexa Rothman, “but don’t worry; you’ll have a cover over you.”

“I assume the electrical will be covered too,” said Ruth, but to this there was no answer.

“We’re on the radio-vid again,” said Steffie Sin, peering at the nineteen-inch monochrome monitor on the wall.  A female reporter spoke into a microphone.

“It’s less than two hours before what some have dubbed ‘the concert of the century’ tonight at Shea Stadium, where performing live for the first time in ten years, the greatest rock combo of all time will begin the American leg of a historic world tour.”  The image on the screen switched from the attractive female reporter to images of thousands taking their places in the stadium.  “The Ladybugs burst onto the world stage in 1963, the head of the female invasion with their cover of Buddy Holly’s Peggy Sue.  This was followed by a string of hits, most written by the band’s four members.  At one point in 1965 the group held sixteen spots concurrently on Billboard’s top one hundred singles chart.  Releasing two to three albums a year and maintaining a grueling tour schedule kept the Ladybugs at the top, but then in 1967, weary of life on the road they moved to their studios in the Virgin Islands, where they released such cutting edge studio albums as Blessed Nobody, Platinum Dream, and the self-titled double album.  Even as their last two albums were being marketed however, longstanding personality and management conflicts within the group broke it apart, and in 1970 the band split up, many believed forever.  Now, five years later, hot on the heels of the Christmas release of Rebel Girls, the band makes its triumphant return to the concert stage.”

The great dirigible had dropped below the cloudbank now, turning majestically to start its final descent. Stretching out into the distance, one could make out the pillars of smoke rising from a thousand different smokestacks, each belonging to one of the many, many gigantic steam engines that provided electricity for New York City.  The reporter on the radio-vid continued.

“We have confirmation that the band’s airship is now arriving at the airport.  All four members are confirmed to be aboard.  As everyone knows, the Ladybugs are Steffie Sin, Penny Dreadful (born Penelope Dearborn) both of Los Angeles; Ep!phanee (born Theresa Maria Bergman) of Stockholm; and Ruth De Molay, a native of the Virgin Islands. Ep!phanee and Dreadful have both released a series of successful solo albums while Sin and De Molay have released music more sporadically, the latter focusing on a successful movie career while the former has spent a great deal of time in seclusion in Switzerland.”

“Turn that shit off,” said Penny.

“I want to hear what people are saying about us,” replied Ruth.

“Don’t pay any attention to her,” said Steffie.  “She’s just pissed off because they used her real name on the air.”

“Penny Dreadful is my real name.  I had it legally changed.”  She looked like she wanted to say more, but at that moment the captain’s Texas drawl came over the speaker.

“Attention passengers.  As we come in for a landing at LaGuardia, I’d like to express thanks on behalf of myself and the company to all of you for flying Pan American Lines, and on a personal note I’d like to say what a privilege it is to pilot the greatest musicians of all time to their first concert of the decade. The crew and I will be looking forward to transporting you safely to Chicago in two days time.  In the meantime, break a leg.  Here in Queens, the temperature is a balmy 62 degrees and the local time is 6:55 PM.”

“She has a lovely voice,” said Penny.

“She doesn’t know shit about music though,” said Steffie.  “If we’re the greatest musicians of all time, where do you rate Mozart, Beethoven, or Enrico Caruso?”

“Do we have time to get to the stadium?” asked Ruth.

“No problem,” assured Alexa, “assuming Piffy has her hair done.”

The last two hours had been spent getting ready for the concert.  The band members had donned their custom-made outfits, each a very expensive update of the costumes they had worn on their 1964 tour.  They consisted of spandex leggings and a matching bustier.  Penny’s was bright red to match her hair which been carefully formed into faux dreads.  Steffie’s was black, contrasting with her platinum blond tresses, which were braided into two massive pony tails and interwoven with white and black ribbon.  Ruth’s outfit was blue and a blue headband held her natural dreadlocks back.

“I’m ready,” said Ep!phanee standing in the doorway in her own blue outfit, her bright blue hair styled into two buns, one on either side of her head.

The great dirigible made its landing and the crew began hustling instruments to one of the six large airflivvers parked nearby.  The band waited impatiently beneath the humongous fuselage for their vehicle to be ready. Each had pulled on their goggles. The air, while breathable, would burn one’s eyes in a very short time without protection.

Alexa stepped close to them. “We’re going in four separate flivvers.”

“Why?” asked Ep!phanee.

“Safety.”

“They got another death threat on me,” said Penny.

“It’s that damned song,” said Steffie.  “I told you it was going to be trouble.  People aren’t ready to accept homosexuals.”