Part 32 (2/2)

”-and when it hit the fan, you were gone,” Jeremy concluded.

”We were around,” Khrushchev said. ”In fact, I b.u.t.ted in when Vale was about to die in a head-on collision, and again when he was being stoned.” He glanced sidelong at Eisenhower. ”Even though I wasn't supposed to.”

Eisenhower smiled. ”Oh, no? I swore that I wouldn't intervene, but I didn't say anything about you.”

Khrushchev glowered. ”You're a jerk!”

Eisenhower chuckled again. ”Despite that, our job is finished, and we can return to noncorporeality.”

”What do you mean, 'your job is finished'?” Cathy said. ”If anything, the violence of tonight's mob, and of the mobs all over the world, has proven that the fleshbound have no right to Seeker status. You were wrong, and we were right.”

Eisenhower raised an index finger. ”Except that you two are already Seekers, and yet you also committed violence. You each leaped upon a man and forced him to the floor without considering that you might harm him.”

”That was necessary!” Jeremy said.

”And spur-of-the-moment!” Cathy added.

Khrushchev gave them a stern look, and they bit their lower lips. ”Gotcha,” Eisenhower said.

”We tried another way first,” Jeremy said. ”You've got to give us that.”

Eisenhower nodded. ”Indeed. By projecting Holly's image-or rather, by helping Vale do so-you achieved our pro-flesh goal. In effect, you defeated yourselves.”

Cathy crossed her arms and glared. ”How's that?”

”First,” Eisenhower said, ”you proved that Seekers themselves still possess the capacity for violence.

How, then, can we deny Seeker status to the fleshbound on the grounds that they too possess this capacity?

”Second, you gave a crowd of the fleshbound a chance to prove that they possess qualities beyond violence. When they saw what was happening to Holly, their anger became wonder-which is precisely what started us on the path to becoming Seekers so many centuries ago.”

”They were just drugged by television!” Cathy snapped.

Khrushchev shook his head, and his jowls quivered. ”Regular programming didn't resume until after Holly left Ganymede. Besides, the subversion of violence didn't only occur here, but everywhere that Holly's departure was seen.”

Jeremy made a noise in his throat. ”Uh, Cath, maybe they're right. Maybe we-”

”No! the fleshbound don't deserve the galaxy. I won't be a party to giving it to them.”

”You don't have to be,” Eisenhower said. ”Our faction has compromised: If we're right, and the fleshbound are worthy, this episode will persuade them to put aside their violence and let their wonder take them to Ganymede. Only then will they find the key to our existence as Seekers.”

”It's hidden in the guitar,” Khrushchev added.

Cathy and Jeremy looked at each other, then at the floor.

”Nick and I must be going now,” Eisenhower said. ”Thank you both for your help. We'd stay longer, but we're tired of the flesh.” Smiling and waving, he left.

Khrushchev scratched his head. ”This might be against the rules of party politics, but you guys look beat.

If you want to get out of those bodies without driving back to Topeka, you're welcome to join us. The device is in the refinery stack.” He followed Eisenhower.

Jeremy scuffed a shoe. ”You know, Cath, if the flesh-bound can't squelch their violence, they'll waste all of their off-earth technology on orbital war machines. They'll never get to Ganymede.”

”Not for a long time, anyway,” Cathy said. ”Maybe we won.”

”Maybe n.o.body won,” Jeremy said.

They looked at each other again. ”Let's gohome,” they said together.

Three minutes later, four bright spheres rose from the refinery tower's flame, spiraled up to the snow clouds, and were gone.

epilogue.

Sunday, March 19, 1989.I never did make it to Lubbock, but that's okay. Lubbock is eternal.

