TEN.

The busker quit after that verse, looking at Susannah-Mia with happy surprise. "I thought I was the only one who knew that one," he said. "It's the way the Freedom Riders used to-"

"No," Susannah said quietly. "Not them. It was the voter-registration people who sang the bulldog-gravy verse. The folks who came down to Oxford in the summer of '64. When those three boys were killed."

"Schwerner and Goodman," he said. "I can't remember the name of the-"

"James Cheney," she said quietly. "He had the most beautiful hair. hair."

"You talk as though you knew him," he said, "but you can't be much over ... thirty?"

Susannah had an idea she looked a good deal older than thirty, especially tonight, but of course this young man had fifty dollars more in his guitar case now than had been there a single song ago, and it had perhaps affected his eyesight.

"My mother spent the summer of '64 in Neshoba County," Susannah said, and with two spontaneously chosen words-my mother-did her captor more damage than she could have imagined. Those words flayed open Mia's heart.

"Cool on Mom!" the young man exclaimed, and smiled. Then the smile faded. He fished the fifty out of the guitar case and held it up to her. "Take it back. It was a pleasure just to sing with you, ma'am." case and held it up to her. "Take it back. It was a pleasure just to sing with you, ma'am."

"I really couldn't," Susannah said, smiling. "Remember the struggle, that'd be enough for me. And remember Jimmy, Andy, and Michael, if it does ya. I know it would do me just fine."

"Please," the young man persisted. He was smiling again but the smile was troubled and he might have been any of those young men from the Land of Ago, singing in the moonlight between the slumped ass-ends of the Blue Moon's shacky little units and the double-hammered heatless moonlight gleam of the railroad tracks; he could have been any in his beauty and the careless flower of his youth and how in that moment Mia loved him. Even her chap seemed secondary in that glow. She knew it was in many ways a false glow, imparted by the memories of her hostess, and yet she suspected that in other ways it might be real. She knew one thing for sure: only a creature such as herself, who'd had immortality and given it up, could appreciate the raw courage it took to stand against the forces of Discordia. To risk that fragile beauty by putting beliefs before personal safety.

Make him happy, take it back, she told Susannah, but would not she told Susannah, but would not come forward come forward and make Susannah do so. Let it be her choice. and make Susannah do so. Let it be her choice.

Before Susannah could reply, the alarm in the Dogan went off, flooding their shared mind with noise and red light.

Susannah turned in that direction, but Mia grabbed her shoulder in a grip like a claw before she could go.

What's happening? What's gone wrong?

Let me loose!

Susannah twisted free. And before Mia could grab her again, she was gone.

ELEVEN.

Susannah's Dogan pulsed and flared with red panic-light. A Klaxon hammered an audio tattoo from the overhead speakers. All but two of the TV screens-one still showing the busker on the corner of Lex and Sixtieth, the other the sleeping baby-had shorted out. The cracked floor was humming under Susannah's feet and throwing up dust. One of the control panels had gone dark, and another was in flames. baby-had shorted out. The cracked floor was humming under Susannah's feet and throwing up dust. One of the control panels had gone dark, and another was in flames.

This looked bad.

As if to confirm her assessment, the Blaine-like Voice of the Dogan began to speak again. "WARNING!" it cried. "SYSTEM OVERLOAD! WITHOUT POWER REDUCTION IN SECTION ALPHA, TOTAL SYSTEM SHUTDOWN WILL OCCUR IN 40 SECONDS!"

Susannah couldn't remember any Section Alpha from her previous visits to the Dogan, but wasn't surprised to now see a sign labeled just that. One of the panels near it suddenly erupted in a gaudy shower of orange sparks, setting the seat of a chair on fire. More ceiling panels fell, trailing snarls of wiring.

"WITHOUT POWER REDUCTION IN SECTION ALPHA, TOTAL SYSTEM SHUTDOWN WILL OCCUR IN 30 SECONDS!"

What about the EMOTIONAL TEMP EMOTIONAL TEMP dial? dial?

"Leave it alone," she muttered to herself.

Okay, CHAP? CHAP? What about that one? What about that one?

After a moment's thought, Susannah flipped the toggle from ASLEEP ASLEEP to to AWAKE AWAKE and those disconcerting blue eyes opened at once, staring into Susannah's with what looked like fierce curiosity. and those disconcerting blue eyes opened at once, staring into Susannah's with what looked like fierce curiosity.

Roland's child, she thought with a strange and painful mixture of emotions. she thought with a strange and painful mixture of emotions. And mine. As for Mia? Girl, you nothing but a ka-mai. I'm sorry for you. And mine. As for Mia? Girl, you nothing but a ka-mai. I'm sorry for you.

Ka-mai, yes. Not just a fool, but ka's fool-a fool of destiny.

"WITHOUT POWER REDUCTION IN SECTION ALPHA, TOTAL SYSTEM SHUTDOWN WILL OCCUR IN 25 SECONDS!"

