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    We stood there for a little while, listening to the Flatheads growling outside.

    Sahmamool scratched his chin. "Hmmm. There is one other way. Seein' as I already did the hex to get in here, I might as well." He looked around at us. "You won't tell Ozma, willya?"

    We all assured him that we wouldn't tell Ozma.

    "All right, then," he said.

    Sam wiggled his hands over his head, and made some incomprehensible sounds that would not lend themselves to translation by the leaves. There was a popping sound, and instantly, we all found ourselves in the front room again with Lahda, next to the freplace. We were all miraculously clean, too, just like we were cartoon characters, fne and dandy in the next scene after just having being steamrollered or burnt to a crisp.

    Lahda looked up from her knitting. "Some trouble with the children, Sam?"

    "Yeeap," he replied. "I reckon we got some cleanin up to do in there."

    "Hmm," she said, not looking up again. "Best stop it, now, with the hexin'. We'll clean up the regular way. Looks like we got us a late night tonight again, husband."

After the battle, back inside the city walls, the last of the venders moved their wares in through the gates. For some reason, no one wanted to stay out there and party with the black cloud and its friends.

    The big stone guys—who I now referred to as "Rockys I through VI"—had successfully carried back Lion and Tiger. Both of whom were still alive. Both of whom were real messed up. They were among the frst to be treated, although dozens of healers were tending to the wounded. It felt like I was the only one who hadn't gotten maimed.

    Aside from some minor cuts and abrasions, Allalo and his pals had done pretty well, too (except, of course, for the one who died; and evidently, even he died well). The whole batch of us hung out together on the sidewalk near the gate, passing around a bottle of this extraordinary tonic that he'd been saving for just such an occasion. I could feel my poor old depleted tissues revitalizing by degrees, my exhaustion transforming into a warm, slightly drowsy contentment.

    Lots of folks stopped by to thank us for our valour. These included defectors from the opposite camp, who were grateful in the extreme. They corroborated our worst fears about the Hollow Man's black-eyed minions, telling horror stories about draft resisters— zapped with black lightning—who vanished, then returned as violent Stepford munchkin replicas of themselves.

    It made me wonder if that was a process that happened automatically, the second you got absorbed; or if it was an optional feature of the lightning, controlled at the discretion of Bhjennigh. If it was the former, that would help explain why Hwort and Waverly had no

personality, and why O'mon couldn't fght for shit.

    In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that Bhjennigh had no control over this aspect of his magick. Like he conjured up some genie to ask for evil power, and the genie said,
here's your evil power. Take it or leave it. It's all we got. There wa
s no practical reason I could think of to make second-rate drones out of serious, willing allies.

    Unless, of course, they were starting to get uppity.

    (I wasn't sure, though, what that said about Skeerak. He didn't seem like he needed any extra villifcation at all; but there he was, with his eyes all black. And if he was only operating at partial capacity, then thank God I hadn't faced him in his undiluted state!)

    Everybody had their theories on the subject, but I realized that I really wanted to discuss it with Mikio. Or maybe Ozma. Or maybe both.

    I also wanted to know what that green glow was.

    By this time, another hour had gone by; and though tuckered to the max, I felt like I could at least get up and walk around. So I bid adeiu to friends old and new, then headed on back toward Mikio's place.

    The mood in the streets was one of sober celebration; you really couldn't help but be cheerfulness-impaired by the presence of so much carnage. All the same, I saw plenty of action going down at the kissing booths, which now lined the streets. And it wasn't like anyone had stopped eating or drinking. I smiled at the throngs of well-wishers I passed, but could not be persuaded to dance with any of them.

    Dragging my ass up the trillion steps to Mikio's roof was no fun at all, so I was slightly cranky by the time I arrived. But this burned away quickly when Mikio swept over, surrounded by his friends, and the whole lot engulfed me in an upright monkey love pile.

