Steinway-like, the ghost of exertions past fell upon me then, as from a great height, and I was crumpled. Hoping for further enlightenment, I did not fight the crush. But drowsing there in my seat, I was not rewarded with another message. Instead, a nightmare encompassed me.

I dreamed I was staked out in the blazing sun once more, sweating, burning, achieving raisinhood. This reached a hellish peak, then shifted away, faded. I rediscovered myself stranded on an iceberg, teeth chattering, extremities growing numb. Then this, too, passed, but wave after wave of muscular tics swept me from toe to crown. Then I was afraid. Then angry. Elated. Homy. Despairing. With naked feet stalking, the full parade of feelings passed, clad in forms that flee from me. It was no dream ...

"Mister, are you all right?"

There was a hand on my shoulder-from that dream or this?

"Are you all right?"

I shuddered. I rubbed a hand across my forehead. It came away wet.

"Yes," I said. "Thanks."

I glanced at the man. Elderly. Neatly dressed. Off to see the grandchildren, perhaps.

"I was sitting across the aisle," he said. "Looked like you were having some sort of fit."

I rubbed my eyes, ran my hand through my hair, touched my chin and discovered I had been drooling.

"Bad dream," I said. "I'm okay now. Thanks for waking me up."

He gave me a small smile, nodded and withdrew.

Damn! It just seemed to follow that it had to be some side effect of the reversal. I lit a funny-tasting cigarette and glanced at my watch. After deciphering the reversed dial and allowing for its being wrong anyway, I decided I had been dozing for about half an hour. Staring out the window, then, watching the miles pass, I grew quite afraid. What if the whole thing were a ghastly joke, a mistake or a misunderstanding? The little episode that had just occurred left me with the fear that I had screwed myself up inside at some level I had not yet considered, that subtle, irreversible damages might be taking place within me. Kind of late to think of that, though. I made an effort to maintain my faith in my friend, the recording. I felt certain that the Rhennius machine could undo what it had done when this became necessary. All that was required was someone who understood how it worked.

I sat for a long while, hoping for some answer to come. The only thing that arrived, however, was more drowsiness and eventual sleep. This time it was the Big, dark, quiet thing it is supposed to be, sans all vicissitudes and angst, peaceful. All the way through into night and my station, I slept. Refreshed for a change, I stepped down to familiar concrete, remapped the world about me and threaded my way through its parking lot, an alley and four blocks of closed stores.

I satisfied myself that I was not being followed, entered an all-night diner and ate a strange-tasting meal. Strange, because the place was a greasy spoon and the food was deliciously different. I ate two of their notorious hamburgers and great masses of soggy French fries. A sheaf of wilted lettuce and several slices of overripe tomato added to the treat. I wolfed everything down, not really caring whether or not it satisfied all my nutritional needs. It was the finest meal I had ever eaten. Except for the milkshake. It was undrinkable and I left it.

Then I walked. It was a good distance, but then I was in no hurry, I was rested and my posterior had had enough of public transportation for a time. It took the better part of an hour to reach the Woof & Warp, but it was a good night for walking.

The shop was closed, of course, but I could see a light in Ralph's apartment upstairs. I went around back, shinnied up the drainpipe and peered in the window. He sat reading a book, and I could hear the faint sounds of a string quartet-I couldn't tell whose-from within. Good. That he was alone, I mean. I hate to break in on people.

I rapped on the pane.

He looked up, stared a moment, rose and came over.

The window slid upward.

"Hi, Fred. Come on in."

"Thanks, Ralph. How've you been?"

"Fine," he said. "Business has been good, too."

"Great."

I climbed in, closed the window, crossed the room with him. I accepted a drink whose taste I did not recognize, though it looked like a fruit juice there in the pitcher on the table. We sat down, and I did not feel especially disoriented. He rearranges his rooms so often that I can never remember the layout from one time to the next, anyway. Ralph is a tall, wiry guy with lots of dark hair and bad posture. He knows all manner of crafty things. Even teaches basket weaving at the university.

"How did you like Australia?"

"Oh, barring a few mishaps, I might have enjoyed it I haven't decided yet."

"What sort of mishaps?"

"Later, later," I said. "Another time, maybe. Say, would it be too much trouble to put me up in the back room tonight?"

"Not unless you and Woof have had an argument."

"We have an arrangement," I said. "He sleeps with his nose under his tail and I get the blankets."

"The last time you stayed over it worked out the other way around."

"That's what led to the arrangement."

"We'll see what happens this time. Did you just get back in town?"

"Well, yes and no."

He clasped his hands about his knee and smiled.

"I admire your straightforward approach to things, Fred. Nothing evasive or misleading about you."

"I'm always being misunderstood," I said. "It is the burden of an honest man in a world of knaves. Yes, I just got back in town, but not from Australia. I did that a couple days ago, then went away and just now came back again. No, I did not just get back in town from Australia. See?"

He shook his head.

"You have a simple, almost classic life-style, too. What sort of trouble are you in this time? Irate husband? Mad bomber? Syndicate creditor?"

"Nothing like that," I said.

"Worse? Or better?"

"More complicated. What have you heard?"

"Nothing. But your adviser phoned me."

"When?"

"A little over a week ago. Then again this morning."

"What did he want?"

"He wanted to know where you were, wanted to know whether I had heard from you. I told him no on both counts. He told me a man would be stopping by to ask some questions. The university would appreciate my cooperation. That was the first time. The man showed up a little later, asked me the same questions, got the same answers."

"Was his name Nadler?"

"Yes. A federal man. State Department. At least, that is what his I.D. said. He gave me a number and told me to call it if I heard from you."

"Don't."

He winced.

"You didn't have to say it."

"Sorry."

I listened to the strings.

"I haven't heard from him since," he finished a few moments later.

"What did Wexroth want this morning?"

"He had the same questions, updated, and a message."

"For me?"

He nodded. He took a sip of his drink.

"What is it?"

"If I heard from you I was to tell you that you have graduated. You can pick up your diploma at his office."

"What?"

I was on my feet, part of my drink slopping over onto my cuff.

"That's what he said: ‘graduated.' "

"They can't do that to me!"

He hunched his shoulders, let them fall again.

"Was he joking? Did he sound stoned? Did he say why? How?"

"No-on all of them," he said. "He sounded sober and serious. He even repeated it."

"Damn!" I began to pace. "Who do they think they are? You can't just force a degree on a man that way."

"Some people want them."

"They don't have frozen uncles. Damn! I wonder what happened? I don't see any angle. I've never given them an opening for this. How the hell could they do it?"

"I don't know. You'll have to ask him."

"I will! Believe me, I will! I'm going down there first thing in the morning and punch him in the eye!"