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.

"Mr. Canfield," she said, "are the neural interruptors connected?"

"Ten-four," came the proud reply. "We are patched into the VideoSat network. All three satellites are broadcasting a low-level NI beam."

The entire planet was being bathed in a field that subconsciously opened people's minds to pliant suggestibility. Most people wouldn't even notice me when I made contact with their minds via Isadora's broadcasting telepathy.

"Excellent, Mr. Canfield. If you'd like to return to Starfinder and hook on to an umbilical, please do so. I'm afraid you'll have to wait outside the cargo bay."

"I don't mind one bit. It'll give me a chance to sightsee." The radio squelched off.

"There," Bridget announced, tying off the end of the white thread with a strange-looking knot. Ann did the same to the red thread, cutting off the remainder of the spool. The kid and I were held fast inside a crazy maze of lines and angles.

The ventilation system shifted into a moderately higher mode of operation. I smelled the reason why. Bridget had lit a self-igniting tablet of charcoal and spiked it into a spherical censer filled with a sweet, cloying incense. Wire gauze prevented the particles from escaping after she sealed the silver ball up. A bluish-gray cloud filled the cargo bay.

Bridget made a complicated gesture with her hands, then withdrew a sheathed black athame from the altar. This she tied to her waist with a knotted red cord. It was the only thing she wore.

Ann tied her Bowie around her own waist, but the cord she used was deep purple.

"Which way is east?" the naked crone asked with a frown. "We have to start at the east."

Ann shrugged. "Wherever the altar is can be considered east."

Bridget shook her head emphatically. "This has to be done right." She looked over at me. "Has the plane of the altar been aligned with the plane of the ecliptic?"

"Yes," I said, unable to nod.

"And has the bow of the ship been pointed toward the constellation Taurus?"

"Um, yes."

She mused for a few seconds. "And Canfield did orient celestial north above the altar?"

"Yep."

"That means-let's see." She stroked at her left breast while thinking. Without gravity tugging at her, she looked decades younger. "That means Scorpio is aft, Aquarius is port, and Leo starboard. Excellent."

"We can orient the magickal circle with the celestial circle, then?" Ann floated a few feet away from me. Deliciously near, yet achingly out of reach.

Bridget faced the altar, nodding. I nearly screwed my eyes out of their sockets trying to watch. It was just plain eerie to see her hover inches off the deck as if she were levitating. The whole bay surged with the same feeling of dreamlike fantasy.

"The main circle is properly aligned," the witch said. "However, since we're going to need protection on all sides, we'll have to cut three circles. One for each axis of motion." She drew her athame from its sheath. Slowly, uneasily, she traced an angular circle that caromed off the cargo bay doors, the rear bulkhead, and the deck. She had to negotiate the Witch's Cradle by poking her knife in as far as she could, floating around to the other side like a surrealistic harpist, and withdrawing the blade to continue her circle.

"Next time we'll plan this better," she said under her breath.

"The Lady will understand," Ann replied softly. She opened up the small attachй case we'd transported from Auberge and began to prepare the hypodermic airgun charges. After measuring out the appropriate doses from the dozens of ampoules in the stash, she shook each vial in a semicircle to force renegade air bubbles to the surface.

I felt more secure after watching her in action. She wasn't like other women. Then again, none of these three were like any other women. I had never been cursed with a normal life or ordinary acquaintances.

Bridget finished her third circle-the main one that paralleled the deck-and sheathed her knife. Picking up the censer, she started the whole trek over again. All three circles. When finished with that, she simply let go of the censer, allowing it to float in position over the altar.

She followed the same route with water and then with white granules. They refused to demark a circle, scattering instead throughout the bay like little planets and asteroids.

One of the grains landed on my tongue. Salt. The water jiggled about in amusing blobs. A lot of it stuck to the walls or adhered to the threads of the cradle like dew on a spiderweb.

Both the altar and the controls to the Theta Wave Amplifier were safely within the boundaries of the circles. Ann floated by the controls as Bridget faced the altar, the old crone tracing an imaginary pentagram in the air with her athame. Her voice grew stronger, even more powerful during the invocation.

"Hail to Thee, powers of the East! Hail to the corner of beginnings! Iris, Aurora, Astarte, Goddess of all Beginnings! Come witness our rite which we perform according to the ancient ways!"

She moved in a counterclockwise direction-deosil, she called itto face south. Ann watched her in peaceful repose from her station at the amplifier.

"Hail to Thee, powers of the South! Corner of all passionate Fire. Vesta, Esmeralda, Heartha-come and be witness at our rite which we perform in the ancient ways!"

To the west, she said, "Hail to Thee, powers of the living Waters! Venus, life-giving Aphrodite, Themis of the Law and Moon. Come guard our circle and bear witness to the rite we perform according to the ancient ways!"

A drowsiness overtook me. Muted noises filtered in from the cockpit. I wondered whether Canfield had decided to depressurize the cabin in order to get inside. I canceled the thought-he wouldn't do that, because Zack was in there without a helmet.