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interior, though blackness still enclosed them on all sides. Frank hastily
grabbed the wheel and hit the brake. Not even an impossible rescue could save
them if he drove over the edge of the plateau. Claws and rasping tongues
scratched at the windshield in frustrated fury. Only a few isolated puffs of
darkness remained inside the motor home, and the angelfish were methodically
herding them outside. Frank gaped at the tall young man standing behind him.
"Steven?"
The unanticipated visitor smiled. Only then did Frank recognize his son.
"Sorry I took so long to get here, Dad, but it was a long way and I
wanted to be sure I could do something when I got back."
Instead of the overweight, slightly porcine ten-year-old raised on a steady
diet of junk food and junk television, the Steven leaning against the back of
Flucca's chair stood six-three and weighed a compact two twenty. He'd aged
along with his inexplicable growth. Frank would have guessed him to be
twenty-seven or twenty-eight.
He was clad in a sheepskin vest with the fleece facing outward, over a red and
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blue pearl-buttoned Western shirt. Below were jeans, snakeskin belt, and
leather chaps beneath which boots flashed. Boots and shirt tabs were capped
with gold. His Western hat was dusty brown encircled by a second reptilian
band. Ivory-handled Colts rested in holsters slung from his belt, along with a
shining lariat fashioned of something other than hemp. Always the would-be
cowboy, Frank mused.
"I've heard about kids who grew up too fast," Flucca commented, "but this is
ridiculous."
Steven smiled at him. Gone along with the fat was any suggestion of hesitation
or uncertainty. He'd been transformed emotionally as well as physically.
"Nothing's ridiculous about obulating."
"What the hell is that, anyway?" his father demanded to know.
Steven pushed his hat back on his forehead. "It's kinda hard to describe. You
might think of it as experience attained through travel. It's like reading a
book only you're in it for real. Helps you mature in a hurry."
"No kiddin'."
"I've been through a lot of realities, Dad. It was a help to have guides." He
indicated the three hovering angelfish. "On the other hand, I'm afraid I'm
overqualified for Little League now." He gazed out the front window. "Looks
like the crisis has come. All reality's at stake. I've learned a lot about
reality and unreality. I figure I've acquired enough experience to be of some
help."
"Someone sings," said one of the angelfish, "and sings beautifully."
"It will restore the Spinner's rhythm," said one of the orange fish, "but only
if she is given time to finish. We must restrain the Anarchis a little
longer."
"That's what we've been trying to do." Frank kept a wary eye on the angry
darkness beyond the glass as he spoke. "It's like trying to fight smoke."
"You have done well," the other orange fish told him. "Steel is good for
weakening Chaos. Aluminum is better still. Now we can help, too." It was
drifting less than a foot from Frank's face now, regarding him from the bottom
of flat black eyes. Disconcerted, Frank looked past it toward his son.
"What can I do?"
"Drive on," said one of the other fish.
Despite his fears Frank was more than happy to follow instructions for a
change. For a second time the motor home burst clear of the Anarchis. As soon
as they emerged he saw they were more than halfway across the plateau.
Dark tendrils the size of trees were reaching for the three musicians
performing perilously near the edge. Alicia's self-confidence might hold it
back for a moment or two, but no longer. Then they would find themselves
enveloped, together with reality's last hope.
Frank drove a little nearer oblivion than he would have preferred, but they
needed the additional room. Already the Anarchis reached skyward,
obscuring the cliffs from view and expanding to cover the entire plateau. As
it advanced, the little yellow flowers closed up and grass wilted. The cloud
of desperate hummingbirds and riders were forced into a steadily shrinking
portion of plateau.
The door slammed. A moment later Steven appeared in front of the motor home.
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