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oil。
The hype surrounding this show； for example； promised that monies earned would go straight into the environment； that important global transformational policies would be drafted and then implemented over the weekend； by the total Symposium membership； and indeed； that ordinary rank and file would get to actually hobnob with the famous； to share theories and pare notes with the finest minds on the planet。
The reality netted somewhat less Utopian results。 Operating costs of the convention ate up fully half of the money generated； the important policy…drafting decayed into pompous speechifying and political infighting。 And Utopia had a VIP lounge； after all； where the invisible line between prole and privileged was clearly drawn。 The average results ran somewhere between a lecture and a flat…out dog…and…pony show。
The undercurrent of crushed hope was palpable。 Those naive enough to believe in a mystical Good Guys network…where they and their heroes labored side by side to solve the world's problems together…were inevitably in for some major disappointment。 Those who expected the quick fix were reminded that there were none； that the task of saving the Earth took nothing less than absolutely everyone； doing absolutely everything they could； every day for the rest of their lives。
And then maybe…just maybe…it would all work out。
By Sunday； it was clear to most that the world wasn't going to be saved this week； and certainly not this way。 In the process of trying to balm all those broken hearts and imploded ideals； Micki had used up every last ounce of energy； not to mention violating ninety…nine percent of her own very strict health regimen。
And then it was time to go 。。。
WHAM！ Micki's eyes snapped wide open。 Wa…WHAM！
There was a disorienting moment of total weightlessness； irrespective of gravity。 Freefall seemed to go on forever…a full ten feet； longer； in the space of a second…then SLAM！ steadied out and proceeded to shake； like the plane was a chew toy in a pit bull puppy's jaws。
She heard herself mewling； and shut herself up。
〃Oh dear god。〃 White…knuckle…clutching the arms of her seat。 〃Oh； please stop。〃 As the shaking continued。 〃Oh！〃 as they dropped again…WHAMWHAM buh buh BLAM！ BLAM！…and miraculously stabilized。
Leaving Micki with a moment to question her sanity； ask herself what the hell she was doing here。
The answer was simple。 She had e to see Gwen。 Put up with Gary。 And help usher their baby into the world。
In fact； she had planned this out months in advance； leaving virtually no margin for errors not endemic to the plan。 She had gotten up at six； checked out by six…thirty； then limoed the fifty…plus miles from Amherst to Hartford and hopped a marginally civilized DC…9 to Philly； only to find her angular frame wedged into the tiniest； least fortable seat this side of Midget Purgatory； puddle…jumping to Paradise on a US Air muter flight that only carried two of its maximum twelve…passenger payload。
The downgrade from jet to prop…power was bad enough。 She could deal with the flight that had brought her the three…thousand…plus miles from Oregon to Amherst because the plane was so damned big…Clipper Class in a 747 was like taking Amtrak at thirty…seven thousand feet。 And even in a smaller jet she could fool herself： hold her breath until they broke cloud cover and then while away the flight time studying the little seat…pocket cards； memorizing escape routes and how to best use her seat cushion as a flotation device。
A turbo…prop； however； was all business： there was simply no escaping the fact that she was flying； not…so…bravely going where no one in their right mind should ever have gone before； three thousand five hundred feet in the air in her itsy…bitsy seat right next to an aisle you couldn't even stand upright in while the pilot and copilot sniggered behind their dinky curtain； plotting air…speed vectors and crash coordinates and hoarding parachutes and she could see people the size of ants in their backyards； goddammit； and 。。。
If you're really that frightened； said the voice in her head； you could always make a circle。
Micki started； momentarily surprised。 She hated it when her spirit guide snuck up on her like that。 Even after five years of trance…channeling； it still gave her the willies sometimes。 〃What do you know？〃 she said aloud。 〃You're not even on this plane。 You're not even on the earth plane。〃 you're overreacting； Bob…Ramtha said calmly。