So waking the baby hadn't done any good, at least not in terms of preventing a complete system crash. Time for Plan B.

She reached out for the absurd LABOR FORCE LABOR FORCE control-knob, the one that looked so much like the oven-dial on her mother's stove. Turning the dial back to 2 had been difficult, control-knob, the one that looked so much like the oven-dial on her mother's stove. Turning the dial back to 2 had been difficult, and had hurt like a bastard. Turning it the other way was easier, and there was no pain at all. What she felt was an and had hurt like a bastard. Turning it the other way was easier, and there was no pain at all. What she felt was an easing easing somewhere deep in her head, as if some network of muscles which had been flexed for hours was now letting go with a little cry of relief. somewhere deep in her head, as if some network of muscles which had been flexed for hours was now letting go with a little cry of relief.

The blaring pulse of the Klaxon ceased.

Susannah turned LABOR FORCE LABOR FORCE to 8, paused there, then shrugged. What the hell, it was time to go for broke, get this over with. She turned the dial all the way to 10. The moment it was there, a great glossy pain hardened her stomach and then rolled lower, gripping her pelvis. She had to tighten her lips against a scream. to 8, paused there, then shrugged. What the hell, it was time to go for broke, get this over with. She turned the dial all the way to 10. The moment it was there, a great glossy pain hardened her stomach and then rolled lower, gripping her pelvis. She had to tighten her lips against a scream.

"POWER REDUCTION IN SECTION ALPHA HAS BEEN ACCOMPLISHED," said the voice, and then it dropped into a John Wayne drawl that Susannah knew all too well. "THANKS A WHOLE HEAP, LI'L COWGIRL."

She had to tighten her lips against another scream-not pain this time but outright terror. It was all very well to remind herself Blaine the Mono was dead and this voice was coming from some nasty practical joker in her own subconscious, but that didn't stop the fear.

"LABOR ... HAS COMMENCED," said the amplified voice, dropping the John Wayne imitation. "LABOR ... HAS COMMENCED." Then, in a horrible (and nasal) Bob Dylan drawl that set her teeth on edge, the voice sang: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU ... BABE! BABE! ... HAPPY BIRTHDAY ... TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY ... DEAR MORDRED ... HAPPY BIRTHDAY ... TO YOU!" ... HAPPY BIRTHDAY ... TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY ... DEAR MORDRED ... HAPPY BIRTHDAY ... TO YOU!"

Susannah visualized a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall behind her, and when she turned it was, of course, right there (she had not imagined the little sign reading ONLY YOU AND SOMBRA CAN HELP PREVENT CONSOLE FIRES, ONLY YOU AND SOMBRA CAN HELP PREVENT CONSOLE FIRES, however-that, along with a drawing of Shardik o' the Beam in a Smokey the Bear hat, was some other joker's treat). As she hurried across the cracked and uneven floor to get the extinguisher, skirting the fallen ceiling panels, another pain ripped into her, lighting her belly and thighs on fire, making her want to double over and bear down on the outrageous stone in her womb. however-that, along with a drawing of Shardik o' the Beam in a Smokey the Bear hat, was some other joker's treat). As she hurried across the cracked and uneven floor to get the extinguisher, skirting the fallen ceiling panels, another pain ripped into her, lighting her belly and thighs on fire, making her want to double over and bear down on the outrageous stone in her womb.

Not going to take long, she thought in a voice that was part Susannah and part Detta. she thought in a voice that was part Susannah and part Detta. No ma'am. This chap comin in on the express train! No ma'am. This chap comin in on the express train!

But then the pain let up slightly. She snatched the extinguisher off the wall when it did, trained the slim black horn on the flaming control panel, and pressed the trigger. Foam billowed out, coating the flames. There was a baleful hissing sound and a smell like burning hair.

"THE FIRE ... IS OUT," the Voice of the Dogan proclaimed. "THE FIRE ... IS OUT." And then changing, quick as a flash, to a plummy British Lord Haw-Haw accent: "I SAY, JOLLY JOLLY GOOD SHOW, SEW-ZANNAH, AB-SOLUTELY GOOD SHOW, SEW-ZANNAH, AB-SOLUTELY BRILLLL-IANT! BRILLLL-IANT!"

She lurched across the minefield of the Dogan's floor again, seized the microphone, and pressed the transmit toggle. Above her, on one of the TV screens still operating, she could see that Mia was on the move again, crossing Sixtieth.

Then Susannah saw the green awning with the cartoon pig, and her heart sank. Not Sixtieth, but Sixty-first. The hijacking mommybitch had reached her destination. The hijacking mommybitch had reached her destination.

"Eddie!" she shouted into the microphone. "Eddie or Roland!" And what the hell, she might as well make it a clean sweep. "Jake! Pere Callahan! We've reached the Dixie Pig and we're going to have this damn baby! Come for us if you can, but be careful!"

