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〃Already did；〃 Jenkel said。 〃Now it's back up again。〃
Henkel considered the problem； as well as the older man's tone of voice； which was more curious than concerned。 He knew as well as Jenkel that they were constantly making up and letting down water for the core vessel； filtering out particulates or ions and then restoring it to the loop。 Henkel wondered offhand if this was some kind of test； an impromptu spot…quiz by ol' Dead Fred to goose an otherwise slow shift。
〃Uhmm；〃 he pondered； 〃add NutraSweet？〃
Jenkel looked at him； he was not smiling。 Maybe this was serious； after all。 〃Go get Sykes；〃 Jenkel said。 〃Tell him we might have a problem。〃
His eyes leveled with Henkel's and the younger man's smile evaporated。 Bob turned and quick…walked over to the open door of the super's office。 〃Uh； Mr。 Sykes 。。。 〃 he began。
But Fred Jenkel was no longer listening。 His ears were tuned to another sound； a subsonic drone that he felt more than heard； coining from a humming structure less than a hundred yards away。 From his radiation…shielded； hermetically sealed vantage point； it might as well have been on the moon。
He watched the meter's needle rise up and level off； only to scoot up a moment later。 Rise 。。。 flutter。 Rise 。。。 flutter。
〃It's nothing；〃 he told himself； denying memory and intuition and experience。 〃Nothing at all。〃
Jenkel watched。 All the while thinking； The reactor could practically run itself。
Rise 。。。
Unless something went wrong 。。。
Eleven
More than anything； Gwen Taylor loved the act of creation。
She stood before her almost pleted work…in…progress； dressed in sweats and a paint…spattered shirt stolen from Gary。 Blue and yellow mixed with a bit of white on the sheet of heavy glass that served as her palette。 The colors swirled together； three melding to one； making teal。
She wet her brush； scooped up some of the paint； and held it aloft。 〃Okay； your Highness；〃 she said； scrutinizing her target。 〃Here es greatness。〃
Gwen took aim and let fly。
On the nursery wall； the Faery Queen's left cheek came to vibrant life。 A twin slash quickly adorned the right。 Gwen worked fast and loose； showing amazing skill and alacrity in the most random of motions。 She dabbed here； stroked there； a layer of cool green sprouted across the breadth of the mural in no time。
〃Yes 。。。 yes； yes 。。。 〃 Gwen said。 David Byrne's 〃Rei Momo〃 jangled from the speakers of her spattered studio boom box。 Gwen grabbed up a brushful of magenta and peppered the shadows around the figure with hot color。 〃This is a good look for you；〃 she winked。
The nursery was spectacular； a magical blend of innocence and mystery。 Stuffed animals hung from a hammock in the corner； shower booty awaiting tiny hands to bring them to life； an antique oak crib lovingly refinished by Gary consumed one whole er of the room； tempo rarity hiding under a protective drop cloth。 A mobile floated lazily above it； bobbing on an almost imperceptible breeze。 It was a room full of dreams； waiting to e true。
Gwen could hardly wait for Spike to see it。
She dropped the brush； picked up a finer one to lay in some highlights of yellow。 Then she scooped up a raggedy bit of sponge that she'd custom…plucked for maximum texture and began patting the surface of the fresh paint； adding a stippled coral effect。
It was a technique that would have appalled her art school painting instructors； but fuck 'em。 Gwen was a firm believer in the right misuse of technology。
After all； she reasoned； necessity isn't the true mother of invention。
Weirdness is。
Gwen was nothing if not original。 Her instructors had hated her style； which was quirky and unschooled but bristling with energy； charming in its imagination and sheer enthusiasm。 They told young Gwen Kessler that as an artist she'd make a great hairdresser。 One told her he now understood why previous generations preferred their women barefoot； pregnant； and in the kitchen； another even suggested in front of the entire class that she'd be better off enrolling in the art school that advertised on matchbooks。 Draw Binky； Make Big 。
So when she finally got fed up with getting shat upon by the hierarchical cliques of snotty conceptual types at the Atlanta College of Modern Art； she fought back by declaring herself a postmodern neoprimitive guerrilla cartoonist and staging her own one…woman protest show outside the main entrance of the school； which was also the Peachtree Road entrance for the prestigious and oh…so…stuffy Atlanta Museum of Modem Art。 She spray…painted the title of her point across。 It was smarmy and titillating and played wholly for yocks； and it utterly missed the point。
The cameraman got her contact info from the rap sheet； stewed over her for a day； and finally called her up。 He apologized。 She did not accept。 He asked her out。
She told him； very sweetly； to go fuck himself。
He proceeded to find out the date of her arraignment。 When she showed up； he was there。 She had bee a minor celebrity by that point； albeit an embarrassed one： Channel Two followed up on her case periodically； invariably running the same smarmy clip of her thrashing； bare…butted arrest。
He asked her out again。 She recognized him from the news crew and told him to please leave her alone。
He was back again at her court date。 She got six months' probation。 He handed her a rose and a present wrapped in a brown paper bag。 She opened it up in the cab on the way home。
Inside the envelope was a note with his phone number。 The note read：
Everybody deserves a second chance。
She unwrapped the package。 Inside were a couple of three…quarter…inch videotapes。 The masters and the dubs。 All of it。
Channel Two didn't run any coverage that night； or ever again。
The next day Gwen called the cameraman and thanked him。 He said it was his pleasure and apologized yet again； and didn't even ask her out。
Three days later； she called him again。 This time she invited him to lunch； her treat。 He said yes。 Everybody deserves a second chance。