〃Overreacting！〃 she blurted。 〃Are you kidding？ You ever seen what happens to these things when they go down？ It's like a human Cuisinart！〃
You don't have to yell； Bob…Ramma chided。
Micki lowered her voice。 She looked behind her； the sole other passenger sat three rows back on the other side。 He was doughy； disheveled； a cheeky businessman with a full day's growth of scratchy beard； heading home at last。 He smiled at her uneasily and nodded。 Micki nodded and turned away。
〃Sorry； Bobba；〃 she amended to herself。 〃I'm just nervous； is all。 And my stomach's upset。〃
It's okay； the voice said。
〃No it's not；〃 Micki replied。 It was stupid。 Micki Bridges was blessed with a direct pipeline to the hereafter…a live internal audio feed to the Other Side…and she was still scared of dying。
The plane buffeted again； bouncing on the air currents like a numbered ping…pong ball in a Pennsylvania Lotto drawing。 She sucked wind sharply and held it； took the reins on her panic。
The storm front is pretty big； Bob…Ramtha said。 Micki nodded in affirmation。 From her vantage point； it extended as far as the eye could see： a solid wall of low； foreboding clouds blanketing the earth。 To the north； the air was purplish…gray with rain。 It wasn't apt to get much better in the twenty…odd minutes to e。
She thought about it； accepted it； sighed。 〃Make a circle； huh？〃 she said。
Couldn't hurt； Bob…Ramtha replied。
Micki smiled； his voice was soothing； and his advice had never been off the mark。 Bob…Ramtha was rare； as spirit entities went： he didn't make portentous proclamations； he didn't claim to be bosom buddies with the Almighty or to know the exact date the mothership would land or whatever really happened to Elvis。
He was just there； having e at a point in her life when she desperately needed someone； and having stayed ever since。
Keeping the circuit open。
And the spark alive。
〃Okay；〃 she said； looking up。 The businessman was watching a crazy woman auto…emote。 Tough titties； she thought； flashing him her sweetest smile。
Then closed her eyes。 Centered herself。
And began the silent ritual prayer。
In the wiccan tradition； the drawing of the circle was a time…honored form of protective； healing magick。 Its function was to create safe haven； a merging with the spirit realm； a space outside of space and time。
Where no harm could befall you。
The key to the power of the ritual circle was the invocation of the elementals： the spirits of the living Earth； as embodied by the four directions。
To the east was sky； the breath of the Mother。 Her spirits presided over the beginnings of life。 They correlated to the swords of the Tarot； wielding Intellect in the service of truth。 The sky…people would be the first invited into the circle。
Next would e the fire…people； spirits of the south。 Spirits of flame； and ferocity of passion。 Spirits of energy and will。 Bearers of wands； and of earthly vitality； joining the caster of circles inside。
To the west lay the bearers of cups； brimming over with the living blood of the Mother。 Spirits of Emotion； of sadness and joy； of all we are able to feel within。 Spirits of oceans and endings； the water…sisters would be third in line。
Fourth would e the earth…people； the spirits of the rocks and soil。 The spirits of meat and bark and flesh； of pentacles and earthly possessions； of things long dead and returned to ground。 From the north； they would be weled into the circle of life。
Then finally； one would invite the Source of all life to mune with them inside。 Great Spirit。 The Mystery in the Middle。 Goddess。 God。 All love。 All life。
And when they all had e； the circle would be closed； so that no others might enter。
And there； surrounded by all the forces of Nature； they could at last encounter their One True Self； recognize those very forces at play within themselves。
That was the theoretical function of the ritual circle。 Of course； it had never been devised for use in deepest space。 And three thousand feet in midair was a definite promise position。
But Micki would be damned if she didn't feel better； once the circle was cast。 She felt better the whole rest of the way into Paradise。 The turbulence let up a little as they crossed the Susquehanna； but whether that was a good omen or just good luck she wouldn't venture to guess。
〃Thanks； Bobba；〃 she said。
And he told her not to mention it。
Thirteen
〃Oh； Christ。〃 Kirk was bitching again。 There was a blue…haired matron in a prehistoric Rambler； doing twenty…five down the old Gut Road。 When the ACTION…9 mobile screeched around the hairpin curve； it nearly rode up on her ass。 〃Can't you go