She looked up at the screen again. Mia was now on the Dixie Pig side of the street, peering at the green awning. Hesitating. Could she read the words DIXIE PIG DIXIE PIG? Probably not, but she could surely understand the cartoon. The smiling, smoking pig. And she wouldn't hesitate long in any case, now that her labor had started.

"Eddie, I have to go. I love you, sugar! Whatever else happens, you remember that! Never forget it! I love you! I love you! This is ..." Her eye fell on the semicircular readout on the panel behind the mike. The needle had fallen out of the red. She thought it would stay in the yellow until the labor was over, then subside into the green. This is ..." Her eye fell on the semicircular readout on the panel behind the mike. The needle had fallen out of the red. She thought it would stay in the yellow until the labor was over, then subside into the green.

Unless something went wrong, that was.

She realized she was still gripping the mike.

"This is Susannah-Mio, signing off. God be with you, boys. God and ka."

She put the microphone down and closed her eyes.

TWELVE.

Susannah sensed the difference in Mia immediately. Although she'd reached the Dixie Pig and her labor had most emphatically commenced, Mia's mind was for once elsewhere. It had turned to Odetta Holmes, in fact, and to what Michael Schwerner had called the Mississippi Summer Project. (What the Oxford rednecks had called him him was The Jewboy.) The emotional atmosphere to which Susannah returned was was The Jewboy.) The emotional atmosphere to which Susannah returned was fraught, fraught, like still air before a violent September storm. like still air before a violent September storm.

Susannah! Susannah, daughter of Dan!

Yes, Mia.

I agreed to mortality.

So you said.

And certainly Mia had looked mortal in Fedic. Mortal and terribly terribly pregnant. pregnant.

Yet I've missed most of what makes the short-time life worthwhile. Haven't I? The grief in that voice was awful; the surprise was even worse. The grief in that voice was awful; the surprise was even worse. And there's no time for you to tell me. Not now. And there's no time for you to tell me. Not now.

Go somewhere else, Susannah said, with no hope at all. Susannah said, with no hope at all. Hail a cab, go to a hospital. We'll have it together, Mia. Maybe we can even raise it toge Hail a cab, go to a hospital. We'll have it together, Mia. Maybe we can even raise it toge- If I have it anywhere but here, it will die and we'll die with it. She spoke with utter certainty. She spoke with utter certainty. And I And I will will have it. I've been cheated of all but my chap, and I have it. I've been cheated of all but my chap, and I will will have it. But ... Susannah ... before we go in ... you spoke of your mother. have it. But ... Susannah ... before we go in ... you spoke of your mother.

I lied. It was me in Oxford. Lying was easier than trying to explain time travel and parallel worlds.

Show me the truth. Show me your mother. Show me, I beg!

There was no time to debate this request pro and con; it was either do it or refuse on the spur of the moment. Susannah decided to do it.

Look, she said. she said.

THIRTEEN.

In the Land of Memory, the time is always Now. Now.

There is an Unfound Door (O lost) and when Susannah found it and opened it, Mia saw a woman with her dark hair pulled back from her face and startling gray eyes. There is a cameo brooch at the woman's throat. She's sitting at the kitchen table, this woman, in an eternal shaft of sun. In this memory it is always ten minutes past two on an afternoon in October of 1946, the Big War is over, Irene Daye is on the radio, and the smell is always gingerbread.

"Odetta, come and sit with me," says the woman at the table, she who is mother. "Have something sweet. You look good, good, girl." girl."

And she smiles.

O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again!

FOURTEEN.

Prosaic enough, you would say, so you would. A young girl comes home from school with her book-bag in one hand and her gym-bag in the other, wearing her white blouse and her pleated St. Ann's tartan skirt and the knee-socks with the bows on the side (orange and black, the school colors). Her mother, sitting at the kitchen table, looks up and offers her daughter a piece of the gingerbread that just came out of the oven. It is only one moment in an unmarked million, a single atom of event in a lifetime of them. But it stole Mia's breath (you look good, good, girl girl) and showed her in a concrete way she had previously not understood how rich motherhood could be ... if, if, that was, it was allowed to run its course uninterrupted. that was, it was allowed to run its course uninterrupted.

The rewards?

Immeasurable.

In the end you you could be the woman sitting in the shaft of sun. could be the woman sitting in the shaft of sun. You You could be the one looking at the child sailing bravely out of childhood's harbor. You could be the wind in that child's unfurled sails. could be the one looking at the child sailing bravely out of childhood's harbor. You could be the wind in that child's unfurled sails.

You.

Odetta, come and sit with me.

Mia's breath began to hitch in her chest.

Have something sweet.

Her eyes fogged over, the smiling cartoon pig on the awning first doubling, then quadrupling.

You look good, good, girl. girl.

Some time was better than no time at all. Even five years-or three-was better than no time at all. She couldn't read, hadn't been to Morehouse, hadn't been to no no house, but she could do that much math with no trouble: three = better than none. Even one = better than none. house, but she could do that much math with no trouble: three = better than none. Even one = better than none.

Oh ...