Her mother answered the phone and told me that I shouldn't be calling after ten, and in any event Cheryl didn't want to speak with me. Before I could protest, or plead, the line clicked.

I tried again in the morning, and I did speak to Cheryl this time, but it would have been better if I hadn't.

She and her parents had fought about me on Wednesday evening, she said. They had charged that I had a crazy mother and that I was no good either. Then, when I hadn't shown up for our drive, Cheryl had decided that they were right.

She told me that she wouldn't keep our rendezvous the next day because she had another date. I called her a b.i.t.c.h and slammed down the receiver.

That afternoon I picked up my check and went out with my hay-hauling buddies. One of them was eighteen, so he took some of our money and converted it into five cases of Coors. We drank a case, and then we bought our way into the various topless bars that lined the southernmost mile of Topeka Boulevard. We drank more beer at those places (two of which we were thrown out of because I tried to join the girls onstage) and tipped lavishly, and when our cash was gone, we went in search of female companions to help us with our remaining four cases. We didn't find any. But we were men, we bellowed. We could drink them all ourselves.

I was sick twice that night that I remember, and probably more times that I don't. My friends went home before dawn, and I called them all p.u.s.s.ies. Sometime after the sun was well up, I awoke in the Dart on the edge of a country road. My eyes had been rubbed with handfuls of sand, my tongue was a lump of dry cotton, and my stomach was bubbling into my throat. Sections of my skull were pulling apart. The Dart was full of empty and half-empty Coors cans, and beer slimed the seats, the floor, the dash, and the steering wheel. The stench was unbelievable. I rolled down the window and got my head outside before heaving, but I had emptied myself in the night.

The strength I had gained over the summer had drained away, leaving chewed gelatin in place of muscle.

It took me awhile to figure out that I was only a few miles from home. I didn't remember getting there, but was glad that I had. A few miles was as far as I would be able to drive.

I managed to park in the driveway, and then, stooped over because of the agony in my head, I went around to the back door in hopes of avoiding Mother. But I had to go through the kitchen, and she was eating lunch.

"Would you like a sandwich?" she asked.

It made me furious. Just once, I wanted her to act like a real parent. Just once, I wanted to hear the I-sacrificed-to-raise-you-and-now-look-at-what-you've-done speech that everyone I knew had gotten on such occasions. The only speech I had ever gotten was the don't-get-anyone-pregnant one.

"What's the matter with you?" I yelled. "I gotdrunk! I'm underage, and I went totopless bars! I stayed out twenty-four hours! Weren't you afraid that I wasdead?"

"No," she said. "My friends and I held a seance last night. We contacted Elvis, and he told us that you were drinking, but that you would be fine. He said that you would sleep in your car on a country road close to home and that no one would bother you. I asked to talk to Buddy, but Elvis said he didn't see him anywhere."

I went into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. The next day I left for K-State.

I didn't come back until Friday, October 21.

I went to two morning cla.s.ses that day, and then I read a newspaper during my lunch break. Afterward, I got into the Dart and headed for home. In so doing, I skipped a Calculus exam and failed to turn in a U.S. History essay.

The newspaper had told me that the night before, a plane had crashed near Gillsburg, Mississippi. Three members of Lynyrd Skynyrd, including Ronnie Van Zant, had been killed. Ronnie had sung "Free Bird"

for the last time on earth. His next concert would be in the Spirit Land.

If they had died any other way, I might have stayed in Manhattan. I would have mourned, but I would have taken my exam and turned in the essay. But they had been in a small plane, flying from one gig to another. And three of them had died.

I had been home for two hours when Mother returned from work. She didn't ask why I was there. What she said was, "I'm glad you're here, Buddy." I let it pa.s.s.

We didn't sit in the backyard that night. The musicians who had just pa.s.sed on had not been like Elvis, who had believed in his own immortality. They would not have waited a day before leaving.

When the weekend was over, I went back to K-State and finished the semester, although I received a C in History and a D in Calculus for an eighteenth birthday present. I even started the spring '78 semester, but Fate had decreed that I was destined for something other than a Bachelor's degree. I came home atspring break and didn't go back. By April, I had a job as a salesman at a stereo shop in Topeka.

Mother was delighted that I was home, so I warned her that it would only be until I could afford my own apartment. She said that was fine. Infrequently, but often enough to irritate me, she called me by the name of a dead man.

In June, I went to an ophthalmologist and ordered contact lenses. When they arrived, I put my gla.s.ses away in a drawer.

I fell asleep on Pete's couch again, so I didn't leave on Sunday night as I was supposed to. When I awoke, it was Monday morning, and I told myself that it had been better to stay at the Holdens' and blow my travel strategy than it would have been to fall asleep at sixty miles per hour. I was rationalizing, but because of the way things were about to happen, I was right. For the wrong reasons.