The cameraman's name was Gary Taylor。
And the rest； as they say； was history 。。。
Gwen blushed with the memory。 It was a long way from Atlanta to here； sometimes she could scarcely believe that she was the same person at all。 She and Gary had bopped around a lot； going from Atlanta to Chicago to the Big Apple； always following Gary's gigs。 Some places she liked better than others； all of them were ripe for learning and growing。
But none of them felt like home。
It was a simple need； if an all…consuming one。 Home began to call to them from the pages of magazines； from the gushings of friends who lived upstate； riding a clear whiff of breeze in the stale summer air of their too…small Chelsea apartment。
That one simple need had gotten to them both； after a while： New York was too expensive； too dirty； and too crowded to grow old or raise kids in。 Gary had no real hometown to speak of； that pretty much narrowed it down。
Exodus。
She'd been happier； in all： a lot less angry； a lot less stressed。 The house was wonderful； and she loved fixing it up。 She hiked and went to the farmer's market； and lived an altogether kinder and gentler existence。 With the ing of the Spikester； her world seemed to be nearing pletion。 What more could anyone truly want？
But still； sometimes it chafed。 She felt so 。。。 so normal here。 She didn't trust it。 It was clean here； yes； with an immeasurably lower crime rate and a cost of living cheaper by half 。。。 what LifeStyle magazine called a real 〃quality of life〃 area。 But there was no art scene to speak of； a lame nightlife； a meager handful of restaurants worth eating in。 She felt torn between the two Gwens inside her： the wildass and the earth mother； the hellion and the homebody。
And now a third； on top of it。 The Gwen/not Gwen nesting in her belly。 The one that was so much a part of her and Gary； yet so ultimately other。 The one that was so much more than the sum of its parts。
The one that would call her mommy。
She worried if that were such a good thing； like she worried about routine and responsibility and all the trap…pings of adult life。 She worried that the day…to…day of it all would siphon off her imagination； steal her weirdness by degrees。 Leave her cut off from the essence of the Mystery。
Inside； she knew differently。 Her inner voice told her so。 Mystery is more than a fashion or a lifestyle； it said； Mystery is a state of mind。
Gwen wanted to trust her inner voice。 She always had。 But lately she'd been wondering； there was something about ing back here that blew through her like a bad wind every once in a while。 Saying being here is the kiss of death； it'll suck the life right out of you； it'll steal your sense of the Mystery 。。。
Gwen shuddered。 〃Stop it；〃 she told herself。 〃You're being stupid。〃
On the wall； the Faery Queen smiled knowingly； being more real with every stroke。 Gwen was ninety…nine percent finished with the mural； and was determined to lay down the hundredth stroke before Micki hit town。 Or Spike。
Whichever came first。
Gwen genuinely loved her work； which was a rarity by anybody's standard。 Over the years she had persevered； parlaying her penchant for weird vision into a somewhat successful illustration career； doing fantasy and sf and the occasional horror paperback； but most notably covers for Micki Bridges's Bob…Ramtha！ series。 Micki's contracts always had a rider that specified Gwen Taylor covers； and with over eight million copies in print her publishers were perfectly willing to humor her。 Thus did a lifelong friendship get the added perk of professional fruition。
Plus we get to write of our lunches together； Micki always reminded her。 Gwen smiled and swirled mottled streaks of jet black and neon green into the fabric of the cape。
The Faery Queen was one of the archetypal figures detailed in Micki's books； which was a big reason why Gwen had decided to put her on the nursery wall。 No Smurfs for the Spikester； Gary and Gwen had agreed long ago。 They wanted their child to grow up fortable in the lap of the Mystery。
Part animal； part insect； part fish； part fowl； the Faery Queen was a regal being who embodied the Spirit of the Living Earth。 Her robes were a lush drapery of green living plants； her hair a cascade of feathery plumage。 Her features were arthropodal； elegantly humanoid but rendered in chitinous exoskeleton。 Her body was wasp…waisted and segmented； the thorax swelling into fully human breasts。 Her feet were softly cloven； doe's feet； her fingers were long and delicate。
In her left hand she held a white candle。 In her right glowed a tiny star。 A rainbow of sleek scales covered her throat and neck； a precious amulet hung there； glistening on a fine golden chain。
In other illustrations she looked fierce； imperious； sometimes even cruel； here； Gwen deliberately softened the effect； giving her a wise smile and warm blue eyes and surrounding her with birds and rabbits and all manner of gentle creatures； making her a benign sort of otherworldly übermother。
But with cheekbones； Gwen added as an afterthought。 Great cheekbones。
Gwen stepped back and surveyed her work； her brow knitted fretfully。 This was the biggest project she'd undertaken during the pregnancy。 She wanted it to be perfect。
〃Something's off；〃 she said； and the moment she said it； the answer came clear。 〃A…HA！〃
She took a fine brush； dabbed it in the paint； and added a carefully placed dot of white to the blue of the Faery Queen's eyes。
Adding the spark of life。
〃There you go；〃 Gwen said； satisfied for now。 She checked her watch。 〃Oh； shit； how's that for timing；〃 she said to her work。 〃We've got to get a move on。〃
She scooped up her brushes and headed for the sink。
While on the wall； the Faery Queen watched her go。
Meanwhile； Gary crouched in the garage； practicing his own gentle art of motorcycle maintenance。
His scoot was an '88 Harley…Davidson custom softtail； and it was his pride and joy。 He'd personally torn it down in the winter of '89； putting in a ninety…six…inch S&S stroker kit； transforming it。 Gary h