Quonset-shaped interior was the ash-wood altar. All the knickknacks of Bridget's craft had been securely attached to the rubbed-wood surface with Velcro. At the other end of the bay stood the Theta Wave Amplifier. In the middle of the bay were two tables; one for me, one for Isadora. They weren't really tables, as such. They served to position us in the center of the bay and were attached to retractable pedestals. Hundreds of eyelets had been welded all over the deck and bulkheads.
Flying over to the amplifier, I picked up the lightweight electrode helmet and strapped it on. I looked and felt like Buck Rogers. Until Bridget changed the subject to something closer to Flesh Gordon.
'We should all get out of our clothes. We'll need to free up our body energies to compensate for this, mmm,
environment.'
Wonderful. My only consolation as I struggled to disrobe in free fall was that I would have more important concerns than what anyone thought of my physique. We'd all be busy.
Isadora sighed. 'I've done all sorts of kinky things before, but never an orbital striptease.'
'Don't hold your breath,
We're here to work magic, not to give your vicarious libido a workout. Get ready for the ultimate mindfuck-an entire planet. Six billion people, all at once. Think you can handle it?'
She buffed her nails against her naked flesh. 'It puts the odds slightly in my favor. Bring `em on, and peel me a grape.'
Ann squirmed out of her flight suit and flung it toward a corner where it wedged to a stop. She was even more alluring in zero-G, her hair swirling around her like a turbulent golden cloud at sunrise. Her gaze roamed languidly across her body, then glanced over mine. She smiled.
I smiled back. '`And her beauty was as the tears of the gods-sweet and warm and divine.''
'Knock off the chatter,' Bridget's voice cracked out. 'We've got to start the Witch's Cradle.' She tossed a big spool of thin red yarn at Ann. Her throw hadn't taken into account the condition of free fall; the spool sailed far afield.
Isadora retrieved it and hand-delivered it to Ann as Bridget withdrew a spool of white yarn from a compartment beneath the altar.
'Time to lie down,' said the witch.
I nodded to Isadora, who wadded her flight suit in the corner with Ann's and mine and kicked over to the smaller table.
Beginning at opposite ends of the cargo bay, Ann and Bridget hooked the red and white yarns through the eyelets, working back and forth, up and down and across to create an abstract, intricate web. After snaking just a few strands around the kid and me, Bridget flipped a switch that retracted the tables. Isadora and I floated amidst the thread like flies awaiting a spider.
The formation of the Witch's Cradle took the better part of a quarter-hour. In response to every change in direction, Bridget's gray mane flowed in great arcs around her head like storm-tossed waves crashing on an ancient, hidden shore.
'The world has never seen the likes of this,' she marveled. 'The greatest spell any Wiccen could cast. The final battle with the Usurper.'
'Do I get my drugs now?' Isadora asked. The tangle of yarn prevented her from even turning her head.
'Sorry, kid. You don't get any. They're all for me.'
'What!'
'You'll feel the effects, though, when we switch on the amplifier.'
'Shit,' she said. 'Secondhand dope.'
Bridget shushed her. They had woven the cords so that most of the lines intersected around us, leaving them room to reach the machinery and the altar.
'Now,' the crone said, drifting toward the altar, 'an invocation to the Goddess. Ann?'
Ann nodded, her beautiful golden locks bouncing handsomely. She switched on the radio link to the satellite.