Mike and Laura were in the dining room arguing with Pete about going to school. "n.o.body'll be there today," Mike said. "There's a world crisis in progress, Dad."

"No school closings have been announced on the radio," Pete said.

"So where's the bus?" Laura asked. "It's twenty minutes late."

"Take the Dart," Pete said.

I got up from the couch and staggered toward them. "You have a Dart?"

"Behind the garage," Pete said.

"It's junk," Mike added.

"But it runs," Laura said. She and Mike went out through the kitchen.

"Mother and I used to have a Dart," I said.

Pete looked at me quizzically. "You feel okay?"

I didn't. Not only was I groggy, but I had slept with my contacts in, and my eyes felt like b.a.l.l.s of vacuum-cleaner dirt. I shuffled past Pete, through the kitchen, and into the bathroom to try to revive myself. While there, I found my clean laundry folded on the sink counter, so I changed out of Pete's coveralls.

When I emerged, Pete was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. A radio on the table was murmuring to him.

"Guess I lost the advantage of driving at night," I said.

Pete nodded. "Yeah, but I figured that if you were that tired, you weren't in any shape to ride anyway.

Daylight or not, though, you have to go now, because my friend Curt will be back." He took a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and dropped it on the table. "I've refueled Peggy Sue and drawn a map of a route to Lubbock that ought to keep you clear of cops." "I'll pay you for the gas."

"Don't be stupid. Just grab some breakfast and get going. Cereal's in the cupboard, milk's in the fridge."

I went to get the cereal, and Pete turned up the radio.

"-can only speculate on how the grave came to be disturbed," the announcer said, "but the primary theory is that Oliver Vale came to Lubbock and exhumed the casket. No one, however, has any idea of how he could have done so, by himself, while the cemetery was being watched by police officers and several civilian volunteers. One officer was heard to say nothing of this earth could have done such a thing...."

I dashed back to the table.

"Once again, this morning's top story," the announcer said. "In Lubbock, Texas, the grave of Buddy Holly has been discovered open, and the casket is gone. No explanation is apparent, although Oliver Vale is believed to be in the city and is being searched for. We'll have more details as they become available. Meanwhile, the s.p.a.ce-based broadcast purporting to be of Holly is continuing to supersede all terrestrial video signals." The announcer paused. "G.o.d help us."

Pete turned the radio down to a murmur again. "Didn't ride to Lubbock and back overnight, did you?"

he asked.

I sat down heavily. "I was going there to see if Buddy had arisen, and now they tell me that he has.

Besides which, they're searching for me there...." I hadn't thought beyond my destination, and now that the reason for that destination had been obliterated, I felt purposeless.

"So go home," Pete said.

"What home? It'll be picked to pieces by now."

"You don't know that. But even if it is, you still have to go back. Now that Lubbock is out, your home is your only link to what's happening. Buddy's been giving out your address and telling people to contact you there, so maybe it isn't you that's important, but the address. The place."

Something in my brain wentwhang. "Mother's dish," I said.

"What's that?"

I stood and began to pace. "The SkyVue satellite dish she bought in '83. In Volume VII of her diary, just before she died, she claimed that it helped her communicate with a weird 'other world' populated by the ghosts of ancient Atlanteans. She had done it before with seances, she said, but the dish was better.

When she bought the thing, I thought she only wanted more channels. Should have known."

Pete stood as well. "That's it, then."

I stared at him. "Pete, my mother wascrazy."

"So is the idea that Buddy Holly is performing on Ganymede. Look, I learned from your uncle that when the universe turns out to be insane, the wise man embraces insanity. Your mother's claims for her satellite dish were crazy when the world was sane, but now they make as much sense as anything else. Maybeshe really did communicate with another world through that dish. Maybe she put the idea of Buddy Holly into alien beings' heads, or whatever they have instead of heads. Maybe that dish is a link to whoever's responsible for mucking up television-and for pointing a finger at you."

"If that's the case," I said, "then I don't want to go back."

"I'll take the Kamikaze and go with you," Pete said. "If the aliens come for you, we can outrun 'em."

That too was insane, and so it made perfect sense. I agreed to go home, as long as I could ride Peggy Sue while Pete followed in the Kamikaze. I couldn't abandon the Ariel after all we'd been through, could I?.

"We'll be conspicuous in daylight, but we can't wait until dark," Pete said. "So let's get going. I'll leave Laura and Mike a note. They're old enough to take care of themselves for a day or two, especially with Ringo for protection."

"What about Gretchen?"

Pete shrugged. "I guess she's old enough to take care of herself too. And I don't think she needs any protection."