    "We're so proud of you!" Mikio said, evidently speaking for everyone. I wallowed in the adulation until I had to sit down again. Fortunately, Mikio sat down with me, letting me dissolve into a purring mush-woman as he held me in his arms. I babbled about my black lightning theories for a while; he went "hmmmn" a lot and periodically squeezed me, not having much more to add on the subject.

    But when the subject of the green glow came up, he said, "I was meaning to ask you about that." So I told him what happened. And

he said, "Wow."

    Then he told me about the beam. How, in fact, it was the Skyrrla that I'd felt out on the feld. He and Dr. Pipt and the rest of the gang had fddled around with their device until they managed to refne a beam out of it, which they then began to experimentally fre down at the battlefeld.

    So far, the few results they'd gotten back were extremely mixed. There were reports of slight headaches in the frst round of fring, followed by a second round that just seemed to make people confused. The third time didn't do much of anything, so they tinkered some more, basing their adjustments on the way the shifts in Skyrrla-energy made them feel. When they got what they felt was a pretty good vibe, they fred again.

    This time, more than a dozen people reportedly found themselves stark naked, in the middle of pitched battle. This resulted in much hilarity, and only one death: the fabulous T'wah Sampo, who got so entranced by some black-eyed munchkin's knockers that she easily staved in his teeny little head. (I tried to feel bad, but I just couldn't. Based on my fgures, the potential for date rape in Oz had just gone down 100%.)

    Then the Skyrrla-device started acting funny, so they modifed again. This was the fnal blast, to which I was privy; and this time, not only was the beam intensely focused, but the Skyrrla actually aime
d
itself. (Which would lead me to believe that it was looking for me.
)

    The beam lasted, they said, for just over a minute. Then the device started overheating, and abruptly shut down. This concerned me. I asked if the Skyrrla was okay. Mikio said, "Oh, yeah. It's just resting, I think." He was guileless and sweet, so I believed him intrinsically.

    After that, I got very sleepy; so I was delighted when Ginko and Faffo Boff announced that they'd made me a rooftop bunk, then cheerfully carried me to it. That way, I could nod out in regal splendour, but still be close to the action if it happened. Mikio kissed me again, as a send-off to slumber, then went back to work as I snuggled my pillows. His taste was on my lips, but I was too beat to whip up serious horny thoughts.

    The next thing I knew, I was out like a light; and I didn't wake up until several hours later, when the black clouds fnally scraped against the walls of Emerald City.

"If you stare into the abyss long enough, it will punch you right in the nose."—Gene Speilman, 2007. That seemed to sum up the enigma wrapped in a riddle that was Ralph, apologies to Nietzsche and all that. He had stared into the abyss with the best of them, and now he was somehow going to unzip his pants and piss right into the abyss. What concerned me was whether or not we would live through that particular activity.

    We barreled down the mountain in the feeble yellow predawn light, tires squealing as the humvees preternaturally hugged the edge of the cliffside at speeds no human driver could ever maintain.

    Ralph had still given no information about our destination. I mean, I knew which direction we were headed, but I still couldn't fgure out precisely what he had in mind, if anything. Or what he had in those bags. I guess it served me right.

    In no time we were off the mountain, hauling ass across dark rolling hills.

    Ledelei and I had come to the sleep-deprived conclusion that this might be our last cruise, and so after some awkward silence decided to pass the time in our cosy little humvee in the best way possible: rolling around in the back seat with our clothes off. It was really weird, that frst time. Don't get me wrong—I liked it alot, but the sense of urgency about it made me feel like a spawning salmon. Impending doom, random destruction and fucking: I'd heard of this sort of thing happening during wartime, but it had never happened to me before.

    Well, enough of that. I mean, it was great, but who the hell wants to hear about it? Writing about it seems to be the literary equivalent of those horny couples at parties who can't seem to fgure out that they should leave, and spare everyone the embarrassment of seeing them stick their tongues down each other's throat. You know, great, hooray, I got laid, next.