After the events at SkyVue, the Authorities questioned my companions and released them. I, however, was kept in ”protective custody” for ten days, first in Wichita and then in Was.h.i.+ngton, during which time representatives of the KBI, FCC, FBI, SEC, BIB, NSC, CIA (probably), DIA (possibly), and various other sets of initials took turns interrogating me. I was X-rayed, CAT-scanned, HTLV-tested, probed, poked, and prodded. They no doubt would have kept me forever if not for two things: I had become famous (network news crews pounced every time I was moved), and I was the client of one of the most obnoxious attorneys in the history of the profession. Not an evening pa.s.sed that Bruce's face didn't appear on the tube, yammering that I had committed no crime (other than Resisting Arrest, Interstate Flight, Attempted Kidnapping, Trespa.s.sing, and Disorderly Conduct, none of which he mentioned), that there was no evidence to suggest that I had, and that the Authorities had better brace themselves for one humongous monster daddy of a lawsuit.

Eventually, they had to kick me, but they made it clear that I had better be willing to cooperate if they should need me for anything. They didn't specify what ”anything” might be, and so far, I haven't had to find out.

Bruce and Sharon brought me home on February 18, and I found my mother's house in a shambles (although in better shape than it would have been if Boog hadn't stayed there while I was in Was.h.i.+ngton).

The pieces of my SkyVue dish were strewn across the backyard; s.h.i.+ngles were missing from the roof; records and CDs were jumbled on the floors; and my black Stratocaster was smashed.

Beyond refiling the music, I did little to repair the damage. This was because Sharon told me that she detected signs of stress in my behavior, and that in order to avoid ”problems” (i.e., a trip to the state hospital), I should take steps to purge myself. Such action might also help me, she said, to ”integrate” my recent experiences with the rest of my life. I found it amusing that she a.s.sumed I would want to do that.

Nevertheless, I took her advice, and for the past thirty days I've been constructing what amounts to my own Volume I. Frankly, I don't feel much better; but it seems to have made Sharon happy.

All of my new friends, plus Boog's seventeen-year-old son, ”Spud,” arrived this past Friday to spend the weekend helping me put the house back together. Even better, Boog has completed the restoration of Peggy Sue. In fact, my knee is so much improved that I even rode the bike to Topeka yesterday to fetch some parts Laura needed for the earth station. The road felt as smooth as blue sky.

From here in my bedroom, I can hear Laura and ”Spud” working on the SkyVue... Gretchen and Mike arguing about the Strategic Defense Initiative... Boog and Pete hammering s.h.i.+ngles... Bruce and Sharon struggling to make lunch in the Meltdown Machine... and Buddy singing ”Listen to Me” on the living-room stereo. Ringo is lying on the floor beside my chair, chewing on an old railroad spike. I have gained a family, with all of the mingled love and squabbling implied therein. It seems a miracle that they all joined me at SkyVue when I needed them, and it seems an even greater miracle that they still haven't abandoned me. If I believed in Mother's ”other world,” I would say that somebody up there was taking care of me.

However, despite all that I've seen and heard, I am unwilling to follow in her footsteps that far. I have decided that my former neighbors, Cathy and Jeremy, were crazy. The Spirit Land, where warriors go after death, exists only in the movies.

But when a thirty-years-gone Texan appeared on TV and his grave was found empty, ”death” became a relative term....

My Volume I is ending with good omens, I think: Bruce has turned out to be likable despite his annoying personality and repulsive eyebrows, and he and Sharon seem stronger in their Relations.h.i.+p. (Sharon, by the way, is embarking on research into the ma.s.s psychological effects of the Holly broadcast, and she claims to have already discovered one startling worldwide statistic. Despite the angry mobs, she says, there were actually fewer deaths by violence during that four-day period than during any comparable period throughout the preceding year.) Pete and Gretchen became engaged while repairing the Kamikaze. They have yet to have a fight, although that may be because Gretchen does all of her arguing with Mike.

Mike and his New Radicals are driving their local school board berserk. By May, they hope to have extended their influence north to Oklahoma City and west to Amarillo.

Laura has gotten over her crush on me and is making googoo eyes with ”Spud.” It will be interesting to see what develops, because she's going to MIT in the fall, and he's going to Baja to eat peyote.

Ringo is happy with his blue eye again.

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