We prepared to leave. I was in the Moonsuit and waiting for Pete in the living room when Ringo burst up the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs and began barking furiously.

Pete came out of his bedroom with an olive-drab backpack slung over one shoulder. "What's with the dog?" he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the barking. "Did you hit the b.u.t.ton on your remote?"

I was sure that I hadn't. "I put it back in its pocket before supper last night, and I haven't touched it since."

"Maybe you b.u.mped it while you were pulling on your coveralls." He headed toward the bas.e.m.e.nt door. "I'll enter a message for the kids on Laura's computer. That's the first place she'll go when she gets home." As Pete went downstairs, the Doberman, still barking, went with him. I followed.

Laura's room was dominated by a long table that held a Mac, a video monitor displaying a stretch of country road, and oscilloscopes, receivers, transmitters, and other gadgets, including Ringo's blue eye.

"Impressive, huh?" Pete said as he sat down at the Mac and began typing. "I paid for the flying lessons, but she bought all of this herself. She does systems consulting at eighty bucks an hour, when she can get it." He saw me looking at the video monitor. "The road surveillance camera was Mike's idea. They started setting it up while you and I were working on your Ariel yesterday. It took them longer than they thought it would, though. If they'd had it ready sooner, I'd've known Curt was coming. Not that it would have made much difference."

"They should've asked me for help," I said. "I'm a whiz at that sort of c.r.a.p." I thought, not for the first time, that it was the only thing Iwas a whiz at.

Ringo let out a howl, put his front paws on the table, and rubbed his nose against the monitor. Pete and I looked at the picture but saw nothing. Ringo barked at us. Then, far down the road, a black speck appeared.

I yelled and ran for the stairs, Ringo bounding ahead of me. As we reached the living room, Gretchen emerged from the spare bedroom.

"What's all the G.o.dd.a.m.n noise?" she asked.

"The Bald Avenger's coming!"

I must have run to the utility room, pulled on my helmet and gloves, and sprinted to the garage with Pete and Gretchen close behind. The next thing I remember clearly is being on Peggy Sue, following the Oklahoma Kamikaze down the driveway at gravel-slinging speed. Gretchen was in the Barracuda with Pete, and Ringo was running alongside me and the Ariel. The Doberman stopped at the mouth of the driveway.

As Peggy Sue bounced onto the road, I saw that the Bald Avenger's Jaguar was within a hundred yards.

The Kamikaze ran right at it, and the Jaguar swerved toward the ditch. The Kamikaze blew past, and the bike and I squeezed by just as the Jaguar began to swerve back to block our path.

I didn't look behind to see whether the Jaguar was able to turn around in the narrow, muddy road. I knew, though, that Ringo wouldn't let it use the driveway. He had elected to stay behind and guard the Holden homestead.

When we reached the highway, Pete waved for me and Peggy Sue to take the lead. "We slipped him!"

he yelled out his window as the Ariel and I pa.s.sed, and indeed, the Jaguar was nowhere in sight. But I didn't expect that to last long. When the Bald Avenger reached the highway, he would know what direction we had taken by the trail of mud we would leave behind.

For the first time in days, the sun was breaking through the cloud cover. I would have a scenic ride until the Avenger ran me into the ground. Which would happen eventually. Pete and I had ten cylinders between us, but the Avenger had twelve.

When he caught up, he was going to set his foot down on me and never lift it.

SHARON.

Notes on client Oliver Vale, continued...

Monday morning. After holding us in custody for twenty-four hours (we slept on vinyl divans in our interrogation room), the Texas Rangers have released us.

The reason: Buddy Holly's grave is empty.

Either Oliver is already in Lubbock, or the world as we know it has come to an end. Either way, the Rangers see no purpose in holding us any longer.

Likewise, I have told Bruce that there is no point in continuing to Lubbock. If the authorities can't findOliver there, then we have no hope of finding him either. I still want to help him, but I will have to wait until he contacts me or is captured.

Bruce is relieved that I have "come to my senses."

Yet I feel that I have done just the opposite. There are things going on that I cannot understand and that I can do nothing about. But I have always felt in control of myself, of my friends and clients, and of my world. Thus my sense of failure. Thus my anger at Bruce, who is connected with that failure.

I know, rationally, that I cannot be responsible for everything. The radio tells us that there is panic, even looting, in every major city of the world and many of the minor ones. I'm not responsible for that, am I?

The radio also tells us that Buddy Holly TV broadcast does in fact originate on Ganymede. Oliver is either an innocent or an extraterrestrial.

And Iknow I don't have anything to do with that.

... unless the clues have been there all along in his behavior and in the things he has said in private and in the Group. In his stories about his mother's UFO studies and her belief that he is the reincarnation of Holly...