Loudons looked over his shoulder at the photostated magazine page.
“Well, we know it was between June thirteen and nineteen, inclusive,” he said. “And there’s a picture of the university president, complete with gold-plated spade, breaking ground. Call it Wednesday, the sixteenth. Over there’s the tip of the shadow of the old Cathedral of Learning, about a hundred yards away. There are so many inexactitudes that one’ll probably cancel out another.”
“That’s so, and it’s also pretty futile getting angry at somebody who’s been dead two hundred years, but why couldn’t they say Wednesday, or Monday, or Saturday, or whatever?” He checked back in the astronomical handbook, and the photostated pages of the old almanac, and looked over his calculations. “All right, here’s the angle of the shadow, and the compass-bearing. I had a look, yesterday, when I was taking the local citizenry on that junket. The old baseball diamond at Forbes Field is plainly visible, and I located the ruins of the Cathedral of Learning from that. Here’s the above-sea-level altitude of the top of the tower. After you’ve landed us, go up to this altitude—use the barometric altimeter, not the radar—and hold position.”
Loudons leaned forward from the desk to the contraption Altamont had rigged in the nose of the helicopter—one of the telescope-sighted hunting rifles clamped in a vise, with a compass and a spirit-level under it.
“Rifle’s pointing downward at the correct angle now?” he asked. “Good. Then all I have to do is hold the helicopter steady, keep it at the right altitude, level, and pointed in the right direction, and watch through the sight while you move the flag around, and direct you by radio. Why wasn’t I born quintuplets?”
“Mr. Altamont! Dr. Loudons!” a voice outside the helicopter called. “Are you ready for us, now?”
Altamont went to the open door and looked out. The old Toon Leader, the Reader, Toon Sarge Hughes, his son, and four young men in buckskins with slung rifles, were standing outside.
“I have decided,” the Tenant said, “that Mr. Rawson and Sarge Hughes and I would be of more help than an equal number of younger men. We may not be as active, but we know the old ruins better, especially the paths and hiding places of the Scowrers. These four young men you probably met last evening; it will do no harm to introduce them again. Birdy Edwards; Sholto Jiminez; Jefferson Burns; Murdo Olsen.”
“Very pleased, Tenant, gentlemen. I met all you young men last evening; I remember you,” Altamont said. “Now, if you’ll all crowd in here, I’ll explain what we’re going to try to do.”
He showed them the old picture. “You see where the shadow of a tall building falls?” he asked. “We know the location and height of this building. Dr. Loudons will hold this helicopter at exactly the position of the top of the building, and aim through the sights of the rifle, there. One of you will have this flag in his hand, and will move it back and forth; Dr. Loudons will tell us when the flag is in the sight of the rifle.”
“He’ll need a good pair of lungs to do that,” Verner Hughes commented.
“We’ll use radio. A portable set on the ground, and the helicopter’s radio set.” He was met, to his surprise, with looks of incomprehension. He had not supposed that these people would have lost all memory of radio communication.
“Why, that’s wonderful!” the Reader exclaimed, when he explained. “You can talk directly; how much better than just sending a telegram!”
“But, finding the crypt by the shadow; that’s exactly like the—” Murray Hughes began, then stopped short. Immediately, he began talking loudly about the rifle that was to be used as a surveying transit, comparing it with the ones in the big first-floor room at the Aitch-Cue House.
Locating the point on which the shadow of the old Cathedral of Learning had fallen proved easier than either Altamont or Loudons had expected. The towering building was now a tumbled mass of slagged rubble, but it was quite possible to determine its original center, and with the old data from the excellent reference library at Fort Ridgeway, its height above sea level was known. After a little jockeying, the helicopter came to a hovering stop, and the slanting barrel of the rifle in the vise pointed downward along the line of the shadow that had been cast on that afternoon in June, 1993, the cross hairs of the scope-sight centered almost exactly on the spot Altamont had estimated on the map. While he peered through the sight, Loudons brought the helicopter slanting down to land on the sheet of fused glass that had once been a grassy campus.
“Well, this is probably it,” Altamont said. “We didn’t have to bother fussing around with that flag, after all. That hump, over there, looks as though it had been a small building, and there’s nothing corresponding to it on the city map. That may be the bunker over the stairhead to the crypt.”
They began unloading equipment—a small portable nuclear-electric conversion unit, a powerful solenoid-hammer, crowbars and intrenching tools, tins of blasting-plastic. They took out the two hunting rifles, and the auto-carbines, and Altamont showed the young men of Murray Hughes’ detail how to use them.
“If you’ll pardon me, sir,” the Tenant said to Altamont, “I think it would be a good idea if your companion went up in the flying machine and circled around over us, to keep watch for Scowrers. There are quite a few of them, particularly farther up the rivers, to the east, where the damage was not so great and they can find cellars and shelters and buildings to live in.”
“Good idea; that way, we