    Yeah, next.

    The sun rose in the sky for about fve minutes, then proceeded to set again in reverse as it grazed the hideous black cloud. But before it retreated, the dawn light revealed the shapes of the six radio dishes, the ones Ralph had told me I'd seen before. I could now clearly discern what I had frst taken to be smoke rising from under them: the black cloud was actually emanating from the back side of the dishes. It was fowing through them, coming from some unknown source, and shooting out the other side, into the Ozian sky. The last time I hadn't been so close; we'd approached the castle from farther to the west, and the view of the dishes had been obscured by hills.

    Now I could see just how large that battle had been. We shot by what must have been the remnants of the south-eastern end of the carnage. Corpses dotted the hills, and I could see, off to the right, the gutted frame of a farmhouse smoldering, complete with a stiff bellyup cow on what used to be the front lawn.

    There was a thud, and a change in the frequency of the white noise under our feet. The ride smoothed perceptibly as the wide dirt path we'd been traveling on became paved asphalt.

    The dishes and environs were now close enough to be seen in detail. Behind them was the fog-obscured outline of the Fortress, an ominous tall column stuck in the middle of a low, long rectangle, looking more like some Dickensian factory than the castle of an evil warlock. It looked to be maybe two miles away, which was close enough as far as I was concerned.

    Following Ralph's cue, our vehicles all slowed as we approached. A chain link fence surrounded the land containing the radio telescope array, and a gatehouse, next to a bigger barracks building, stood in the middle of the paved road that led up to the complex. That road went through the gate and crossed another road before continuing on to the fortress. The other road ran out in both directions to the dishes, which were spaced out over a few miles in the surrounding hills.

    A guard came out of the gatehouse and eyed us with suspicion. Ralph's humvee pulled to a stop next to the guard, and he and Ralph exchanged words.

    It looked like they knew each other. The guard was not of the giant green variety; he was very much human, and although he appeared to see perfectly well, there was only empty blackness where his eyes were supposed to be: not empty sockets, but a substantive blackness.

    Just when I thought Ralph had talked the guy into letting us through, the guard pointed back away from the gate and motioned for us all to turn around. I guess he knew Ralph alright, but wasn't comfortable with the idea of him coming in without orders from higher up, not to mention bringing in six humvees and two other unidentifed people.

    The herd turned precisely, and we headed back away from the gate for a little while. Then we turned back, driving off the paved road, forming a circle while increasing speed, while the guard looked on apprehensively.

    Suddenly, we shot back towards the gate at what felt like a hundred and twenty or thirty miles per hour. Two of the empty humvees ploughed into the guard house, knocking it sideways. The two others hit the fence, smashing down a big section of it. Ralph's humvee slammed into the guard, who skittered bloodily across the ground like a hockey puck. Ours followed in their wake, almost apologetically.

    Entrance denied? No problem.

    Once inside, the herd slowed to a stop long enough for all of us to get out. Ledelei picked up her monster sword off the back seat, and swung it around enthusiastically. I felt for the Magnum that was still stuck down in the enormous pocket of the ogre suit. Ralph had never asked for it back. I was not really anxious to use it again, but I was ready.

    I heard metal crunching, and looked down to see dents uncrinkling and paint scrapes fading before my eyes—just another neat trick the animate humvees had learned in the wild.

    Ralph unloaded one of the mystery bags from his passenger side, hefted it shakily up over his shoulder, and started off in the direction of one of the dishes, without a word. He was weaving a little—it didn't appear that he'd eased off the booze any on the way over. The herd started to move in a circle again, staying close to Ralph.

    Ledelei and I exchanged disbelieving glances, and followed. As we caught up to him, I could see several soldiers come running out

of the barracks building.

    The humvees were quick to deal with this new problem. The soldiers, however, were a little slow to catch on, and had only just broken into a run when the frst of the hummers plowed into them. In a few seconds they were all road-kill, and the humvees resumed their circling formation.