“The Afterlife,” an uneasy Ross Ed heard himself replying in alienated tones, “is a question of such profound uncertainty that no positive reply can be given. But if your offspring lived her brief life as truly as she could, and was given honest love in return, then that is sufficient to justify any existence and ensure that the memory of it will be forever enshrined. In such circumstances, the highly debatable nature of the physics of an Afterlife pale to irrelevancy.”

While the bereaved father sobbed silently to himself Sharona found she could not longer remain aloof. “Tell me, O Voices, how may I best learn the True Way? How may I let the full force of the Mysterium into my being so that I may better guide others who seek the Path? Let the full energy field of the vortex flow through me!” She stiffened slightly.

Ross’s alien voice replied without hesitation. “There is no Mysterium, no True Way, no Path, and no vortex. You’re squatting on a pile of Kaibab sandstone that contains nothing more enlightening than a few simple invertebrate fossils. There’s no inner light, no energy in crystals, no power in triangle reinforcement or any of the other pseudo-superstitious baloney you’re dreaming about. If you really want to improve yourself and help others, then dump this ludicrous psychobabble, get a few good books, and rejoin the natural universe. Profound cogitation doesn’t work rear well if the body’s on fast forward and the brain’s always in pause.”

Her composure more than a little shattered, guide Sharona dropped her hands and opened her eyes. “Of all the nervy, sarcastic, insulting…!”

“The truth is often insulting,” Ross Ed responded via Jed.

She climbed to her feet and dusted off her buckskins. “Come, people. After opening our hearts and circle to these newcomers, it is evident they have not the necessary will to clear their minds for new ways of perceiving.”

“Not at all,” declared the disembodied alien voice. “Self-delusion is a common method of ‘perception’ among the less advanced species. It offers a comforting refuge from thought. Like any advanced being, I simply choose not to make use of it. Incidentally, if you would but take the time to examine them, you would find that the rules by which the cosmos actually does operate are far more sublime and enlightening than the pablum you propound as a substitute. Chanting is no substitute for calculus, crystals no surrogate for cosmology.

“Of course, they’re harder to comprehend, but that’s the beauty of it. You get out of cerebration what you put into it. And settle down. You’re leaking bad karma all over the place.”

The agitated members of the circle stomped off in the wake of their guide, following her toward the parking lot. Only the man whose daughter had died remained behind. He looked long and hard at the alien body and at Ross Ed before shaking the latter’s hand, solemnly and firmly. Then he, too, departed.

When they were out of earshot Caroline turned from the magnificent panorama to her tall companion. “Well, you certainly livened up that little get-together. How did you know some of those things?”

“I just make ’em up as I go along, like I told you before.”

She was eyeing him intently. “Pretty specific invention, if you ask me. How’d you know that stockbroker was an embezzler?”

“Aren’t they all?”

“You named accounts and an amount.”

He looked away. “I’m not sure she heard the details, Caroline. The accusation was enough. It was a lucky guess.”

“Yeah, sure. If you’ve seen enough red rocks, let’s go.”

SIXTEEN

They recognized the woman standing athwart the trail as one of the two members of the semicircle who had not asked a question. Early forties, stocky but attractive, she wore her auburn hair cut short and fashionable. Caroline saw her makeup as sparse and expensive. Signs of a recent, expertly executed face-lift were barely discernible. She didn’t strike them as the vortex-sitting type.

“Aren’t you leaving with the other true believers?” Caroline inquired. “Or did you lose your way?”

“I’m no true believer. At least, not in this blarney.” Her voice was strong, her words clipped and forceful. She extended her hand to Caroline first, making an instant friend of Ross Ed’s companion.

“Name’s Tual, LaFerenella Teal. Friends call me Tealeaf.” She turned to shake hands with Ross, her grip as firm as her speech. “I’m just sort of taking a break here, a mini-vacation. Goi a friend who owns a house down on the creek. I thought it would be a kick to see what one of these vortex circle sessions was like. Now I’m glad I did.” She nodded at the figure riding loosely in Ross Ed’s backpack. “You make that dummy yourself?”

“I reckon you could say that I’m responsible for him.”

Nodding, the woman raced on. If she’d been speaking Castilian, the breathless pace would have seemed perfectly normal. ‘fat’s one of the best ventriloquist acts I’ve ever seen. And your answers … well, let’s just say that I’m impressed, and I don’t impress easily. What’s your name?”

“Ross Ed Hager. This is Caroline.” He jerked his head slightly to indicate his smaller companion. ‘his is Jed. He’s dead.”

“Jed the Dead. I like that, I like it a lot. Do you have professional representation, Ross Ed?”

His brows drew together. “Representation?”

Caroline stepped in. “What are you, some kind of theatrical agent or something?”

“Actually, I’m a producer.”

“And what, exactly, is it that you produce?”

The woman grinned. “Anything I can, sister.” Her gaze switched back to the slightly bemused Texan. “I take it from your confusion over my query that you do not have representation. In that event, I would like to take you on.”

“I thought you said you weren’t an agent.” Caroline was watching the woman carefully.

“It’s kind of a gray area. ‘Ross Ed and the Dead Alien.’ Oh yes, I like that. Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy it ain’t, but then this is the nineties, not the thirties. I got a question for you, big fella.”

Ross Ed waited. The woman’s thoughts seemed to move as rapidly as her speech.

“Can you sing?”

“Passably, I guess. I sure never tried io—”

“Rock?”

He was apologetic. “I kind of prefer country-western.”

She waved it off. “Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter. That can be fixed. It’s the ventriloquism that’s a natural. How long you been doing this act?”

“Not very long,” he confessed.

“Well, you could never tell it by me. I think you’re absolutely fabulous, sweetie. But what are we standing out here in the sun for?” Pivoting, she started back toward the parking lot, assuming they would follow. As that was their destination anyway, they did so.

“I’m telling you,” she rambled on, “you’ve got a great future ahead of you, Ross Ed. You and Jed there.” She chuckled knowingly.

“I don’t know that I know what you’re talking about, ma’am. I don’t know that I’m interested in the kind of ‘real future’ you have in mind.”

“Call me Tealeaf, please. You’ve done this act before?”

He thought of El Paso. “A few times, but I’m not sure I want to take it on television.”

“Who said anything about television? First we’ve got to get you up on a stage, get you some proper backup people.” She made a face. “Need to do something about those clothes, too. I want you to sing through your dummy. An alien dummy. I’m telling you, Ross Ed, it’ll be a sensation!”

“But I don’t think I’m that good a singer,” he protested.

“Since when did singing ability have anything to do with the success of a contemporary band? It’s the gimmick that’s critical, Ross Ed. The hook, the difference, the next outrage. A singing dead alien: it can’t miss. That otherworldly voice you do is perfect for CD. How d’you manipulate your throat like that?”

“I guess it’s a talent,” he replied, not knowing what else to say.

“A natural! I knew it the first time I heard it.”

Abruptly, he stopped. “Loot you’re being very nice about all this, but I think you should know that I’m no performer. I’m just an oilfield roughneck. The business with Jed, well, that’s just kind of a hobby. I’m not sure I want to do it in front of a big audience.”